Hearing Mantharā’s urgent words, Queen Kaikeyī was struck with astonishment. Mantharā pressed her, “Kaikeyī, act quickly for your own good—this is the opportune moment. Save your son, yourself, and me, who stand witness to these events with wonder.” Kaikeyī, her beautiful face brightening with joy upon Mantharā’s speech, rose from her bed like the crescent moon shining in the clear autumn sky. Overcome with delight and amazement, she rewarded the hunchbacked Mantharā with a splendid divine ornament, a token of her pleasure. Having gifted this ornament, Kaikeyī, still radiant with happiness, spoke warmly to Mantharā: “Mantharā, the news you have brought is most pleasing and dear to my heart. Tell me, what more can I do for you, since you have filled me with such joy?” She continued, “I see no difference between Rāma and Bharata. I am glad the king will anoint Rāma as heir to the throne. There is no greater boon for me than this. You, worthy of affection, have spoken sweet and delightful words, like nectar. For this, I grant you the highest and best boon—choose what you desire.” But Mantharā, envious at heart, cast aside the ornament. Her face clouded with anger and sorrow as she spoke: “Why have you, foolish one, rejoiced without cause? Do you not see you are surrounded by an ocean of sorrow? Though I am overwhelmed by grief, I restrain myself for your sake, O queen. Why are you joyful when you should be mourning, having encountered such great misfortune? I grieve for your lack of understanding. What wise woman would celebrate the rise of a rival wife’s son, as if death itself had come?” Mantharā’s voice trembled with anxiety. “It is not only for Bharata that I am afraid, but for all of us, because of Rāma and the question of the kingdom. I am distressed, for fear arises naturally in the fearful. Mighty-armed Lakṣmaṇa is wholly devoted to Rāma, and Śatrughna is to Bharata as Lakṣmaṇa is to the scion of Kakutstha. Even though, O beautiful one, by order of proximity the succession should have come to Bharata, the royal succession has instead been assigned to those two who are younger.” She continued, “Indeed, fortunate is Kausalyā, whose son will be consecrated tomorrow as crown prince by the foremost of Brāhmaṇas, under the Pushya constellation. When the earth, filled with joy, is ruled and enemies are subdued, you will attend upon Kausalyā with joined palms, like a servant. You, together with us, will become her attendant, and your son will serve Rāma. Rāma’s chief wives will rejoice, while your daughters-in-law will not celebrate Bharata’s decline.” Yet, seeing Mantharā speak thus, Queen Kaikeyī, filled with satisfaction, praised only Rāma’s virtues. “Rāma, the eldest son of the king, knows righteousness. He is virtuous, self-controlled, grateful, truthful, and pure; therefore, he deserves the succession. He will protect his brothers and servants like a father. Why, O hunchback, are you troubled by the news of Rāma’s consecration? Surely, after a hundred years, Bharata too, the best of men, will inherit the kingdom of his father and grandfather from Rāma. When prosperity has come and happiness is at hand, why, Mantharā, do you burn within and grieve at this good fortune?” She added, “Just as Bharata is honored, so too is Rāghava, even more. Besides Kausalyā, he serves me greatly. If the kingdom is Rāma’s, it is also Bharata’s, for Rāghava regards his brothers as himself.” Hearing these words, Mantharā, deeply distressed, sighed long and hot, and spoke again: “Because of your foolishness, you do not see the misfortune before you, nor do you understand yourself, sinking in a sea of sorrow and calamity. Rāghava will become king, and his son after him, but Bharata, O Kaikeyī, will be cast aside from the royal line. Not all the king’s sons remain in the kingdom; if all were installed, there would be great disorder. Therefore, kings always entrust the affairs of the kingdom to the eldest, even if the others are also virtuous. Your son will become utterly broken, as if orphaned, deprived of comforts and the royal lineage, O affectionate one.” Mantharā’s words grew more urgent. “I have come here for your sake, but you do not recognize me. You ought to give me the reward I deserve for increasing your advantage over your co-wife. Surely, when Rāma obtains the unchallenged kingdom, he will send Bharata to a distant land, or even to another world. While still a child, Bharata was not kept near his maternal uncle by you; closeness breeds affection, even among the immovable. Because of Bharata, Śatrughna too has become just like him; just as Lakṣmaṇa follows Rāma, so does he follow Bharata.” She illustrated her point: “It is heard that a certain tree, meant to be cut down by forest dwellers, is first stripped of its branches by arrows out of great fear due to its nearness. Rāma will surely protect Lakṣmaṇa, and Rāghava will protect Lakṣmaṇa as well; their brotherhood is renowned in the world, like that of the Aśvins. Therefore, Rāma will not commit any wrong against Lakṣmaṇa; but Rāma might indeed commit wrong against Bharata—of this there is no doubt. Therefore, let Rāghava go to the forest from the royal palace; this is what pleases me, and it is also greatly beneficial for you.” Thus, Mantharā’s words, filled with cunning and warning, began to sow the seeds of doubt and anxiety in Queen Kaikeyī’s heart, shaping the fate of all Ayodhyā.