Rāma, the eldest son of King Daśaratha, was renowned for his deep understanding of righteousness. Virtuous, self-controlled, ever-grateful, truthful, and pure in heart, he was considered by all to be supremely worthy of succeeding his father on the throne. His character inspired confidence that he would, like a loving father, protect not only his brothers but also the kingdom’s servants. With such a noble protector, what reason, Kaikeyī wondered, could Mantharā possibly have to be disturbed by the news of Rāma’s impending consecration? Kaikeyī, seeking to reassure Mantharā, explained further: “In time, after a hundred years, even Bharata—my own son and the best among men—will inherit the kingdom from Rāma, just as the line of succession has always passed from father to son and grandson. Why, then, Mantharā, do you burn with grief and sorrow when happiness and prosperity are at our very doorstep?” She continued, “Rāma is honored just as Bharata is, if not more. Besides Kausalyā, he serves me with great devotion. If the kingdom is Rāma’s, then it is also Bharata’s, for Rāma regards his brothers as his very self.” But Mantharā, deeply distressed by Kaikeyī’s words, sighed heavily and spoke with urgency: “You do not see the misfortune before you, nor do you understand your own peril, O Queen. You are sinking in a sea of sorrow and calamity, blinded by your own foolishness. When Rāghava becomes king, his son will succeed him, and Bharata will be cast aside, excluded from the royal line. Not all the king’s sons remain in the kingdom, for if all were installed as rulers, there would be great disorder. That is why kings entrust the kingdom’s affairs to the eldest, even when the others are virtuous.” Mantharā warned Kaikeyī, “Your son will be left broken and orphaned, deprived of royal comforts and his rightful place in the lineage. I have come here for your sake, but you do not recognize my loyalty. You ought to reward me for seeking your advantage over your co-wife. When Rāma holds the unchallenged kingdom, he will surely send Bharata away—perhaps to some distant land, or even to another world.” She reminded Kaikeyī, “While Bharata was still a child, you did not keep him close to his maternal uncle. Closeness breeds affection, even among the immovable. Because of Bharata, Shatrughna too has become just like him, just as Lakṣmaṇa follows Rāma, so does Shatrughna follow Bharata. It is said that a tree, destined to be cut down by forest dwellers, is first stripped of its branches by arrows out of fear because of its nearness. In the same way, Rāma will always protect Lakṣmaṇa; their brotherhood is famous in the world, like that of the divine Aśvins. Therefore, Rāma will never harm Lakṣmaṇa, but he might indeed act against Bharata—of this there is no doubt.” Mantharā urged, “Let Rāma go to the forest from the royal palace. This is what pleases me and will bring you great benefit. In this way, your family’s welfare will be secured, if Bharata obtains the ancestral kingdom according to righteousness. That boy, Bharata, used to comfort, is a natural enemy of Rāma. How will he, deprived of prosperity, live under someone who has everything? Just as a leader of elephants is chased in the forest by a lion, so must you protect Bharata, who is overshadowed by Rāma.” She pressed further, “Once, in your pride over your good fortune, you rejected Rāma’s mother, Kausalyā, your co-wife. How will she not harbor enmity toward you now? When Rāma gains the earth, adorned with treasures and mountains, you and your sorrowful Bharata will suffer misfortune and defeat. When Rāma ascends to the throne, Bharata will surely be lost. Therefore, consider the kingdom for your own son, and the reason for the other’s exile.” At this point, the narrative turns to the next chapter. Thus, let the ninth chapter be heard. Hearing Mantharā’s words, Kaikeyī’s face blazed with anger. She exhaled a long, hot breath and declared, “Today, I will quickly send Rāma away to the forest, and I will swiftly anoint Bharata for the princely succession. Now, consider how I might accomplish this, so that Bharata obtains the kingdom and Rāma does not, by any means.” Thus prompted, Mantharā—ever scheming and intent on harming Rāma—spoke to Kaikeyī: “Now, Kaikeyī, listen carefully to my words, so that your son Bharata alone will obtain the kingdom. Why do you not remember, or if you do, why do you conceal it, when you wish to hear from me about your own interest? If you wish to hear what I am about to say, then listen; I will tell you, and you should act accordingly.” Hearing this, Kaikeyī rose a little from her well-spread bed and spoke, eager to know Mantharā’s plan. Thus addressed, Mantharā, intent on mischief and seeing only the worst, spoke again: “Long ago, in the great war between the gods and the demons, your husband took you with him, together with the royal sages, to support the lord of the gods. You traveled southward toward Daṇḍaka, to Vaijayantam, the city where the banner of the shark was raised. There, a mighty demon named Śambara, master of a hundred magical illusions, fought fiercely against Indra, undefeated even by the hosts of gods. In that great battle, the demons, having driven away the men, would kill the wounded and sleeping by night, using force and terror.” Thus, Mantharā began to remind Kaikeyī of a past event that would become the key to her scheme.