Once, there was a mighty demon named Śambara, renowned for his mastery over a hundred magical illusions. So formidable was he that he dared to challenge Indra himself in battle, and even the hosts of gods could not overcome him. In that fierce conflict, the demons, having driven away the men, would return in the darkness of night to slay the wounded and those who slept, showing no mercy. In the midst of that great war, King Daśaratha himself fought valiantly against the demons. The battle was so intense that his powerful arms were shattered by enemy weapons. O queen, in that desperate hour, you carried your unconscious husband from the battlefield. Even as he lay wounded, you protected him with unwavering devotion. Pleased by your courage and love, Daśaratha granted you two boons, saying, “Whenever you wish, you may claim them.” At that time, you replied, “I will accept them when I desire.” The great-souled king agreed, and I, Mantharā, did not know of this until you told me yourself. Out of affection for you, I have remembered this story, and now I urge you: stop the preparations for Rāma’s consecration and turn them back. Ask your husband for those two boons—the anointing of Bharata as king, and the exile of Rāma to the forest for fourteen years. For those fourteen years, while Rāma dwells in the wilderness, your own son, beloved by the people, will become firmly established as ruler. Today, enter the chamber of anger, as if enraged with the son of the lord of horses, and remain hidden there, lying on the ground in soiled garments. Do not look upon the king, nor speak to him. When Daśaratha, longing for you and filled with sorrow, comes to see you, remain weeping but do not address him. You are always dear to your husband—of this there can be no doubt. For your sake, the great king would even enter fire itself. He cannot become angry with you, nor can he bear to look upon you when you are angry. For your sake, he would give up his very life. The king cannot transgress your word. Understand, with your gentle nature, the power of your own good fortune. Daśaratha would gladly give you pearls, gems, gold, and all manner of jewels, but do not set your heart on these. Instead, remind him of the two boons he granted you in that ancient battle between gods and demons—his promise must not be broken. When Rāghava himself raises you up and the great king is present, then choose your boon: let Rāma’s exile be for fourteen years—nine and five—and let Bharata be made king upon the earth. For fourteen years, while Rāma lives in the forest, your son will grow strong, take root, and remain established. O queen, ask for this boon—the exile of Rāma. In this way, all your son’s desires will be fulfilled. With Rāma gone, he will no longer be a rival, and Bharata, free from enemies, will become king for you. By the time Rāma returns from the forest, your son will be unshakeably rooted in power, both inwardly and outwardly. Gathered with friends, self-possessed, and surrounded by loyal men, your son will be secure, and I believe the king will be without fear when the time comes. So, restrain the king and turn him back from his resolve to anoint Rāma. Know that you have been led to accept misfortune disguised as fortune. Hearing these words, Kaikeyī was delighted and convinced. She spoke warmly to Mantharā, for the hunchback’s words had swayed her heart like that of a young girl. Kaikeyī, astonished and radiant in her beauty, said, “I do not disregard your wisdom, you who speak what is best among the best. Among all hunchbacks on earth, you are supreme in discernment, and you alone are ever devoted and well-wishing towards my interests. I could not have understood the king’s intentions without you, O hunchback, for there are others who are ill-disposed, crooked, and exceedingly wicked. You, however, are lovely to behold, bent gracefully like a lotus swayed by the wind. Your chest rises from your shoulders, firmly set within your breast. Below, your calm belly is modest, like a well-formed navel; your hips are full, and your breasts beautifully rounded. Your face is pure as the spotless moon—indeed, you shine, Mantharā. Your polished hips are adorned with a jeweled girdle. Your thighs are well-set, and both feet are long and extended; clad in fine linen, your graceful thighs are pleasing to the eye. When you walk before me, O exceedingly lovely one, you shine. The thousand magical arts that were with Śambara, lord of the asuras, seem to have entered your heart, and thousands more besides. That very back, long and curved like a chariot’s yoke, is yours. Wisdom, knowledge of statecraft, and magical arts all dwell within you, O hunchback. Here, I will bestow upon you a golden garland. When Bharata is anointed and Rāghava has gone to the forest, O beautiful one, I will anoint you with pure, well-refined gold. When you have achieved your desire and are delighted, I will smear your back with gold, and on your face place a beautiful, jeweled tilaka. I will have splendid ornaments made for you, O hunchback; dressed in fine garments, you will move about like a goddess. With a face shining like the moon and incomparable beauty, you will walk with a noble gait, making your rivals envious. Other hunchbacks, adorned with all ornaments, will serve at your feet, just as you always serve at mine.