Mantharā, the clever and scheming hunchback, spoke to Queen Kaikeyī with words both sharp and persuasive. “You are always dear to your husband—of this, I have no doubt,” she insisted. “For your sake, the great King Daśaratha would even enter the fire itself. He cannot bring himself to be angry with you, nor can he bear to see you displeased. For your sake, he would even surrender his very life. The king cannot go against your word; you must realize, in your gentle simplicity, the power of your own good fortune.” Mantharā continued, “King Daśaratha has bestowed upon you pearls, gems, gold, and all manner of precious jewels—yet do not let your heart be set on these. Instead, recall the two boons he granted you long ago, during the battle between gods and demons. Remind him of his promise, noble lady, for a king’s word must never be broken. When Rāghava himself raises you up in the king’s presence, then is the time to ask for your boon. Let Rāma be exiled to the forest for fourteen years—nine and five—and let your own son, Bharata, be crowned king upon the earth.” Mantharā’s voice grew more insistent. “During those fourteen years while Rāma dwells in the forest, your son Bharata will become strong and established. Ask for this boon, O queen—the exile of Rāma—so that all your son’s desires may be fulfilled. With Rāma gone, he will no longer be a threat, and Bharata, free from enemies, will rule as king for you. By the time Rāma returns from the forest, Bharata will be firmly rooted in his kingship, both within and without. Surrounded by friends and loyal men, self-possessed and secure, your son will flourish, and I believe the king will be without fear when the time comes. Turn the king away from his resolve to anoint Rāma. You have been misled by fortune disguised as misfortune.” Hearing these words, Kaikeyī was delighted and convinced. She spoke to Mantharā, for the hunchback’s cunning words had led her astray, as if she were but a naïve young girl. Astonished and radiant, Kaikeyī 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; 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 hunchbacks who are ill-disposed, crooked, and exceedingly wicked.” Kaikeyī’s praise grew more effusive as she considered Mantharā’s loyalty. “You are lovely to behold, bent like a lotus by the wind; your chest rises from your shoulders, firmly set within your breast. Your calm belly is modest, your hips full, your breasts beautifully rounded. Your face is pure as the spotless moon—you shine, Mantharā. Your polished hips are adorned with a jeweled girdle. Your thighs are well-set, and your feet are long and graceful. Clad in fine linen, you move with elegance. When you walk before me, O exceedingly lovely one, you shine like the thousand magical arts once possessed by Shambara, lord of the asuras. Those very arts have entered your heart, and thousands more besides; your back, long and curved like a chariot’s yoke, is yours alone. Wisdom, knowledge of statecraft, and magical arts all dwell in you, O hunchback. I will reward you with a golden garland.” Her promises grew ever more lavish. “When Bharata is anointed and Rāghava has gone to the forest, I will anoint you with pure, refined gold. When you have achieved your desire and are delighted, I will smear your back with gold and place a beautiful jeweled tilaka on your face. 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 have always served at mine.” Thus praised, Mantharā listened as Kaikeyī, reclining on a pure couch like a flame upon an altar, spoke again: “When the water is gone, a bridge is useless, O blessed one. Arise, do what is auspicious, and seek out the king.” Thus encouraged, Kaikeyī, her eyes wide and unspoiled by pride in her good fortune, went with Mantharā to the chamber of anger. There, the noble lady, worthy of the finest, removed her many hundreds of thousands of pearl necklaces and splendid ornaments. Golden-hued and under the influence of Mantharā’s words, Kaikeyī sat down on the ground and spoke to her confidante, “Here, O hunchback, you may tell the king that I am as good as dead. But when Rāghava goes to the forest, Bharata will gain the kingdom. I have no desire for gold, nor for jewels, nor for food and drink. If Rāma is anointed, this is the end of my life.” Mantharā, emboldened, addressed the queen again with bold words—both helpful and harmful—advising her about Rāma. “If Rāghava surely attains the kingdom, then you and your son will suffer. Therefore, O noble lady, strive so that your son Bharata will be anointed.” Deeply wounded by Mantharā’s words, struck again and again by their sharpness, Kaikeyī placed her hands on her heart, astonished and angry, and reproached the hunchback in her distress. “When I have gone from here to the realm of Yama, you will report it, O hunchback; or, when Rāghava has gone to the forest for a long time, Bharata, his desires fulfilled, will prosper.” Thus, the seeds of sorrow and intrigue were sown in the royal palace, as Kaikeyī, swayed by Mantharā’s cunning, prepared to set her will against the king and the fate of Rāma.