Mantharā, intent on sowing seeds of discord, spoke cunningly to Queen Kaikeyī: “When Rāma is exiled, he will no longer be Rāma in your eyes, and Bharata, free from rivals, will become king for you. By the time Rāma returns from the forest, your son’s position will be unshakable, both inwardly and outwardly. Surrounded by friends and loyal men, composed and secure, Bharata will rule without fear, and the king himself will find peace when the time comes. Therefore, restrain the king from his resolve to anoint Rāma. You have been led to embrace misfortune, thinking it a blessing, because of another’s influence.” Hearing these words, Kaikeyī was delighted and convinced. Mantharā’s words had led her astray, as easily as a young girl is swayed by a clever companion. With surprise and admiration, Kaikeyī turned to Mantharā, praising her insight: “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; none is as devoted and well-wishing toward me as you are. I could not have understood the king’s intentions, O hunchback, for there are those among your kind who are ill-disposed, crooked, and exceedingly wicked. But you are lovely to behold, bent gracefully like a lotus by the wind; your chest rises firmly from your shoulders, and your calm belly is modest like a well-formed navel. Your hips are full, your breasts beautifully rounded, and your face is pure as the spotless moon. Truly, you shine, Mantharā, your polished hips adorned with a jeweled girdle. Your thighs are well-set, your feet long and graceful, and in fine linen you walk with elegance. “When you walk before me, O exceedingly lovely one, you shine like no other. The thousand magical arts that once belonged to Shambara, lord of the asuras, have all entered your heart, and thousands more besides; your long, curved back is like a chariot’s yoke. Wisdom, knowledge of statecraft, and magical arts dwell within you, O hunchback. For this, I will bestow upon you a golden garland. When Bharata is anointed king and Rāghava has gone to the forest, I will anoint you with pure, well-refined gold. When your desires are fulfilled and you are delighted, I will smear your back with gold and adorn your face with 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 your moon-like face and incomparable beauty, you will walk with a noble gait, making your rivals envious. Other hunchbacks, adorned with ornaments, will serve at your feet, just as you have always served at mine.” Having thus praised Mantharā, Kaikeyī, reclining on her pure couch like a flame upon the altar, spoke further: “When water is gone, a bridge is useless, O blessed one. Arise, do what is auspicious, and seek out the king.” Encouraged by Mantharā, the queen, her eyes wide and free from pride in her good fortune, went with her trusted companion to the chamber of anger. There, Kaikeyī, noble and accustomed to the finest things, removed her hundreds of thousands of pearl necklaces and splendid ornaments. Golden-hued and under the sway of Mantharā’s words, she sat down upon the ground and spoke: “Here, O hunchback, you may tell the king that I am as good as dead; but when Rāghava goes to the forest, Bharata will obtain the kingdom. I have no desire for gold, nor for jewels, nor for food or drink—this is the end of my life if Rāma is anointed.” Mantharā, emboldened, addressed the queen again, her words both helpful and harmful: “If Rāghava attains the kingdom, you and your son will surely suffer. Therefore, O noble lady, strive so that Bharata will be anointed king.” Deeply wounded by Mantharā’s sharp words, the queen pressed her hands to her heart in astonishment and anger, and reproached the hunchback again and again: “When I have gone to the realm of Yama, you may tell the king; or, when Rāghava has gone to the forest for a long time, Bharata, his wishes fulfilled, will prosper. I desire neither bedding nor garlands, nor sandalwood, nor ointments, nor food or drink. I wish for nothing here, not even life itself, if Rāghava does not go to the forest from here.” Having spoken these dreadful words, the radiant queen cast aside all her ornaments and lay down upon the bare ground, like a celestial nymph fallen from the heavens. Her face, darkened by rising anger and stripped of its garlands and jewels, grew despondent—like the sky veiled in darkness, its stars obscured. Now begins the tenth sarga of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa. When the queen was harshly reproached by the sinful hunchback, she lay on the ground like a celestial nymph struck down by poison. Having firmly resolved what must be done, the radiant queen slowly revealed her intentions to Mantharā with discernment. Distressed and determined, bewildered by Mantharā’s words, she sighed long and hot, like a serpent maiden. For a moment, she pondered a course that would bring her happiness. Devoted to her friend and her own interests, she made her decision after hearing Mantharā’s counsel. Mantharā was exceedingly pleased, as if her aim had been achieved; and the queen, now angered, made her resolve firm.