Kaikeyi reclined upon her couch, and Manthara, her hunchbacked maid, stood before her. Kaikeyi’s gaze lingered on Manthara’s form—her thighs, set gracefully beneath fine linen, and her long, extended feet. “When you walk before me, Manthara, you shine with a beauty that dazzles the eye,” Kaikeyi said warmly. “It is as if the thousand magical arts once possessed by Shambara, lord of the asuras, have all entered your heart, and thousands more besides. Your back, curved and long like a chariot’s yoke, is unmatched.” She continued, “Wisdom, knowledge of statecraft, and magical arts—all dwell within you. O hunchback, I will adorn you with a golden garland. When Bharata is anointed king and Rāghava has gone to the forest, I shall anoint you with the purest, most refined gold. When your desires are fulfilled and joy fills your heart, I will smear your back with gold and place a beautiful, jeweled tilaka upon your brow. Splendid ornaments will be made for you, and, dressed in the finest garments, you will move about like a goddess herself.” Kaikeyi’s words grew ever more lavish. “With a face shining like the moon and beauty beyond compare, you will walk with a noble gait, making all your rivals envious. Other hunchbacks, adorned with all ornaments, shall serve at your feet, just as you have served at mine.” Thus praised and promised such rewards, Manthara basked in Kaikeyi’s affection. But then Kaikeyi, lying upon her pure couch like a flame upon the altar, spoke in earnest. “When water is gone, a bridge is useless, O blessed one. Arise, do what is auspicious, and seek out the king.” Thus encouraged, Kaikeyi—her eyes wide and untouched by pride—rose with Manthara and went to the chamber of anger. There, the noble queen, worthy of the finest jewels, removed her hundreds of thousands of pearl necklaces and splendid ornaments. Now golden-hued, and swayed by Manthara’s words, Kaikeyi sat upon the ground and spoke to her confidante. “Here, O hunchback, you may tell the king that I am dead. But when Rāghava departs for the forest, Bharata will obtain the kingdom. I have no desire for gold, nor for jewels, nor for food and drink. If Rāma is anointed, then this is the end of my life.” Manthara, emboldened, addressed the queen again with strong words—words both helpful and harmful, concerning Rāma. “If Rāghava indeed becomes king, you and your son will suffer. Therefore, O noble lady, strive so that your son Bharata is anointed.” Deeply wounded by Manthara’s sharp words, Kaikeyi 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 report it, O hunchback. Or, when Rāghava has gone to the forest for a long time, Bharata will prosper, his desires fulfilled. 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 upon the bare ground, like a celestial nymph struck down. Her face, once bright, was now covered by the darkness of rising anger; her finest garlands and jewels lay discarded. She became despondent, as the sky is veiled in darkness when its stars are obscured. Now begins the tenth sarga of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa. Harshly reproached by the sinful hunchback, the queen lay on the ground like a celestial nymph felled by poison. Yet, having firmly decided in her mind what must be done, Kaikeyi slowly revealed her heart to Manthara with discernment. Distressed and determined, bewildered by Manthara’s words, the radiant queen sighed long and hot, like a serpent maiden. For a moment she pondered a course that would bring her happiness; and, devoted to her friend and her own interests, she made her decision after hearing Manthara’s counsel. Manthara was exceedingly pleased, as if her aim had been achieved, while the queen, now angered, made her resolve firm. Weak and dejected, Kaikeyi lay down upon the ground, her brows furrowed. She cast off her splendid garlands and divine ornaments; they fell to the ground, thrown down by her own hand. She lay fallen in the chamber of anger, her garments soiled, making the earth appear unsightly, as stars do to the sky. Her hair was bound in a single, tight braid, like a kinnari bereft of life; meanwhile, the great king had already ordered Rāghava’s consecration. The self-controlled king, ever eager to bring joy to his beloved, entered the inner apartments, making his way to Kaikeyi’s finest chamber. It was like the sky with pale clouds, the moon seized by Rāhu, filled with peacocks and barhin birds, echoing with the cries of cranes and swans. The air resounded with music, and the chamber was filled with hunchbacked and dwarf maidservants. Bowers and painted rooms adorned the space, beautified with campaka and aśoka trees. There were platforms of ivory, silver, and gold, ever-flowering, fruit-bearing trees, and clear pools of water. The finest seats—of ivory, silver, and gold—were set out, and all manner of foods, drinks, and delicacies were supplied. Adorned with precious ornaments, the palace was like the abode of the gods. Yet, when the great king entered, he did not see Kaikeyi on her excellent bed. Filled with desire and longing for pleasure, the lord of men searched for his beloved wife.