Mantharā, the hunchbacked maid, spoke to Queen Kaikeyi with persuasive words, painting a vision of her future glory. “When Bharata is anointed king and Rāghava has departed to the forest, O beautiful one, I will adorn you with pure, refined gold. When your heart’s desire is fulfilled and you are delighted, I will smear your back with gold and place a beautiful, jeweled tilaka upon your brow. I will have splendid ornaments made for you, O hunchback; you will be dressed in the finest garments and will move about like a goddess herself. “With a face shining like the moon and beauty beyond compare, you will walk with noble grace, making all your rivals envious. Other hunchbacks, adorned in all manner of ornaments, will serve at your feet, just as you have always served at mine.” Thus praised and encouraged, Queen Kaikeyi reclined on her pure couch, her presence radiant like a flame on the altar. Mantharā, seizing the moment, urged her, “When the water is gone, a bridge is useless, O blessed one. Arise, do what is auspicious, and seek out the king.” Thus spurred on, Kaikeyi’s eyes, wide and unspoiled by pride, filled with resolve. She went with Mantharā to the chamber of anger. There, the noble queen, worthy of the finest, removed her many hundreds of thousands of pearl necklaces and her splendid ornaments. She sat down upon the ground, golden-hued and under the sway of the hunchback’s words, and spoke to Mantharā: “Here, O hunchback, you may tell the king that I am dead; for when Rāghava goes to the forest, Bharata will gain the kingdom. I have no desire for gold, nor jewels, nor food or drink; if Rāma is anointed, that is the end of my life.” Mantharā, emboldened, addressed the queen again, her words both helpful and harmful, speaking to Bharata’s mother about Rāma: “If Rāghava surely gains the kingdom, you and your son will suffer. Therefore, O noble lady, strive so that your son Bharata may be anointed.” Deeply wounded and struck again and again by Mantharā’s sharp words, Kaikeyi, astonished and angered, pressed her hands to her heart and reproached the hunchback. “When I have gone from here to the realm of Yama, you may report it, O hunchback; or, when Rāghava has departed to the forest for a long time, Bharata, his desires fulfilled, will prosper. I do not desire 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, as if a celestial nymph had fallen from the heavens. Her face, covered by the darkness of rising anger, was now bereft of its finest garlands and jewels, and she became despondent, like the sky veiled in darkness with 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 there on the ground like a celestial nymph struck down by poison. Having resolved in her mind what must be done, the radiant queen slowly revealed her plan to Mantharā, her discernment keen. 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. Seeing this, Mantharā was exceedingly pleased, as though her aim had been achieved. The queen, now angered, made her resolve firm. Weak and dejected, Kaikeyi lay down on the ground, her brows furrowed. Her splendid garlands and divine ornaments, cast off by her, fell to the ground. She lay fallen in the chamber of anger, her garments soiled, making the earth appear unsightly, just as stars do to the sky. Her hair was bound in a single, tight braid, like a kinnari bereft of life. The great king had already ordered Rāghava’s consecration. Meanwhile, the self-controlled King Daśaratha, ever eager to bring joy to his beloved, entered the inner apartments and made his way to Kaikeyi’s finest chamber. The chamber resembled the sky with pale clouds, the moon seized by Rāhu, filled with the cries of peacocks and barhin birds, and resounding with cranes and swans. It echoed with the music of instruments, was filled with hunchbacked and dwarf maidservants, adorned with bowers and painted chambers, and beautified by campaka and aśoka trees. There were platforms of ivory, silver, and gold, ever-flowering, fruit-laden trees, and pools of water. The finest seats of ivory, silver, and gold were set out, and all manner of foods and drinks were supplied. The palace was adorned with precious ornaments, shining like the abode of the gods. But the great king did not see his wife Kaikeyi upon her excellent bed. Filled with desire and longing for her company, the lord of men searched for her. Not finding his beloved, he inquired after her and became dejected, for never before had the queen stayed away at such a time. Nor had he ever entered an empty chamber. Having come to the chamber, the king asked after Kaikeyi. Unaware, as before, of her selfish intent and lack of wisdom, the king questioned the doorkeeper. The doorkeeper, frightened, with joined palms, replied, “Lord, the queen is greatly angered and has rushed to the chamber of wrath.” Hearing these words, the king became deeply troubled.