When Kaikeyi, resting upon her pure couch, was praised by her attendant Manthara, she shone like a flame upon the altar. Manthara, with cunning words, urged her, “O blessed one, a bridge is useless when the water is gone. Arise, do what is auspicious—go and seek out the king.” Encouraged by Manthara, the queen—her eyes wide and unclouded by pride—rose and accompanied her to the chamber of anger. There, that noble lady, worthy of the finest things, removed her countless pearl necklaces and splendid ornaments, setting them aside. Golden-hued Kaikeyi, now under the sway of Manthara’s words, sat down upon the bare ground and spoke to her attendant, “O hunchback, you may tell the king I am 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 and drink; if Rāma is anointed, that will be the end of my life.” Emboldened, Manthara addressed the queen again, her words both helpful and harmful, “If Rāghava attains the kingdom, you and your son will suffer. Therefore, O noble lady, strive so that your son Bharata is anointed.” Struck again and again by Manthara’s sharp words, Kaikeyi, her hands pressed to her heart in astonishment and anger, reproached her attendant repeatedly, “When I have gone to the realm of Yama, you may report it, O hunchback; or, when Rāghava has gone to the forest, Bharata’s desires will be fulfilled and he will prosper. I desire neither bedding, nor garlands, nor sandalwood, nor ointments, nor food or drink; I wish for nothing, not even life itself, if Rāghava does not go to the forest from here.” Having uttered 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, now shadowed by rising anger, lost its brightness; her discarded garlands and jewels lay scattered, and she became despondent, like the darkened sky with its stars obscured. Listen now to the tenth sarga of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa. When the queen was harshly reproached by the sinful Manthara, she lay on the ground like a celestial nymph struck down by poison. Yet, having firmly resolved what must be done, the radiant queen slowly revealed her intentions to Manthara, with discernment. Distressed and determined, bewildered by Manthara’s words, she 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, seeing her aim achieved, was exceedingly pleased. The queen, now angered, made her resolve unshakable. Weak and dejected, she lay down on the ground, her brows furrowed, her splendid garlands and divine ornaments cast off, falling to the earth. She lay 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, and all the while, the great king had already ordered Rāghava’s consecration. Meanwhile, the self-controlled king, ever eager to bring joy to his beloved, entered the inner apartments and made his way to Kaikeyi’s finest chamber. The chamber was like the sky filled with pale clouds, the moon seized by Rāhu, resonant with the calls of peacocks and barhin birds, and the cries of cranes and swans. The air was filled with the music of instruments, attended by hunchbacked and dwarf maidservants, adorned with bowers and painted chambers, and beautified by campaka and aśoka trees. Platforms of ivory, silver, and gold stood about, graced with ever-flowering, fruit-laden trees and pools of water. The finest seats, foods, drinks, and all manner of delicacies abounded, and precious ornaments adorned the space, making it shine like the abode of the gods. Yet the king did not see Kaikeyi upon the excellent bed. Filled with desire and longing for her company, he searched for his beloved. Not finding her, he inquired after her, becoming dejected, for never before had the queen stayed away at such a time, nor had he ever entered an empty chamber. Troubled, he asked the doorkeeper, still unaware of Kaikeyi’s selfish intent. The frightened doorkeeper, palms joined, replied, “Lord, the queen is greatly angered and has rushed to the chamber of wrath.” Hearing this, the king grew deeply troubled and despondent, his senses disturbed. There he saw her, lying on the ground in a manner unbefitting her station. The lord of the earth, scorched by sorrow, beheld his youthful wife—dearer to him than life itself—lying there. Though sinless himself, he saw her, whose mind was set on a dark purpose, fallen on the ground like a creeper cut off, like a goddess fallen from the heavens. She seemed like a kinnari cast away, like an apsaras fallen, like a vanished illusion, or a deer subdued and caught. Like a female elephant wounded by a poisoned arrow in the forest, she lay there, deeply distressed from affection, like a great elephant stricken in the woods. Thus, the chamber of anger became the stage for Kaikeyi’s resolve, and the king, unknowing, entered a world transformed by her fateful choice.