Mantharā, the hunchbacked maid, urged Queen Kaikeyī, “When the water is gone, a bridge is useless, O blessed one. Arise, do what is auspicious, and seek out the king.” Encouraged by these words, Kaikeyī, her eyes wide and untouched by pride, went with Mantharā to the chamber of anger. There, the noble queen, who was worthy of the finest, removed her countless pearl necklaces and splendid ornaments. Now golden-hued and swayed by the hunchback’s counsel, Kaikeyī sat down on the bare ground and spoke to Mantharā: “Here, O hunchback, you may tell the king that I am dead; but when Rāghava goes to the forest, Bharata will obtain the kingdom. I have no desire for gold, jewels, or food and drink; this is the end of my life if Rāma is anointed.” Mantharā, emboldened, addressed the queen again, offering both helpful and harmful advice concerning Rāma: “If Rāghava surely attains this kingdom, then you and your son will suffer. Therefore, O noble lady, strive so that your son Bharata will be anointed.” Struck again and again by Mantharā’s sharp words, Kaikeyī, her hands pressed to her heart in astonishment and anger, reproached the hunchback repeatedly. She said, “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, his desires fulfilled, will prosper. I do not desire bedding, garlands, sandalwood, ointments, food, or drink. I wish for nothing here—not even life itself—if Rāghava does not go to the forest.” Having uttered these dreadful words, Kaikeyī set aside all her ornaments and lay down upon the bare ground, as if a celestial nymph had fallen. Her face was shadowed by the darkness of rising anger, her finest garlands and jewels cast off. The king’s wife became despondent, like the sky veiled in darkness with its stars obscured. Listen now to the tenth sarga in 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 decided what must be done, Kaikeyī slowly revealed everything 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. The queen, now angered, made her resolve firm. Weak and dejected, she lay down on the ground, her brows furrowed. Her splendid garlands and divine ornaments, cast off by Kaikeyī, 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, worthy of bringing joy to his beloved, entered the inner apartments and proceeded to Kaikeyī’s finest chamber. It was like the sky with pale clouds, the moon seized by Rāhu, filled with peacocks and barhin birds, resounding with the cries of cranes and swans. The chamber echoed with the music of instruments, was filled with hunchbacked and dwarf maidservants, adorned with bowers and painted chambers, beautified by campaka and aśoka trees. Platforms of ivory, silver, and gold graced the room, along with ever-flowering, fruit-bearing trees and pools of water. The finest seats of ivory, silver, and gold were covered, and the room was supplied with various foods, drinks, and delicacies. Adorned with precious ornaments, it was like the abode of the gods. The great king entered his splendid inner palace, but he did not see Kaikeyī on the excellent bed. Filled with desire and longing for pleasure, the lord of men searched for her. Not finding his beloved, he asked after her and became dejected, for never before had the queen stayed away at such a time. Nor had the king ever entered an empty chamber. Having gone to the chamber, he inquired about Kaikeyī. Unaware, as before, of her selfish intent and lack of wisdom, the king asked; but the doorkeeper, frightened, with joined palms, spoke: “Lord, the queen is greatly angered and has rushed to the chamber of wrath.” Hearing this, the king became deeply troubled. He became despondent again, his senses disturbed and agitated. There he saw her lying on the ground, in a manner unbefitting her. The lord of the earth, as if scorched by sorrow, saw his youthful wife, dearer than life itself, lying there. Sinless himself, he saw her, whose mind was set on evil, lying on the ground—like a creeper cut off, like a goddess fallen. Like a kinnari cast away, like a fallen apsaras, like a delusion that has vanished, like a deer caught and subdued. Like a female elephant wounded by a poisoned arrow from a hunter in the forest, she lay there, deeply distressed from affection, like a great elephant in the woods. Wiping his face with his hands, his mind deeply troubled, the passionate king spoke these words to the lotus-eyed lady.