Kaikeyi, her heart ablaze with anger and distress, spoke bitterly to her attendant Mantharā. “When I depart for the realm of Yama, you may announce it, O hunchback. Or, if Rāghava is sent away to the forest for a long time, then Bharata, his wishes fulfilled, will prosper.” She declared, “I no longer desire a bed, 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 uttered these dreadful words, the radiant queen cast aside her ornaments and lay down upon the bare ground, as though a celestial nymph had fallen from grace. Her face, shrouded by the darkness of rising wrath, with the finest garlands and jewels now discarded, reflected deep despondency—like the sky obscured by night, its stars hidden. Thus begins the tenth sarga of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa. When Kaikeyi was harshly reproached by the sinful hunchback Mantharā, she lay on the ground like a celestial nymph struck down by poison. Resolute in her mind, the radiant queen slowly revealed her intentions to Mantharā, discerning each step. Distressed and determined, bewildered by Mantharā’s words, Kaikeyi sighed long and hot, like a serpent maiden in turmoil. For a moment, she pondered what would bring her happiness; and, devoted to her friend and her own interests, she made her decision after hearing Mantharā’s counsel. Mantharā, seeing Kaikeyi’s resolve, became exceedingly pleased, as if her aim had been accomplished. The queen, now angered, made her resolve firm. Weak and dejected, Kaikeyi lay on the ground, her brows furrowed. Her splendid garlands and divine ornaments—cast off in her anguish—fell to the floor. 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, resembling a kinnari bereft of life, while 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, seeking Kaikeyi’s finest chamber. The chamber was like the sky covered with pale clouds, the moon seized by Rāhu, filled with peacocks and barhin birds, resounding with the cries of cranes and swans. It 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. The room was furnished with platforms of ivory, silver, and gold, graced with ever-flowering, fruit-bearing trees and pools of water. The finest seats of ivory, silver, and gold were set out, and the room was supplied with all kinds of foods, drinks, and delicacies. Adorned with precious ornaments, it was like the abode of the gods. Thus, the great king entered his splendid inner palace. But the king did not see his wife Kaikeyi on her excellent bed. Filled with desire and longing for pleasure, the lord of men searched for her. Not seeing his beloved wife, he inquired 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; so, having gone to the chamber, he asked about Kaikeyi. Unaware of her selfish intent and lack of wisdom, the king questioned the attendants. The doorkeeper, frightened and with joined palms, replied, “Lord, the queen is greatly angered and has rushed to the chamber of wrath.” Hearing this, the king became deeply troubled. He grew despondent again, his senses disturbed and agitated; and there he saw her lying on the ground, in a manner unbefitting her station. The lord of the earth, as if scorched by sorrow, saw his youthful wife—dearer to him than life itself—lying there. Though sinless himself, he saw her, whose mind was set on evil, lying on the ground—like a creeper cut off, like a goddess fallen. She was like a kinnari cast away, like a fallen apsaras, like a vanished delusion, 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, like a great elephant in the woods. Wiping his face with his hands, his mind deeply troubled, the passionate king spoke to the lotus-eyed lady: “I do not know of any anger residing in you, O lady. By whom have you been accused, or by whom have you been insulted? O blessed one, why do you lie on the ground, covered in dust, causing me such sorrow, when my mind is devoted to your welfare? It is as if your mind is afflicted by some being, disturbing my own heart. I have skilled physicians, all well-pleased and capable. They will restore you to happiness. Tell me, beautiful one, what illness afflicts you? Or is there some dear wish to be fulfilled, or has someone done you harm?” He continued, “Who today has gained great joy, or who has suffered great harm? Do not grieve, do not torment yourself, O lady. Who that is not to be slain should be slain, or who that is to be slain should be released? Who that is poor should become wealthy, or who that is rich should become destitute? Both I and all that is mine are under your command; I am not able to refuse any wish of yours. Speak what is in your heart, even at the cost of my own life. Knowing my strength, you should not doubt me. I will fulfill your desire, I swear to you by my merit. As long as the wheel of time turns, so long is this earth mine.” Thus, the king, deeply troubled and devoted, sought to understand the cause of Kaikeyi’s anguish, offering her everything in his power.