Kaikeyi, overwhelmed by weakness and sorrow, lay prostrate upon the ground. Her brows were tightly furrowed, and as she cast aside her splendid garlands and divine ornaments, they fell scattered around her—rejected in her anguish. The chamber of anger became her resting place; there she lay, her garments soiled and her presence marring the beauty of the earth, just as stars sometimes seem to blemish the pure sky. Her hair was bound into a single, tight braid, and she resembled a kinnari bereft of life itself. Meanwhile, King Daśaratha had already set his mind on Rāghava’s consecration. Unaware of the turmoil that had seized his beloved, the self-controlled and illustrious king, who was ever a source of joy to his queens, entered the inner apartments. He made his way to Kaikeyi’s finest chamber, which resembled the sky veiled by pale clouds, the moon eclipsed by Rāhu. The room was alive with the calls of peacocks and barhin birds, and the cries of cranes and swans echoed within. The air was filled with the music of instruments, and the chamber was attended by hunchbacked and dwarf maidservants. Bowers and painted rooms adorned the palace, beautified further by campaka and aśoka trees. Platforms of ivory, silver, and gold were artfully arranged, surrounded by ever-flowering, fruit-laden trees and sparkling pools. The finest seats—crafted from ivory, silver, and gold—stood ready, and the chamber was supplied with an array of foods, drinks, and delicacies. Precious ornaments decorated the space, making it appear like the very abode of the gods. Into this splendid inner palace entered the great king. Yet, as he looked about, Daśaratha did not find Kaikeyi upon her excellent bed. Filled with longing and desire, the lord of men searched for her. Her absence troubled him deeply, for never before had she stayed away at such a time. The king, who had never entered an empty chamber before, began to inquire after her. Unaware of her hidden intentions and the selfishness that now clouded her wisdom, he questioned those present. A doorkeeper, trembling and with joined palms, replied, “Lord, the queen is greatly angered and has rushed to the chamber of wrath.” Hearing these words, the king was deeply troubled. His senses disturbed and agitated, Daśaratha entered and saw Kaikeyi lying on the ground in a manner wholly unbefitting her station. The lord of the earth, scorched by sorrow, gazed upon his youthful wife—dearer to him than life itself—lying there. Though he was sinless, he saw her, her mind set on a dark purpose, sprawled upon the floor like a creeper cut down, like a goddess fallen from grace. She resembled a kinnari cast away, a celestial apsaras brought low, a vanished illusion, or a deer subdued and captured. Like a wounded female elephant struck by a poisoned arrow in the forest, she lay in deep distress, her affection wounded, like a great elephant suffering in the wild. Daśaratha, his face clouded and his mind deeply troubled, gently wiped his face with his hands. Then, with passion and concern, he spoke to the lotus-eyed Kaikeyi: “I am unaware of any anger in you, O lady. By whom have you been accused, or by whom insulted? O blessed one, why do you lie here on the ground, covered in dust, bringing me such sorrow, when my heart is ever devoted to your happiness?” He continued, “It is as if your mind is afflicted by some unseen force, and it disturbs my own heart. I have skilled physicians, all loyal and capable—they will restore you to happiness. Tell me, beautiful one, what illness afflicts you? Or is there some dear wish you desire to be fulfilled, or has someone caused you harm?” “Who today has found great joy, or who has suffered great loss? Do not grieve, do not torment yourself, O lady. Tell me: who that is not to be slain should be slain, or who that is to be slain should be spared? Who among the poor should be made wealthy, or who among the rich should be made destitute?” “Both I and all that I possess are under your command, Kaikeyi. I am unable to refuse any wish of yours. Speak what is in your heart, even if it costs me my own life. You know my strength—do not doubt me. I swear to you by my own merit, I will fulfill your desire. As long as the wheel of time turns, so long as this earth is mine, all is yours.” “The Dravidas, Sindhus, Sauvīras, Saurāṣṭras, peoples of the south, Vaṅgas, Aṅgas, Magadhas, Matsyas, and the prosperous Kāśis and Kosalas—all these lands are rich in wealth, grain, and cattle. Choose from them whatever your heart desires, Kaikeyi.” “Why do you trouble yourself, fearful one? Rise, rise, O beautiful one! Tell me truly, Kaikeyi, what has brought you fear? I will dispel it for you, as the sun scatters the morning mist.” Thus comforted, Kaikeyi, her resolve hardening, prepared to speak the harsh request that weighed upon her heart. She pressed her husband once more. Now begins the eleventh chapter of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, in the Ayodhyā section. Kaikeyi addressed the king with harsh words, though he was already pierced by the arrows of love and overcome by desire for her. “O lord,” she said, “no one has wronged or insulted me. But there is a wish in my heart, and I desire that you fulfill it. Swear to your promise, if you truly wish to grant it—then I will tell you my heart’s desire.” The king, with a gentle smile, spoke to his beloved Kaikeyi as she sat on the ground, taking her by the hair. “O proud one, you do not realize that there is no one dearer to me than Rāma, that tiger among men.