Kaikeyi lay upon the floor of the chamber of anger, her fine garments soiled and her presence lending a sense of disorder to the place, much as scattered stars can mar the clarity of the night sky. Her hair was bound tightly in a single braid, and she appeared as lifeless as a kinnari bereft of her spirit. All this unfolded while the great king, Daśaratha, had already commanded that Rāghava—his beloved Rama—be consecrated as heir. Unaware of the storm brewing within his queen, the self-controlled and illustrious king, whose very presence could delight the hearts of his loved ones, entered his splendid inner apartments. He made his way to Kaikeyi’s most magnificent chamber, which was as resplendent as the sky streaked with pale clouds and the moon eclipsed by Rāhu. The chamber was alive with the cries of peacocks and barhin birds, and echoed with the calls of cranes and swans. The air was filled with the music of many instruments, and the rooms were bustling with hunchbacked and dwarf maidservants. Every corner was adorned with bowers and painted alcoves, beautified by blooming campaka and aśoka trees. There were platforms of ivory, silver, and gold, and the chamber was graced with ever-flowering, fruit-bearing trees and pools of clear water. The finest seats—of ivory, silver, and gold—were laid out, and the rooms were supplied with all manner of foods, drinks, and delicacies. Precious ornaments sparkled everywhere, making the place resemble the very abode of the gods. Yet, when Daśaratha entered this splendid palace, he did not see his beloved Kaikeyi on her excellent bed. Filled with longing and desire, the lord of men searched for her. Her absence troubled him, for never before had she withdrawn from him at such a time. He had never before found her chamber empty, and so, deeply concerned, he inquired after her. Unaware of the darkness that had taken root in her heart, the king asked about her, his mind still innocent of her true intent. The doorkeeper, frightened and with hands joined, replied, “Lord, the queen is greatly angered and has rushed to the chamber of wrath.” Hearing this, the king’s heart was deeply troubled. His senses disturbed, Daśaratha entered the chamber of wrath and saw Kaikeyi lying on the ground in a manner unfitting her royal station. It was as though he, the lord of the earth, was scorched by sorrow at the sight of his youthful wife—dearer to him than life itself—lying thus. Though he himself was sinless, he saw Kaikeyi, her mind set on a dark purpose, stretched out on the floor: like a creeper cut and cast down, like a goddess fallen from grace, like a kinnari abandoned, like an apsaras cast away, like a vanished illusion, or a deer subdued and captured. She seemed like a great female elephant, wounded by a hunter’s poisoned arrow, lying in distress in the forest. Wiping his troubled face with his hands, Daśaratha, his mind weighed down by worry, spoke gently to his lotus-eyed queen: “I know of no anger in you, O lady. Who has accused you? Who has insulted you? Why do you lie on the ground, covered in dust, causing 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, disturbing 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 cherished wish unfulfilled, or has someone done you harm?” “Who today has gained great joy, or who has suffered great harm? Do not grieve, do not torment yourself, O lady. Tell me: who should be punished or spared? Who that is poor should become wealthy, or who that is rich should lose their fortune? Both I and all that is mine are under your command; I cannot deny you anything. Speak what is in your heart, even if it costs me my own life. You know my power—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 is this earth mine. The Dravidas, Sindhus, Sauvīras, Saurāṣṭras, the peoples of the southern lands, the Vaṅgas, Aṅgas, Magadhas, Matsyas, and the prosperous Kāśis and Kosalas—all these lands are filled with wealth, grain, and cattle. Kaikeyi, choose from them whatever your heart desires.” “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 disperses the mist.” Thus comforted by her husband’s words, Kaikeyi, resolved to speak her harsh request, began again to press him. Now, Kaikeyi spoke—her words sharp as arrows—to the king, who was overcome by love and desire for her. “O lord, I have not been wronged or insulted by anyone,” she said. “But there is a wish in my heart, and I desire that you fulfill it. Swear to your promise, if you wish to grant it; then I will tell you what I truly desire.” The king, smiling slightly, took her gently by the hair as she sat there on the ground, and said, “O proud one, do you not know that there is no one dearer to me than Rama, that tiger among men? By that unconquered, high-souled Raghava—by Rama, who is my very life—I swear to you, speak whatever is in your heart. I could not live even for a moment without seeing Rama. By him, O Kaikeyi, I swear to fulfill your word.