Within the splendid palace of Ayodhyā, the atmosphere was as striking as the sky veiled by pale clouds, the moon obscured by Rāhu, and alive with the calls of peacocks and barhin birds. Crane and swan cries echoed through the halls, mingling with the music of instruments. The palace was filled with hunchbacked and dwarf maidservants, adorned with bowers and painted chambers, and beautified by campaka and aśoka trees. Ivory, silver, and gold platforms graced its spaces, surrounded by ever-flowering, fruit-laden trees and tranquil pools of water. The finest seats, crafted from ivory, silver, and gold, were arranged throughout, and the palace was supplied with all manner of foods, drinks, and delicacies. Precious ornaments shimmered everywhere, making the palace resemble the very abode of the gods. It was into this magnificent inner palace that the great king, Daśaratha, entered. Yet, when he looked for his beloved wife Kaikeyi, he did not see her upon the excellent bed. Filled with longing and desire, the lord of men searched for her. Not finding her, he asked after her, feeling dejected—for never before had Kaikeyi stayed away at such a moment. Nor had Daśaratha ever entered an empty chamber; but now, as he stepped into the chamber, he inquired about Kaikeyi. Unaware of her hidden, selfish intent and lack of wisdom, Daśaratha questioned the doorkeeper. The doorkeeper, frightened and with joined palms, replied, “Lord, the queen is greatly angered and has rushed to the chamber of wrath.” Hearing these words, the king became deeply troubled. His senses disturbed and agitated, he saw her lying on the ground in a manner unbefitting her station. As if scorched by sorrow, Daśaratha looked upon his youthful wife, dearer to him than life itself, lying there. Though he was sinless, he saw her, whose mind was set on evil, stretched out on the ground—like a creeper cut off, like a goddess fallen from grace, like a kinnari cast away or an apsaras fallen, like a vanished illusion or a deer subdued, like a female elephant wounded by a poisoned arrow in the forest, lying there in deep distress from affection, 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 Kaikeyi: “O lady, I do not know of any anger residing in you. 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? 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. The Dravidas, Sindhus, Sauvīras, Saurāṣṭras, peoples of the southern lands, Vaṅgas, Aṅgas, Magadhas, Matsyas, the prosperous Kāśis and Kosalas—there is abundant wealth, grain, and cattle born in those lands. Therefore, Kaikeyi, choose from them whatever your mind 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 addressed and comforted, Kaikeyi, wishing to speak her harsh request, began again to press her husband. Now, listen to the eleventh chapter in the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, in the Ayodhyā section. Kaikeyi spoke harsh words to the king, who was pierced by the arrows of love and overcome by the force of desire. “O lord, I have not been wronged or insulted by anyone,” she said, “but there is a certain 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, with a slight smile, spoke to Kaikeyi, his beloved, taking her by the hair as she sat on the ground. “O proud one, you do not realize that there is no one dearer to me than Rama, that tiger among men. By that unconquered, foremost, high-souled Raghava—by Rama, who is worthy of life—I swear to you, speak whatever is in your heart. I surely could not live even for a moment without seeing Rama; by him, O Kaikeyi, I swear to fulfill your word. By that Rama, whom I choose above myself, my sons, and all others, O Kaikeyi, I swear to fulfill your request. Good lady, consider this in your heart and grant me relief; reflect well, Kaikeyi, and tell me what you think is right. Seeing your own strength, you should not hesitate; I will fulfill your wish, I swear to you by my own merit.