King Dasharatha entered his chambers, longing for the company of his beloved wife, Kaikeyi. Yet, to his surprise, he did not find her upon her excellent bed. Desire and the anticipation of pleasure stirred within him, and the lord of men searched for her, his heart growing anxious at her absence. Not seeing his cherished queen, Dasharatha inquired after her, his spirits sinking. Never before had Kaikeyi stayed away from him at such a time, and the king had never entered his chambers to find them empty. Troubled, he sought word of her, asking those present about the queen’s whereabouts. Unaware of the storm brewing in Kaikeyi’s heart, ignorant of her selfish intent and clouded wisdom, the king questioned those nearby. The doorkeeper, visibly frightened, joined his palms in respect and spoke, “Lord, the queen is greatly angered and has withdrawn to the chamber of wrath.” Hearing these words, Dasharatha’s heart was seized by deep worry. His mind disturbed, he became despondent as he made his way to the chamber. There, he saw Kaikeyi lying on the bare ground in a manner wholly unbefitting her station and grace. The lord of the earth, as if scorched by sorrow, beheld his youthful wife—dearer to him than life itself—cast down upon the floor. Though Dasharatha was sinless, he saw Kaikeyi, whose mind was now fixed on dark intent, lying there like a creeper cut and cast aside, like a fallen goddess. She seemed like a kinnari cast away, like an apsaras banished from the heavens, like an illusion dispelled, like a deer ensnared and subdued. She lay as a wounded female elephant might, struck by a poisoned arrow from a hunter in the forest, her spirit afflicted by deep distress and affection. Wiping his face with trembling hands, his mind in turmoil, the passionate king addressed the lotus-eyed Kaikeyi, his voice full of concern. “O lady, I know of no anger harbored in your heart. Who has accused you? Who has insulted you?” “O blessed one, why do you lie on the ground, covered in dust, causing me such sorrow, when my mind is ever devoted to your happiness? Has some being troubled your mind and thus disturbed my own heart? I have skilled physicians, all loyal and capable. They will restore you to joy—tell me, beautiful one, what ails you? Or is there some cherished wish I have not 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. Tell me—who, though not deserving death, should be slain? Who, though deserving death, should be spared? Who that is poor should become wealthy, or who that is rich should be made destitute?” “Both I and all that is mine are under your command; I cannot refuse any wish of yours. Speak your heart, even if it costs me my life. Knowing my strength and devotion, you should not doubt me. I swear by my merit, I will fulfill your desire. As long as the wheel of time turns, so long as this earth is mine, I promise you.” “The Dravidas, Sindhus, Sauvīras, Saurāṣṭras, the peoples of the south, Vaṅgas, Aṅgas, Magadhas, Matsyas, the prosperous Kāśis and Kosalas—all these lands are rich in 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 disperse it for you as the sun disperses the mist.” Thus addressed and comforted, Kaikeyi, gathering herself to speak the harsh words she had resolved upon, began to press her husband for his promise. Now begins the eleventh chapter of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, in the Ayodhyā section. Kaikeyi, her heart hardened, spoke sternly to the king, who was still pierced by the arrows of love and overcome by longing. “O lord, I have not been wronged or insulted by anyone. But there is a wish that dwells in my heart, and I desire that you fulfill it. Swear to your promise, if you truly wish to grant it; then I will reveal my heart’s desire.” The king, with a gentle smile, spoke to his beloved Kaikeyi, 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 dearer to me than life itself—I swear to you, speak whatever is in your heart.” “I could not live even a moment without seeing Rama; by him, O Kaikeyi, I swear to fulfill your word. By that Rama, whom I cherish above myself, my sons, and all others, O Kaikeyi, I vow to grant your request. Good lady, consider my words 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 swear by my own merit, I will fulfill your wish.” Delighted by these solemn vows, Kaikeyi revealed her dreadful intent, her words arriving like Death itself. “Since you swear and grant me a boon in due order, let the thirty-three gods, with Indra at their head, hear this. Let the moon and sun, the sky, the planets, night and day, the directions, the world, this earth, the Gandharvas, and all the Rakshasas bear witness. Let the night-wandering beings, spirits, household gods in the homes, and all other beings know what you have spoken. This one, steadfast in truth, of great splendor, knower of righteousness, truthful in speech and pure, grants me a boon—let all the gods hear.” And thus, Kaikeyi prepared to utter her fateful demand.