When King Daśaratha did not see his beloved wife Kaikeyi at the usual time, he became anxious and disheartened, for never before had the queen stayed away from him in such a manner. It was also unlike the king to enter an empty chamber, but now, compelled by worry, he went to her rooms and inquired about her whereabouts. Unaware of her hidden intentions and the change in her heart, the king asked after her as he always had, with trust and affection. The doorkeeper, however, stood before him, palms joined in fear, and spoke with trembling voice: “Lord, the queen is greatly angered and has hastened to the Chamber of Wrath.” Hearing these words, Daśaratha’s heart became heavy with distress. His mind agitated and his senses disturbed, he went to see her. There he found Kaikeyi lying on the bare ground, her posture and appearance unbefitting a queen. The lord of the earth, scorched by sorrow, beheld his youthful wife—dearer to him than life itself—lying on the floor. Though he himself was without sin, he saw her, whose mind was now set on a dark purpose, sprawled like a creeper cut from its support, like a goddess fallen from her celestial place. She seemed like a kinnari cast away, like an apsaras banished from heaven, like a vanished illusion, or a deer caught and subdued. She lay there, deeply distressed, like a great female elephant wounded by a poisoned arrow in the forest. Daśaratha, wiping his troubled face with his hands, spoke gently to his lotus-eyed queen, his heart filled with passion and confusion. “I know of no anger held within you, O lady. Who has accused you? Who has insulted you? Why do you lie here on the ground, covered in dust, causing me such sorrow, when my heart is ever devoted to your happiness? It is as if some being has afflicted your mind, disturbing my own heart as well. If you are ill, I have skilled physicians—tell me, beautiful one, what ails you? Or is there some deep wish yet unfulfilled, or has someone wronged you?” “Who today has gained great joy, or who has suffered harm? Do not grieve, do not torment yourself, O lady. Tell me: who, that is not to be slain, should be slain? 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 cannot refuse any wish of yours. Speak what is in your heart, even if it costs me my own life. Knowing my strength, you should not doubt me. I swear by my own merit, I will fulfill your desire. As long as the wheel of time turns, so long as this earth is mine, I promise you.” He continued, “The Dravidas, Sindhus, Sauvīras, Saurāṣṭras, the peoples of the southern lands, 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 dispel it as the sun disperses the morning mist.” Thus addressed and comforted, Kaikeyi, though wishing to speak a harsh and dreadful request, began again to press her husband. At this point, the narrative continues into the eleventh chapter of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, in the Ayodhyā section. Kaikeyi then spoke harshly to the king, who was still pierced by love’s arrows and overcome by longing 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, and then I will tell you what I desire.” The king, with a gentle smile, spoke to Kaikeyi, his beloved, taking her by the hair as she sat on the ground. “O proud one, do you not realize that there is no one dearer to me than Rāma, that tiger among men? By that unconquered, noble Rāghava—by Rāma, who is dearer than life itself—I swear to you, speak whatever is in your heart. I surely could not live for a moment without seeing Rāma. By him, O Kaikeyi, I swear to fulfill your word. By that Rāma, whom I choose above myself, my sons, and all others, I swear to grant your request. Good lady, reflect well and tell me what you think is right. Do not hesitate, seeing your own strength; I will fulfill your wish, I swear by my own merit.” Delighted by these words, Kaikeyi revealed her dreadful intent, her presence as ominous as Death itself arriving. “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, 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.” Thus, having embraced and praised the mighty-armed king, the queen, overcome by desire, prepared to speak her wish to the boon-giver.