Kaikeyi, her heart ablaze with determination, spoke harsh and piercing words to King Dasharatha, who sat before her, overcome by the arrows of love and the force of desire. “O lord,” she began, “no one has wronged or insulted me. But there is a wish in my heart, and I desire that you fulfill it.” She pressed him further, “Swear to your promise, if you wish to grant it, and then I will reveal what I truly desire.” Dasharatha, smiling slightly at his beloved Kaikeyi, gently took her by the hair as she sat on the ground before him. “O proud one,” he said warmly, “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 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.” Delighted by these assurances, Kaikeyi revealed her dreadful intent, her resolve as terrible 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 in 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.” Embracing and praising Dasharatha, the mighty-armed king, Kaikeyi spoke further, her desire now fully awakened. “Remember, O king, what happened before in that battle between gods and demons, when an enemy endangered your life. There, O lord, I protected you, keeping watch and striving; for that, you granted me two boons. Those two boons, O lord, which you gave, I now seek to claim from you, O protector of the earth, O descendant of Raghu. If you do not grant me the boon you promised in righteousness, today, dishonored by you, I will give up my life.” With mere words, Kaikeyi brought the king under her control; Dasharatha, like a deer caught in a snare, moved toward his own destruction. She pressed on, “O lord, you had granted me two boons, and at that time you promised to give them, O king. Now I will declare those two boons to you today; listen to my words: the preparations for Rāghava’s consecration have been made. With that very consecration, let Bharata be anointed for me; this is the second boon, O lord, which you joyfully granted me. At that time, in the battle between gods and demons, you promised; now that time has come: let Rāma dwell in the Daṇḍaka forest for nine and five years. Let Rāma, steadfast and wearing bark and deerskin, become an ascetic; let Bharata today rule the kingdom without obstacle. This is my highest desire; I choose the boon you granted. And today, let me see Rāghava departing for the forest. Be a king of kings, true to your promise; protect your lineage, character, and birth. For in the next world, the sages say, truthfulness is the highest good for men.” Having heard Kaikeyi’s cruel words, the great king Dasharatha fell into deep thought for a moment, tormented by the enormity of her request. He wondered, “Is this a daydream of mine, or is my mind deluded? Or is it some affliction I have experienced, or a disturbance of my mind?” Thinking thus, the king found no comfort; regaining consciousness, he was tormented by Kaikeyi’s words. Distressed and bewildered, like a deer seeing a tigress, Dasharatha sat on the bare ground, breathing heavily. Like a serpent trapped in a circle, restrained by spells though full of deadly venom, the lord of men, in anger, uttered words of reproach. His mind overwhelmed by grief, he again fell into confusion; but after a long time, the king, deeply afflicted, regained his senses. Enraged and burning with his own energy, he spoke to Kaikeyi: “Cruel one, of wicked conduct, destroyer of this family! What wrong has Rāma done to you, or what sin have I committed, O wicked one? Rāghava has always behaved towards you as towards his own mother. For what reason, then, are you intent on this harm? You have been placed in this house by me, yet you seek my own destruction. Unaware, O princess, you are like a serpent with sharp poison; for when the whole world sings the praises of Rāma’s virtues—For what offense should I abandon my beloved son? I could even forsake Kausalya and Sumitra, or give up my own wealth.” Thus, the king’s heart was shattered, his mind tossed between love, duty, and despair, as Kaikeyi’s words echoed in the halls of Ayodhya, setting the stage for the sorrowful events that would soon unfold.