King Daśaratha, his heart overwhelmed with sorrow, turned to Kaikeyī and spoke in a voice trembling with emotion, “Without seeing Rāma, I cannot live even for a moment. By him, O Kaikeyī, I swear to fulfill your word.” He continued, “By that Rāma—whom I cherish above myself, above my sons, above all others—I swear to grant your request, Kaikeyī. Good lady, consider this sincerely in your heart and grant me relief; reflect well and tell me what you deem right. Do not hesitate, seeing your own strength. I will fulfill your wish, I swear to you by my own merit.” Hearing these solemn vows, Kaikeyī’s face lit up with delight. Yet, like Death itself arriving, she revealed her dreadful intent. “Since you swear and grant me a boon as promised, let the thirty-three gods, with Indra at their head, be witness to this. Let the moon and sun, the sky, the planets, night and day, the directions, the world, this earth, the Gandharvas, and all the Rakṣasas 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.” Thus, Kaikeyī, embracing and praising the mighty-armed Daśaratha, spoke further to her husband, her heart burning with desire. “Remember, O king, what happened before in that battle between gods and demons, when your life was in peril. There, O lord, I protected you, keeping watch and striving for your safety. For that, you granted me two boons. Those two boons, O protector of the earth, O descendant of Raghu, I now seek to claim. If you do not grant me what you promised, today, dishonored by you, I will give up my life.” By her words alone, the king was ensnared and brought under Kaikeyī’s control, like a deer caught in a hunter’s snare, moving helplessly toward his own ruin. She pressed on, saying to the king, now overcome by desire and confusion, “O lord, you had granted me two boons, and at that time you promised to fulfill them. Now I will declare those 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 fourteen 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.” Thus concludes the eleventh sarga; now listen to the twelfth in the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa. Hearing Kaikeyī’s cruel words, King Daśaratha fell into deep thought, tormented and shaken. He wondered, “Is this a daydream? Is my mind deluded? Or is it some affliction I am experiencing, a disturbance of my mind?” Lost in confusion, the king found no comfort. Regaining consciousness, but deeply troubled by Kaikeyī’s words, he sat on the bare ground, breathing heavily, distressed and bewildered like a deer caught in the gaze of a tigress. Like a serpent trapped in a circle, restrained by spells though full of deadly venom, the lord of men, filled with anger, uttered words of reproach. His mind overwhelmed by grief, he again fell into confusion; but after a long while, deeply afflicted, he regained his senses. Enraged, burning with his own energy, he spoke to Kaikeyī, “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 toward you as toward 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 Kausalyā and Sumitrā, or give up my own wealth. If I do not see Rāma, my consciousness will be lost; can the world remain without the sun, or crops without water? Without Rāma, my life cannot remain in this body; therefore, let this sinful resolve be abandoned at once. I am ready to touch your feet with my head—be gracious to me. Why have you conceived such a dreadful thought, O sinful one? If you wish to test my affection or aversion for Bharata, let it be as you previously declared regarding Rāghava. He is my eldest son, illustrious and foremost in righteousness; what you, who speak kindly, said was only for the sake of service. Hearing that, tormented by grief, you cause me great pain; you have become possessed in this empty house, now fallen under another’s control.” Thus, the king pleaded in anguish, torn between his love for Rāma and the terrible boons claimed by Kaikeyī, his heart drowning in sorrow and confusion.