Delighted by the king’s words, Kaikeyī revealed her dreadful intent, her face set and unyielding, like Death itself arriving to claim its due. With a determined voice, she declared, “Since you have sworn and promised me a boon in the proper manner, let the thirty-three gods, with Indra at their head, bear witness to this moment.” She invoked the moon and sun, the vast sky, the planets, night and day, the directions, the world itself, the very earth beneath them, the Gandharvas and all the Rakshasas, calling them all to witness her words. She called upon the night-wandering beings, spirits, the household gods in every home, and all other beings to know what the king had spoken. “This one,” she proclaimed, “steadfast in truth, of great splendor, knower of righteousness, ever truthful and pure, grants me a boon—let all the gods hear it.” Embracing and praising the mighty-armed king, Kaikeyī, overcome by her desire, spoke further to the boon-giver. “Remember, O king, what happened before, in that great battle between gods and demons, when your enemy endangered your very life. 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 from you. If you do not grant me the boon you promised in righteousness, then today, dishonored by you, I will give up my life.” By her mere words, the king was ensnared and brought under Kaikeyī’s control, as helpless as a deer caught in a hunter’s trap, moving unwittingly toward his own ruin. She pressed on, repeating her demand to the king, who was overcome by desire and infatuation: “O lord, you granted me two boons, and at that time you promised to fulfill them, O king. Now I will declare those two boons to you; listen well. The preparations for Rāghava’s consecration have been made. With that very consecration, let Bharata be anointed for me—this is the first boon. The second boon, O lord, which you joyfully granted me, is this: as you promised in the battle between gods and demons, let Rāma dwell in the Daṇḍaka forest for fourteen years. “Let Rāma, steadfast and wearing bark and deerskin, become an ascetic in the wilderness, while Bharata today rules 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, your character, and your birthright. For in the next world, the sages say, truthfulness is the highest good for men.” Thus concludes the twelfth sarga in the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa. Having heard Kaikeyī’s cruel words, the great king Daśaratha fell into deep thought for a moment, tormented beyond measure. He wondered, “Is this a daydream of mine, or is my mind deluded? Is it some affliction or disturbance of my mind?” Lost in confusion, the king found no comfort; regaining his senses, he remained tormented by Kaikeyī’s words. Distressed and bewildered, like a deer confronted by a tigress, he 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, burning with anger, uttered words of reproach. Overwhelmed by grief, he again fell into confusion, but after a long time, the deeply afflicted king regained his composure. Enraged and burning with his own energy, he addressed 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 towards you as toward his own mother. For what reason, then, are you intent on this harm? I placed you in this house, 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 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? But 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. O queen, a great calamity has come upon the house of the Ikṣvākus, where your mind, once guided by virtue, has turned astray. Never before, O large-eyed one, did you do anything improper or displeasing to me; therefore, I cannot believe this of you. “Surely, Rāghava is equal to Bharata, the great-souled one, in your eyes; for as a child, you often told me so. How, O timid one, do you now desire the exile to the forest for that righteous and renowned one for fourteen years?” Thus, the king, torn by grief and disbelief, pleaded with Kaikeyī, unable to comprehend the depth of her resolve.