Kaikeyī, filled with longing and desire, lovingly embraced and praised the mighty-armed king Daśaratha. Then, turning to the boon-giver, she spoke further, her heart set on her purpose: “Remember, O king, what happened long ago in that fierce battle between the gods and the demons, when your very life was endangered by an enemy. There, O lord, I guarded you, keeping watch and striving with all my might. For that, you granted me two boons. “Now, O protector of the earth, descendant of Raghu, I seek to claim those two boons you once promised me. If you do not grant the boons you swore to give in righteousness, then today, dishonored by you, I will give up my life.” With these words, the king was ensnared by Kaikeyī, as if caught in a hunter’s trap, helpless and drawn toward his own ruin. Kaikeyī pressed on, addressing the king who was now overcome by desire and infatuation: “O lord, you gave me two boons, and at that time you promised to fulfill them. Now, hear me as I declare what I wish. “The preparations for Rāghava’s consecration have been made. With that very ceremony, let Bharata be anointed king for me; this is the first boon I choose, which you joyfully granted me. And for the second: as you promised in that ancient battle, now let Rāma dwell in the Daṇḍaka forest for fourteen years. Let him, steadfast and clad in bark and deerskin, live as an ascetic, while Bharata rules the kingdom without obstacle. “This is my highest desire. I choose the boons you granted, and today, let me see Rāghava departing for the forest. Be true to your word, O king of kings; protect your lineage, your character, and your noble birth. For in the next world, the sages say, truthfulness is the highest good for men.” Thus concludes the eleventh sarga of the Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa in the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa. The twelfth sarga begins: When the great king Daśaratha heard Kaikeyī’s cruel words, he fell into deep and troubled thought, tormented as if by a nightmare. He questioned himself: “Is this a dream, or is my mind deluded? Is some affliction upon me, or is my mind disturbed?” Lost in confusion, he found no comfort, and when he regained his senses, Kaikeyī’s words continued to torment him. Distressed and bewildered, like a deer facing a tigress, he sank to the bare ground, breathing heavily. He was like a venomous serpent trapped in a circle, restrained by spells, helpless despite his strength. Overcome by anger, the lord of men spoke words of reproach. His mind was overwhelmed by grief, and again he fell into confusion, but after a long while, deeply afflicted, he regained his senses. Burning with rage, 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 treated you as his own mother. “For what reason, then, are you intent on this harm? You have been honored in this house by me, yet now you seek my own destruction. Unaware, O princess, you are like a serpent with sharp poison. When the whole world sings Rāma’s virtues, for what offense should I abandon my beloved son? I could forsake Kausalyā and Sumitrā, or give up my own wealth, but not Rāma. “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, abandon this sinful resolve at once. I am ready to bow my head at your feet—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; as a child, you often told me so. “How, O timid one, do you desire the exile to the forest for that righteous and renowned one for fourteen years? How do you wish for such a harsh forest dwelling for him, who is so delicate and whose mind is set on righteousness? O auspicious-eyed one, why do you desire the banishment of Rāma, who is charming and devoted to serving you? Indeed, Rāma always serves you more than Bharata does; I do not see any special regard from Bharata towards you in this. “Who else, apart from that best of men, would show greater service, respect, and obedience in word and deed? Among the many thousands of women and dependents, no reproach or slander is ever found against Rāghava.” Thus, Daśaratha, torn by grief and disbelief, pleaded with Kaikeyī, unable to accept her harsh demand and the calamity that now threatened his house.