Be true to your word, O king of kings—protect your lineage, your character, and the honor of your birth. For, as the sages declare, in the next world, truthfulness stands as the highest good for men. Now, listen to the twelfth sarga of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, the Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa, sarga twelve. After hearing Kaikeyī’s harsh and cruel demands, the great King Daśaratha fell into deep and troubled thought. For a moment, he was utterly tormented, unable to comprehend what had befallen him. He wondered, “Is this a dream, or has my mind become deluded? Is this some affliction I have never known, or has my mind been disturbed?” Lost in such thoughts, the king found no peace. When he regained his senses, the pain of Kaikeyī’s words weighed heavily upon him. Distressed and bewildered, Daśaratha sat upon the bare ground, breathing heavily like a deer that has come face to face with a tigress. He was like a serpent, trapped in a circle and restrained by spells—full of deadly venom, yet powerless. In his anger, the lord of men spoke words of reproach, his mind overwhelmed by grief. Again, confusion seized him, but after a long while, he managed to regain his composure, though deeply afflicted. With his anger burning within him, Daśaratha addressed Kaikeyī: “Cruel one! Wicked in conduct, destroyer of this family! What wrong has Rāma done to you, or what sin have I committed, O wicked woman? Rāghava has always treated you as his own mother. Why, then, are you intent on causing such harm? I placed you in this house, and yet you seek my very ruin. “O princess, you are like a serpent filled with deadly poison, though none suspect it. The whole world sings of Rāma’s virtues. For what offense should I abandon my beloved son? I could forsake Kausalya and Sumitrā, or even give up my own wealth, but not Rāma. “If I do not see Rāma, I shall lose all consciousness. Can the world endure without the sun, or crops without water? Without Rāma, my life cannot remain in this body. Abandon this sinful resolve at once, I beg of you. “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 Raghava. “He is my eldest son, illustrious and foremost in righteousness. What you said, with gentle words, was only for the sake of service. Hearing that, tormented by grief, you now 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, for 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, Raghava is equal to Bharata, the great-souled one, in your eyes; for as a child, you often told me so. How, O timid one, can you desire exile to the forest for that righteous and renowned one, for fourteen years? How do you wish for that gentle soul, so delicate and devoted to righteousness, to dwell in the harsh forest? “O auspicious-eyed one, why do you desire the banishment of Rāma, who is charming and ever devoted to serving you? Indeed, Rāma serves you even more than Bharata does; I do not see any special regard from Bharata towards you in this matter. “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 in the palace, no reproach or slander is ever found against Raghava. “Rāma, the tiger among men, with a pure heart, wins over all beings with gentle words and the affection of the people. Raghava conquers the worlds by truth, the twice-born by charity, his elders by service, and his enemies in battle by the bow. Truthfulness, generosity, austerity, renunciation, friendship, purity, straightforwardness, learning, and service to elders—these qualities are steadfast in Rāghava. “In him, endowed with uprightness and equal to the gods, O lady, how can you wish for evil against Rāma, whose brilliance is like that of great sages? I do not recall ever speaking a harsh word to anyone, for I am one who speaks kindly to all; so how can I now, for your sake, speak to Rāma a word that is pleasing to you but painful to him? “In whom else but Rāma is there such patience, austerity, renunciation, truth, righteousness, gratitude, and even nonviolence toward all beings? Apart from him, where could I possibly turn? “You ought to show compassion to me, Kaikeyī, who am old, spent, devoted to austerity, wretched, and lamenting in my distress. Whatever can be obtained on earth, up to the ocean’s edge, I will give to you—all of it; but do not let anger take hold of you. “I fold my hands to you, Kaikeyī, and even touch your feet. Be the refuge of Rāma—let unrighteousness not touch me here.” Thus, overwhelmed by sorrow, lamenting, reeling, and sinking into unconsciousness, the great king was completely overcome by grief. Again and again, he pleaded for deliverance from this ocean of sorrow. But Kaikeyī, unmoved, replied to him with words even harsher than before: “If, having granted me the two boons, O king, you now regret it, how will you speak of your righteousness on earth, O hero?