With a heart heavy with grief, King Dasharatha turned to his beloved queen, Kaikeyi, his voice trembling. “O queen,” he said, “a dreadful calamity has befallen the noble house of the Ikshvakus. Once, your mind was guided by virtue, but now it seems to have gone astray.” He looked into her eyes, searching for the kindness he had always known. “Never before, O large-eyed one, have you done anything improper or displeasing to me. It is hard for me to believe what you now ask. Surely, Raghava—Rama—is as dear to you as Bharata, the great-souled one. When they were children, you often told me so yourself.” His sorrow deepened as he pleaded, “How, O timid one, can you desire exile for Rama, that righteous and renowned son, sending him to the forest for fourteen years? How can you wish for such a harsh fate for him, who is so delicate and whose mind is set only on righteousness?” Dasharatha’s voice grew softer, filled with pain. “O auspicious-eyed one, why do you desire the banishment of Rama, who is so charming and devoted in his service to you? Truly, Rama serves you with more devotion than even Bharata does. I see no special regard from Bharata towards you that exceeds Rama’s.” He continued, “Who else, apart from that best of men, would show greater service, respect, and obedience in both word and deed? Among the many thousands of women and dependents in this palace, never have I heard a word of reproach or slander against Raghava.” “Rama, the tiger among men, with a pure heart, wins over all with gentle words and wins the affection of the people. He conquers the worlds by his truth, the twice-born by his charity, his elders by his service, and his enemies in battle by his bow. Truthfulness, generosity, austerity, renunciation, friendship, purity, straightforwardness, learning, and service to elders—all these virtues are steadfast in Raghava.” The king’s voice broke as he asked, “In him, endowed with uprightness and brilliance like that of great sages, how can you wish for evil, O lady, against Rama, who is equal to the gods? I do not recall ever speaking a harsh word to anyone, being one who speaks kindly to all. So how can I, for your sake, speak to Rama a word that would please you, but bring him pain?” “In whom else could I possibly turn, apart from him, who embodies patience, austerity, renunciation, truth, righteousness, gratitude, and nonviolence toward all beings?” He appealed to her compassion. “You ought to show kindness to me, Kaikeyi, 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 it all to you—only do not let anger take hold of you.” With hands folded and in utter humility, Dasharatha pleaded, “I fold my hands to you, Kaikeyi, and even touch your feet. Be the refuge of Rama—let unrighteousness not touch me here.” Overwhelmed by sorrow, lamenting, and nearly fainting, the great king was completely overcome by grief. Again and again he pleaded for deliverance from this ocean of sorrow. But Kaikeyi, unmoved, replied with words even harsher than before. “If, having granted me two boons, O king, you now regret it, how will you speak of your righteousness on earth, O hero?” she demanded. “When many royal sages assemble with you and speak of dharma, what will you say in reply? Will you confess, ‘I lived by her favor, and she protected me, yet I deceived her—Kaikeyi’?” She pressed on, “You will bring disgrace upon the kings, O lord of men, if, after granting a boon, you now speak otherwise. Shaibya gave his own flesh to a bird in the tale of the hawk and the dove; Alarka, giving up his eyes, attained the highest state. The ocean, having made a vow, does not cross its boundary; do not break your promise, remembering what was done before.” Her words grew sharper. “So you, abandoning righteousness and installing Rama as king, wish always to enjoy yourself with Kausalya, O wicked-minded one. Let it be unrighteousness or righteousness, truth or falsehood—whatever you have promised to me, there can be no violation of it. For I will drink poison right now, here before you, and die before your eyes if Rama is anointed king.” She added, “If I could see Rama’s mother for even a single day, accepting my salutation, surely death would be better for me. By Bharata and by myself, O king of men, I swear to you: I would not be pleased by anything except Rama’s exile.” Having spoken thus, Kaikeyi fell silent and did not reply further to the king’s lament. Hearing Kaikeyi’s resolute words about Rama’s exile to the forest and Bharata’s sovereignty, the king, his senses disturbed, could not speak for a moment. He gazed at her, unmoving, though her words were so unpleasant. The king was filled with grief and sorrow, his heart crushed as if by thunder; he found no happiness in her words. Reflecting on the queen’s resolve and her dreadful oath, the king sighed, “Rama,” and collapsed like a tree felled to the ground. His mind lost, like one mad and confused, his vigor gone, he became like a serpent deprived of its strength. With a weak and distressed voice, Dasharatha spoke to Kaikeyi, “Who has advised you to commit this ruinous act, which appears as benefit? You speak to me without shame, as if your mind is possessed by spirits; I never knew this vice in your character before. But now, I see in you, as in a child, this reversal. From where has this fear arisen, that you have chosen such a boon?” Thus, the king, bewildered and broken, pleaded in vain with Kaikeyi, unable to comprehend the change that had overtaken her heart.