Within the palace, the noble qualities of Rāghava shone resplendent. Truthfulness, generosity, austerity, renunciation, friendship, purity, straightforwardness, learning, and devoted service to elders—all these virtues were steadfast in him. How, then, could anyone, especially you, O lady, wish harm upon Rāma, whose brilliance rivals that of the great sages and whose uprightness is worthy of the gods? I have never uttered a harsh word to anyone, being one who always speaks kindly. So how could I, for your sake, now speak to Rāma a word that might please you but would bring pain to him? In Rāma reside patience, austerity, renunciation, truth, righteousness, gratitude, and nonviolence toward all beings. Apart from him, where could I possibly turn? Kaikeyī, you should show compassion to me, an old and spent man, devoted to austerity, wretched and overwhelmed by sorrow. Whatever can be obtained upon this earth, even to the ocean’s edge, I would give it all to you—only do not let anger overtake you. With folded hands, I beg you, Kaikeyī, even touching your feet: be the refuge of Rāma, and let not unrighteousness touch me here. But, overwhelmed by sorrow, lamenting and nearly unconscious, the great king was defeated by his grief. Again and again, he pleaded for deliverance from this ocean of sorrow, yet Kaikeyī replied with words even harsher than before. “O king, if you now regret the two boons you granted me, how will you speak of your righteousness on earth? When royal sages gather and speak of dharma, what will you say? Will you admit, ‘I lived by her favor, she protected me, yet I deceived Kaikeyī’? You will bring disgrace upon kings if, after giving your word, you now speak otherwise. Remember Shaibya, who gave his own flesh to a bird, and Alarka, who gave up his eyes to attain the highest state. The ocean, having made a vow, never crosses its boundary—do not break your promise, recalling these deeds of the past. You would abandon righteousness and install Rāma as king, wishing always to enjoy yourself with Kausalyā, O wicked-minded one. Whether it is righteousness or unrighteousness, truth or falsehood, whatever you have promised me must not be violated. For I will drink poison here and now before your eyes and die if Rāma is anointed king. If I must see Rāma’s mother, even for a single day, accepting my salutation, then death would be better for me. By Bharata and by myself, O king of men, I swear: nothing will please me except Rāma’s exile.” Having spoken thus, Kaikeyī fell silent and did not reply further to the king’s lament. Hearing Kaikeyī’s words—so striking, about Rāma’s exile and Bharata’s sovereignty—the king, his senses disturbed, fell silent for a moment. He gazed at the queen, unmoving, though her words were bitter. The king, filled with grief and sorrow, was deeply unhappy, her words crashing upon his heart like thunder. Reflecting on the queen’s resolve and her dreadful oath, sighing “Rāma,” he collapsed like a tree felled to the ground. His mind lost, confused as if mad or gravely ill, his vigor gone like a serpent deprived of its strength, the lord of the earth was undone. With a weak and distressed voice, he spoke to Kaikeyī: “Who has advised you to this ruinous act, which only appears as benefit? You speak to me without shame, as if your mind is possessed by spirits; I never saw such vice in you 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? You wish for Bharata to sit upon the throne, and for Rāghava to dwell in the forest—abandon this attitude and this falsehood. If you wish to do what is pleasing to your husband, to the people, and to Bharata, O cruel one, evil-minded and petty, what suffering or falsehood do you see in me or in Rāma? In no way, except for Rāma, would Bharata occupy the kingdom. Indeed, I consider Bharata even stronger than Rāma in righteousness. How will I see Rāma, when he is told to go to the forest? His face will become pale, just as the moon is eclipsed; and my good resolve, made together with friends—how will I see the army turned away, as if defeated by others? What will the assembled kings say to me? Alas, this young Ikshvaku has ruled the kingdom for so long, though many elders, virtuous and learned, were present. They will question Kakutstha, and what shall I say? That my son was exiled by me, under Kaikeyī’s compulsion? If I speak this truth, it will be taken as falsehood. What will Kausalyā say when Rāghava has gone to the forest? And what shall I reply to her, after having done such a grievous wrong? For Kausalyā has always served me as a maid, as a friend, as a wife, as a sister, and as a mother—ever seeking my good, loving her son, gentle in speech.” Thus, the king’s heart broke beneath the weight of Kaikeyī’s unyielding demand, and sorrow filled the palace like a darkening storm.