Driven by his misfortune, King Daśaratha, his heart heavy and his palms joined in supplication, turned to Kaikeyī—the very cause of his suffering. Though the king was wretched and his life nearly spent, he remained steadfast in his royal duty and devotion, especially toward her and their son. He pleaded with Kaikeyī, calling her a gentle lady, and entreated her to show favor to him, reminding her that his words were not spoken in vain. He beseeched her, asking for her graciousness, urging her to grant Rāma the undiminished kingdom, for she was compassionate and young. Daśaratha implored Kaikeyī to let Rāma, dark-eyed and beloved, obtain the throne, assuring her that such an act would bring her supreme renown. He reminded her that this was dear not only to himself and Rāma, but also to the people, the elders, and even to Bharata. Yet Kaikeyī, intent on her own purpose, listened to her husband’s varied and pitiful lament—his pure heart wracked with grief and his eyes streaming coppery tears—but she remained silent, unmoved. Seeing his wife’s harshness and opposition regarding Rāma’s exile, Daśaratha’s sorrow overwhelmed him once more. He lost consciousness and collapsed to the ground, consumed by grief. Thus, that anguished night passed for the tormented king, and when attendants tried to rouse him, he forbade them, unable to face the world. As the fourteenth sarga of the Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa concludes, the scene shifts. Kaikeyī, seeing Daśaratha senseless, fallen and writhing in agony for his son, spoke to the descendant of Ikṣvāku. She chastised him for lying collapsed after making his pledge, insisting that he should remain firm in his resolve. Kaikeyī reminded him that those who know righteousness declare truth to be the highest dharma, and it was upon truth that she urged him to act. She recounted the deeds of noble kings: King Śibi, who gave his own body to a hawk to keep his promise, attaining the highest state; the radiant Alarka, who gave away his eyes to a learned brāhmaṇa, steadfast even though unwilling; and even the lord of rivers, bound by truth to his boundaries, who never crosses his own shore. Kaikeyī proclaimed that truth is the eternal principle, the foundation of righteousness, the imperishable force behind the Vedas, and the path to the highest attainment. She pressed Daśaratha, urging him to abide by truth if his mind was set on righteousness. She demanded that the boon she had asked bear fruit, for he was a bestower of boons. For the sake of righteousness, she insisted, and because she urged him, Rāma must be sent into exile—declaring her demand three times. If he did not fulfill her promise, she vowed to forsake her own life before his eyes. Thus urged by Kaikeyī, unwavering in her resolve, Daśaratha found himself unable to escape her demands, just as Bali could not escape Indra’s snare. His heart agitated, his face pale, he trembled like a yoked horse caught between the wheels of a chariot. With impaired vision and difficulty mustering courage, the king spoke to Kaikeyī, telling her that the night had passed and the sun was about to rise. He knew the people would soon urge him to proceed with Rāma’s consecration. Daśaratha, broken in spirit, declared that all the materials for Rāma’s consecration were prepared, and asked that Rāma perform the water-rites for him as if he were dead. He forbade Kaikeyī and her son from performing these rites if they obstructed Rāma’s consecration, calling her a woman of evil conduct. He lamented that he could not bear to see the people, whose joy would now be destroyed and who would turn away in sorrow. As the king spoke thus, the auspicious night adorned with the moon and stars came to an end. Kaikeyī, her conduct wicked and her anger unyielding, again addressed the king with harsh words. She asked why he spoke as if his words were poisoned arrows, and insisted he summon Rāma without delay. She demanded Daśaratha install her son Bharata on the throne, send Rāma to the forest, and make her free from rivals—only then would his duty be fulfilled. Like a noble horse repeatedly struck by a sharp goad, Daśaratha, urged on by Kaikeyī, spoke again. Bound by the ties of righteousness, his mind lost, he only wished to see his beloved eldest son Rāma, who was devoted to dharma. With the passing of the auspicious night, as the sun rose and the stars aligned favorably, the proper moment arrived. Vasiṣṭha, endowed with virtues and surrounded by his disciples, quickly gathered the necessary items for the consecration and entered the foremost city. He entered Ayodhyā, whose streets were sprinkled and swept, adorned with splendid banners, filled with joyful attendants, and prosperous with shops and markets. The city was alive with festival preparations, eager for Rāghava’s sake, and perfumed everywhere with sandalwood, aloe, and incense. Passing through that city, which rivaled the city of Indra, the illustrious Vasiṣṭha saw the inner palace adorned with many kinds of banners. The palace was crowded with townspeople and countryfolk, graced by Brahmins holding staffs, filled with fine horses, and highly honored. Reaching the inner palace, Vasiṣṭha, greatly pleased and surrounded by eminent sages, passed through the assembled people. There, at the door of the lion among men, he saw Sumantra, the renowned charioteer and minister, pleasing to behold, emerging to greet him.