Kaikeyi, her heart set on her demand, gazed at the king collapsed on the ground and spoke with unwavering resolve, “Having committed this wrongful act, why do you lie here, helpless, after having pledged your word to me? You ought to stand firm in your resolve. Those who truly know righteousness declare that truth is the highest dharma. Relying on this truth, I have urged you to act according to righteousness.” She reminded him of the illustrious examples of old: “Having made a promise, King Śibi, lord of the earth, gave his very body to a hawk, thereby attaining the highest state. Likewise, the radiant Alarka, though reluctant, gave away his own eyes to a learned brāhmaṇa, remaining steadfast in his word. Even the lord of rivers, bound by truth to his small boundary, never crosses his own shore, keeping his promise to truth. Truth alone is the one eternal principle; upon truth is all righteousness established. The imperishable Vedas stand firm through truth, and by truth the highest is attained.” Her voice grew firmer as she pressed her point: “If your mind is truly set on righteousness, then abide by truth. Let the boon I have asked bear fruit, for you are indeed a bestower of boons, O noble one. For the sake of righteousness, and because I urge you, send Rāma into exile. I tell you this three times. If you, O king, do not fulfill this promise of mine, then, forsaken before your eyes, I will abandon my own life.” Thus urged by Kaikeyi, who remained unwavering, King Daśaratha found himself utterly bound by her words, as Bali had once been ensnared by Indra’s net. His heart was agitated, his face pale and drawn, resembling a yoked horse trembling between the wheels of a chariot. His eyes clouded, as if unable to see, the king, mustering his courage with great effort, spoke to Kaikeyi. “The night has passed, O lady, and the sun is about to rise. Surely the people will soon hasten me for the consecration. With all the materials prepared for Rāma’s consecration, let Rāma perform the water-rites for me, as though I were already dead. You and your son must not perform the water-rites for me if you obstruct Rāma’s consecration, O woman of evil conduct. Today I am unable to face the people, whose faces I once saw so joyful. Now, with their happiness destroyed, they will turn away in sorrow.” As the great-souled king spoke thus, the auspicious night, adorned with the moon and stars, came to an end. But Kaikeyi, her heart hardened, addressed the king again with harsh words, her speech skilled but her anger unyielding. “Why do you speak such words, O King, as if they were poisoned arrows? You should summon your son Rāma here without delay. Install my son on the throne, send Rāma to the forest, and make me free from rivals—then your duty will be fulfilled.” Struck repeatedly by her relentless urging, like a noble horse goaded mercilessly, the king, bound by the ties of righteousness, replied in distress, “My mind is lost; I wish to see my beloved eldest son Rāma, who is ever devoted to dharma.” When the auspicious night had at last passed, and the sun had risen, the stars in favorable conjunction, and the proper moment had arrived, the venerable sage Vasiṣṭha, endowed with all virtues and surrounded by his disciples, quickly gathered the necessary items and entered the foremost city. He entered Ayodhyā, its streets sprinkled and swept, adorned with splendid banners, bustling with joyful attendants, and prosperous with shops and markets. The whole city was alive with festival preparations, eager for Rāghava’s sake, and perfumed with sandalwood, aloe, and incense. Passing through this city, which rivaled the city of Indra, the illustrious Vasiṣṭha beheld 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, made his way through the assembled people. There he saw Sumantra, the renowned charioteer, coming out at the door of the lion among men—a minister pleasing to behold. The mighty Vasiṣṭha addressed him, “Quickly inform the king that I have arrived here. Here are pitchers of Ganges water, golden vessels from the seas, and a sacred wooden seat of udumbara brought for the consecration. All kinds of seeds, fragrant substances, various jewels, honey, curds, ghee, parched grains, darbha grass, flowers, and milk are here. There are also eight lovely maidens, a noble intoxicated elephant, a splendid chariot with four horses, a sword, and an excellent bow. A vehicle attended by men, a parasol resembling the moon, white fly-whisks, and a golden vessel for sprinkling. A bull with a hump, pale in color, adorned with golden chains; a lion with four fangs, foremost among monkeys, possessing great strength. A throne, a tiger skin, sacrificial firewood, and the fire for offerings; all kinds of musical instruments, and women adorned with ornaments. Teachers, Brahmins, sacred cows, auspicious beasts and birds; leading citizens of town and country, and merchants with their groups—all these and many others, delighted and speaking kindly, are assembled with the kings for Rāma’s consecration. Hasten to the great king, so that, when the auspicious day arrives and the constellation Puṣya is in conjunction, Rāma may obtain the kingdom.” Thus, the city of Ayodhyā stood ready, filled with hope and festivity for the consecration of Rāma, even as the king, bound by his word and torn by sorrow, faced the most difficult moment of his life.