Urged relentlessly by Kaikeyī, whose resolve did not waver, King Daśaratha found himself utterly ensnared by her demands. He was as helpless as the mighty Bali once was, caught in the trap set by Indra—unable to free himself, no matter how he struggled. The king’s heart was in turmoil, his face turned pale with distress, and he resembled a noble horse trembling between the wheels of a chariot, yoked and unable to escape. His vision clouded, as though he could not see at all, Daśaratha summoned what little courage remained within him and addressed Kaikeyī with great difficulty. “The night has passed, O lady,” he said, his voice heavy with sorrow. “The sun is about to rise, and the people will surely come to hasten me for Rāma’s consecration. All the materials are prepared for this sacred rite. Let Rāma himself perform the water-rites for me, as if I were already dead, for if you obstruct his consecration, neither you nor your son should perform these last rites for me, O woman of evil conduct.” He lamented further, “Today I cannot bear to see the people of Ayodhyā. Once, I rejoiced to see their joyful faces, but now, with their happiness destroyed, they will surely turn away from me in sorrow.” As the great-souled king poured out his grief, the auspicious night adorned with the moon and stars quietly came to an end. But Kaikeyī, her heart hardened, again addressed the king with harsh words. Skilled in speech but overcome by anger, she said, “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 free me from all rivals—only then will you have fulfilled your promise and your duty.” Urged on like a noble horse struck again and again by a sharp goad, the king, bound by the ties of righteousness yet lost in grief, replied, “My mind is confused, but I wish to see my beloved eldest son, Rāma, who is ever devoted to dharma.” As the auspicious night faded and the sun rose, the stars aligned favorably, and the proper moment for the consecration had arrived. The venerable sage Vasiṣṭha, endowed with every virtue and surrounded by his disciples, quickly gathered all the necessary items and entered the foremost city of Ayodhyā. He passed through streets that had been swept and sprinkled, adorned with splendid banners, bustling with joyful attendants, and prosperous with shops and markets. The entire city was alive with festival preparations for Rāghava; the air was fragrant with sandalwood, aloe, and incense. As Vasiṣṭha made his way, he beheld the city, resplendent as Amarāvatī, the city of Indra, and saw the inner palace decorated with many kinds of banners. The palace was filled with townspeople and countryfolk alike, graced by Brahmins bearing staffs, and hosts of fine horses. It was a place of honor and celebration. Entering the inner palace, Vasiṣṭha, greatly pleased and accompanied by eminent sages, moved through the assembled crowd. There he saw Sumantra, the renowned charioteer, emerging from the doorway of the lion among men—a minister whose presence was both pleasing and respected. The mighty Vasiṣṭha addressed Sumantra, “Go quickly and inform the king that I have arrived. All is ready: pitchers of Ganges water, golden vessels from the seas, and a sacred udumbara wood seat for the consecration.” He continued, “We have all kinds of seeds, fragrant substances, various jewels, honey, curds, ghee, parched grains, darbha grass, flowers, and milk. There are eight lovely maidens, a noble and intoxicated elephant, a splendid chariot with four horses, a sword, and an excellent bow. A vehicle attended by men, a parasol like the moon, white fly-whisks, and a golden vessel for sprinkling are also here. There is a pale-hued bull with a hump, adorned with golden chains, a lion with four fangs, the foremost among monkeys, and a throne, a tiger skin, sacrificial firewood, and the fire for offerings. All kinds of musical instruments and women adorned with ornaments are present. Teachers, Brahmins, sacred cows, auspicious beasts and birds, leading citizens of town and country, and merchants with their groups—all are assembled, delighted and speaking kindly, for Rāma’s consecration. Hasten to the great king, so that, with the constellation Puṣya in conjunction, Rāma may receive the kingdom at the auspicious hour.” Hearing these words, Sumantra—the son of a charioteer, mighty in strength—praised the king, that tiger among men, and entered the palace. The royal attendants stationed at the door, eager to please the king, did not restrain the aged minister, and he made his way to Daśaratha’s presence. Standing near the king, Sumantra observed his condition and began to praise him with words of utmost satisfaction. With joined palms, as he had done before, Sumantra praised the lord of the earth: “Just as the radiant ocean rejoices at the rising of the sun, so, O king, may you bring us happiness with a joyful heart. At this hour, Mātali praised Indra, conqueror of all demons; likewise, I awaken you. Just as the Vedas and their branches awaken the self-born Brahma, so I awaken you today. Just as the sun together with the moon awakens the beautiful earth, so I awaken you. Rise, O great king! With festivities and auspicious rites performed, shine forth in your glory like the sun upon Mount Meru.