Following the noble customs of his ancestors, Rama honored all the people of Ayodhya with proper respect. As preparations for his consecration as king were underway, the citizens gathered joyfully, urging him to uphold the path of righteousness, just as they had been cherished by his father, King Dasharatha, and all the forefathers before him. They declared that they needed neither food nor wealth; simply seeing Rama established as king would fulfill all their desires. Nothing, they said, could be dearer to them than the coronation of Rama, whose splendor was boundless. Amidst these auspicious words and heartfelt blessings from friends and well-wishers, Rama walked along the great highway. So captivating was his presence that no one could turn their eyes or minds away from him as he passed. To see Rama, or to be seen by him, was an honor; those overlooked by him, or who missed seeing him, felt scorned by all and even by themselves. Rama’s compassion extended to all—regardless of class or age—and so everyone followed him. The city was adorned with mansions pale as clouds, their jeweled lattices rising skyward, as if to touch the heavens. Into the foremost house on earth, rivaling Indra’s own palace, Rama entered, radiant with splendor: his father’s residence. He passed through three courtyards guarded by archers and horses, then crossed two more on foot. Having traversed all the courtyards, the son of Dasharatha gently dismissed the people and entered the pure inner chambers. While he went in to see his father, the people, delighted with their prince, waited eagerly for his return—just as the ocean waits for the rising moon. Let the eighteenth sarga of the glorious Valmiki Ramayana, Ayodhya Kanda, be heard. Inside, Rama saw his father seated with Kaikeyi, his face dried and sorrowful. Observing proper conduct, Rama bowed first to his father’s feet, then, with composure, to Kaikeyi’s. The king, his eyes brimming with tears, called out “Rama,” but was too distressed to look at him or speak. Seeing this unprecedented and fearsome appearance of the king, Rama was seized by fear, as if he had stepped upon a serpent. He saw the great king tormented by grief and sorrow, sighing deeply, his mind disturbed, his senses joyless. The king, once steadfast like the ocean, was now agitated; like the sun eclipsed; like a sage who has spoken falsehood. Perceiving the king’s unfathomable grief, Rama’s anxiety grew, like the ocean swelling at the full moon. Devoted to his father’s welfare, Rama pondered: Why does the king not greet me today? At other times, even if angry, his father was pleased to see him—what distress now afflicts him? Rama, appearing sorrowful and afflicted, bowed to Kaikeyi and spoke: “I hope I have not unknowingly done wrong, for which my father is angry with me. Please tell me, and appease him. Why is my father, always affectionate, now displeased, his face sorrowful, and silent? I hope neither physical nor mental distress troubles him, for happiness is hard to obtain and sorrow may arise. I trust nothing inauspicious has happened to Prince Bharata, pleasing to behold, or to the mighty Shatrughna, or to any of my mothers. If I were to displease the great king or fail to carry out his command, I would not wish to live even for a moment while he is angered. Since a person sees the very source of his own existence here, how could he not act according to the wishes of that visible divinity? Has my father, out of pride or anger, ever spoken any harsh word to you, by which his mind has been disturbed?” Thus addressed by the high-souled Raghava, Kaikeyi—without shame and with boldness—spoke for her own benefit: “Rama, the king is not angry, nor has misfortune befallen him; but out of fear of you, he cannot express what is on his mind. He cannot bring himself to speak to you either pleasant or unpleasant words; therefore, you must certainly do what he has not told me. Long ago, after honoring me, he granted me a boon; now the king regrets it, just as an ordinary man might. Having declared, ‘I will grant you a boon,’ the lord of the people now wishes to go back on his word, like one who tries to build a bridge over water that has already flowed away. This is rooted in righteousness, Rama, and is known even to the virtuous; therefore, the king, even if angry for your sake, should not abandon truth. If the king tells you what is good or what is not, will you carry out everything? If so, I will tell you everything again. If what the king has said to you will not be undone, then I will speak, for he will not say it to you himself.” Hearing these words from Kaikeyi, Rama, distressed, addressed the queen in the presence of the king.