Rāma, standing before his father King Daśaratha, spoke with unwavering resolve and gentle humility. “O King,” he said, “my heart is not drawn toward great pleasures, nor even toward what is dearest to me. Above all, I am devoted to carrying out your command, which is honored by the noble. Let your sorrow for my sake be dispelled, O faultless one.” He continued, “Therefore, today I do not desire the imperishable kingdom, nor the earth with all its enjoyments, nor even Maithilī. I would never choose anything that binds you to falsehood; let truth be your vow.” Rāma assured his father, “Living in the forest, eating fruits and roots, seeing the mountains, rivers, and lakes, entering the woods with their wondrous trees—I shall find happiness there. May you find peace, O King.” Overwhelmed by calamity and pain, King Daśaratha embraced his son, lost consciousness, and fell to the ground, unmoving. All the assembled queens wept bitterly, save for Kaikeyī. Sumantra, the charioteer, also wept and fainted, while cries of lamentation echoed throughout the palace. Now begins the thirty-fifth sarga. Sumantra, suddenly shaking his head and sighing repeatedly, ground his hand in his palm and gnashed his teeth. His eyes, bloodshot with anger, lost their usual color as he was seized by terrible distress. Observing the king’s anguish, Sumantra addressed Kaikeyī with words sharp as arrows, shaking her heart. His words, harsh and unmatched, thundered like bolts, piercing all the vital points of Kaikeyī. He said, “You, for whom King Daśaratha has abandoned his own wife—the lord of all the world, both moving and unmoving—there is no act here, O Queen, more grievous than yours. I consider you a husband-slayer, and ultimately, a destroyer of your lineage.” Sumantra continued, “By your deeds, you torment one who is like Indra, unconquerable; like a mountain, unshakable; like the great ocean, unperturbed. Do not look down upon King Daśaratha, your husband and benefactor; for a husband’s wish is, for women, more important than even a hundred million sons. Just as, upon the king’s death, kingdoms pass according to age, so you wish to deprive the lord of the Ikshvaku line of his due.” He declared, “Let your son Bharata become king and rule the earth; we will go wherever Rāma goes. No Brahmin should dwell in your realm; today you are about to commit such an unrighteous act. Surely, we will all follow the path that Rāma takes, abandoned by all relatives, Brahmins, and the virtuous. What joy will you, O Queen, find in gaining the kingdom, when you are intent on committing such a disgraceful deed?” Sumantra’s words grew even more severe: “I wonder that the earth does not split open at once for one whose conduct is like yours. Even the terrible, blazing, awe-inspiring rods of the great Brahmarshis, created for cursing, do not harm one who stands firm on sending Rāma to exile. Who, after cutting down a mango tree with an axe, would tend a neem tree? Even if watered with milk, it will not become sweet. I think your lineage is just like your mother’s; for it is said that honey does not flow from a neem tree.” He reminded her, “We know, as heard before, of your mother’s evil nature. Some benefactor once granted your father an excellent boon. From that boon, your father, the lord of the earth, gained the ability to understand the speech of all beings, including animals. Then, while lying on the bed of Jṛmbha, your illustrious father heard the sounds of many creatures and laughed repeatedly. Your mother, angered and desiring the noose of death, said to your father, ‘Tell me, I wish to know the reason for your laughter.’ The king replied, ‘O Queen, if I reveal to you the reason for my laughter, then I will die at once—of this there is no doubt.’ Yet your mother insisted, ‘Tell me, whether you live or die, you must not deceive me.’ Thus addressed by his beloved, the king of Kekaya spoke truthfully about granting that boon. The boon-giver replied approvingly, ‘Let this not be spoken of, O lord of the earth, whether it leads to death or destruction.’ Hearing those words, the king, his mind pleased, at once dismissed your mother and enjoyed himself like Kubera.” Sumantra concluded, “In the same way, you too, on a path followed by the wicked, out of delusion, are seizing this false resolve, O you who see evil. And here, this common saying appears true to me: ‘Men follow after their fathers, women after their mothers.’ Do not act thus; accept what the lord of the earth has said. Attend to your husband’s wishes here, and be the refuge of these people. Do not, urged by sinful people, cause your husband—equal to the king of the gods, the sustainer of the world—to take up unrighteousness. For your sinless husband, the illustrious king Daśaratha, lotus-eyed, will not carry out a promise made falsely, O Queen. Let Rāma, the eldest, generous, accomplished, and protector even of his own duty and of all living beings, be consecrated as king. For, O Queen, a great reproach will spread about you in the world if Rāma goes to the forest, abandoning his royal father. Let Raghava protect the kingdom; be free from distress. For none but Raghava is fit to dwell in this noble city.” Thus, in the palace, grief and anger mingled as Rāma’s selflessness shone, and Sumantra’s words echoed, urging Kaikeyī to reconsider her actions for the sake of righteousness and the welfare of all.