Rāma, steadfast and pure-hearted, spoke with gentle firmness to his father, King Daśaratha. “O faultless one,” he said, “today I do not desire the imperishable kingdom, nor the earth with all its pleasures, nor even Maithilī herself. I would not choose anything that binds you to falsehood; let truth be your vow.” Rāma’s resolve was unwavering. “Living in the forest, eating fruits and roots, seeing the mountains, rivers, and lakes, and entering the wondrous woods, I shall be happy. May you find peace.” Overwhelmed by calamity and pain, the king embraced his son tightly. Grief overcame him; he lost consciousness, collapsed to the ground, and lay motionless. In the palace, all the assembled queens wept bitterly—save for Kaikeyī, the king’s wife whose demands had brought about this sorrow. Sumantra, the loyal charioteer, also wept and fainted, and throughout the halls cries of lamentation echoed. Now, listen to the thirty-fifth sarga. Suddenly, Sumantra shook his head and sighed deeply. He ground his hand in his palm and gnashed his teeth, his eyes bloodshot with anger and his usual composure gone. Consumed by wrath and distress, he observed the king’s torment and addressed Kaikeyī with words sharp as arrows, meant to pierce her heart. Sumantra’s words thundered through the assembly. “She for whom you, King Daśaratha, have abandoned your own wife—he who is 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. By your deeds, you torment one who is like Indra, unconquerable; like a mountain, unshakable; like the great ocean, unperturbed.” He continued, “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. 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.” Sumantra’s voice grew even more forceful. “What joy will you, O Queen, find in gaining the kingdom, when you are intent on committing such a disgraceful deed? 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.” He offered a vivid analogy: “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 in the world that honey does not flow from a neem tree. 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.” Sumantra recounted the tale: “Once, while lying on the bed of Jṛmbha, your 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, the king of Kekaya spoke truthfully about granting that boon. The boon-giver approvingly replied, ‘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: ‘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, with both gentle and harsh words, Sumantra, his palms joined in reverence, again agitated Kaikeyī in the royal assembly, urging her to reconsider the path she had chosen.