Even the most terrible and blazing curses, the awe-inspiring rods of the great Brahmarshis—crafted for the very purpose of destruction—cannot touch one who stands unwavering in sending Rama to exile. Who, after felling a sweet mango tree with an axe, would then tend a bitter neem tree? Even if that neem tree were watered with the purest milk, it would never yield sweetness. In the same way, your lineage, Kaikeyi, seems only to reflect your mother’s, for it is well known in the world that honey does not flow from a neem tree. We have all heard of your mother’s wicked nature. Once, a great benefactor bestowed upon your father an extraordinary boon: he was granted the power to understand the speech of all creatures, even animals. Lying upon the bed of Jṛmbha, your illustrious father would hear the sounds of countless beings and, delighted, would burst into laughter again and again. But your mother, angered and reckless, demanded to know the reason for his laughter, even if it meant her own death. The king replied, “O Queen, if I reveal the cause of my laughter, I will die at once—there is no doubt.” Yet your mother insisted, “Tell me, whether you live or die, you must not deceive me.” Thus pressed by his beloved, your father sought the truth from the boon-giver. The boon-giver, approvingly, replied, “Let this not be spoken of, O lord of the earth, whether it brings death or destruction.” Pleased by these words, your father at once dismissed your mother and enjoyed himself thereafter like Kubera, the lord of wealth. In this way, Kaikeyi, you too, following the path of the wicked, are seized by a false resolve, blinded by delusion. Indeed, the old saying proves true: men follow after their fathers, women after their mothers. Do not act in this manner. Accept what the lord of the earth, your husband, has said. Attend to his wishes and be the refuge of the people. Do not, urged by sinful counselors, force your husband—the king, equal to the lord of gods, the sustainer of the world—into unrighteousness. Your sinless husband, the illustrious, lotus-eyed King Dasharatha, will never break a promise made in truth. Let Rama, the eldest, generous and accomplished, protector of duty and all living beings, be consecrated as king. For if Rama goes to the forest, abandoning his royal father, a great reproach will fall upon you in the eyes of the world. Let Raghava rule the kingdom; be free from distress, for none but he is fit to dwell in this noble city. Thus, with words both gentle and severe, Sumantra, his palms joined in supplication, again pleaded with Kaikeyi in the royal assembly. Yet the queen remained unmoved—her face unchanged, her heart undisturbed, not a flicker of emotion crossing her features. Now, listen to the thirty-sixth chapter of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa. Afflicted by the burden of his promise, the Ikshvaku king, Dasharatha, spoke again to Sumantra, his tears flowing and his sighs deep. “O charioteer, let the army, adorned with jewels and all four divisions, be swiftly prepared to accompany Rāghava. Let women famed for their beauty, eloquent speakers, and wealthy merchants adorn the prince’s well-ordered troops. Those who depend on him, those in whom he delights, let them all be assigned gifts and join him as well. Let the chief weapons, the townspeople, the carts, and skilled forest hunters follow Kakutstha. Hunting deer and elephants, drinking wild honey, and seeing many rivers, perhaps he will not remember the kingdom. All my stores of grain and treasures—let them follow Rama as he dwells in the lonely forest. Performing sacrifices in holy places, giving abundant gifts, meeting with sages—he will live happily in the forest. Mighty-armed Bharata will rule Ayodhyā, and may all desires be fulfilled for the illustrious Rama again.” As Kaikeyi thus spoke of Rama’s exile, fear seized her; her face dried up, and her voice faltered. Distressed and frightened, her features parched, Kaikeyi turned to the king and said, “Bharata will not wish to rule a kingdom deprived of wealth, empty and joyless, like liquor with its spirit gone.” Having cast off all shame, Kaikeyi spoke these harsh words, and King Dasharatha, his eyes wide as lotus petals, addressed her: “Why do you strike me as I bear this heavy yoke? Why did you not restrain me before this deed was begun, unworthy woman?” Hearing these words, Kaikeyi, now doubly enraged, replied, “In your own lineage, Sagara banished his eldest son, Asamañja; so too should this one depart.” Thus rebuked with “Shame on you!” King Dasharatha replied in sorrow. All the people were filled with shame, but Kaikeyi did not understand it.