When Kaikeyī, the boon-giver, heard the king’s words, she replied approvingly, “Let this matter not be spoken of, O lord of the earth, whether it leads to death or destruction.” Hearing her response, King Daśaratha, his heart soothed, dismissed Kaikeyī and, feeling relieved, enjoyed himself like Kubera, the lord of wealth. Yet now, just as Kaikeyī had once acted, you too, following a path trodden by the misguided, are clinging to this false and ruinous resolve, clouded by delusion and seeing only evil. In this, the old saying proves true to me: “Men follow after their fathers, women after their mothers.” Do not persist in this way; instead, accept what the king, the lord of the earth, has decreed. Honor your husband’s wishes and become a refuge for the people. Do not, swayed by sinful counsel, drive your husband—who is as noble as the king of the gods and sustains the world—toward unrighteousness. Your sinless husband, the illustrious Dasharatha, lotus-eyed and steadfast, will not utter a false promise, O queen. Let Rāma, the eldest, generous, accomplished, and protector of all beings and of dharma itself, be consecrated as king. If Rāma is sent to the forest, abandoning his royal father, a great reproach will fall upon you throughout the world, O queen. Let Rāghava protect the kingdom; be free from distress, for none but Rāghava is truly fit to dwell in this noble city. With both gentle and stern words, Sumantra, palms joined in supplication, tried once more to move Kaikeyī’s heart in the royal assembly. But the queen remained unmoved—her face unchanged, her resolve undisturbed. Now listen to the next chapter in the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, the Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa. Afflicted by the weight of his promise, King Daśaratha, tears streaming and sighing deeply, spoke again to Sumantra: “O charioteer, let the army, resplendent with jewels and all four divisions, be swiftly readied 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, and those in whom he delights for their strength—after bestowing many gifts upon them—assign them their places as well. “Let the chief weapons, the townsfolk, the carts, and the skilled forest hunters follow Kakutstha. As he hunts deer and elephants, drinks wild honey, and beholds many rivers, he will not remember the kingdom. Whatever stores of grain and treasury are mine, let both follow Rāma as he dwells in the lonely forest. There, performing sacrifices in holy places, giving generous gifts, and meeting with sages, he will live happily. Meanwhile, mighty-armed Bharata will rule Ayodhyā, and in time, let all good fortune return to illustrious Rāma.” As Kaikeyī spoke thus about Rāma’s exile, anxiety gripped her; her face dried and her voice faltered. Distressed and frightened, Kaikeyī turned to the king and said, “Bharata will not desire a kingdom emptied of wealth and joy, as tasteless as liquor with its spirit gone.” Having cast off all shame, Kaikeyī uttered these harsh words, and King Daśaratha, his eyes wide as lotus petals, addressed her: “Why do you strike me as I bear this burden, after setting me to this heavy task? Unworthy woman, why did you not restrain me before this deed began?” Kaikeyī, angered by his words, replied with doubled fury: “In your own lineage, Sagara exiled his eldest son, Asamañja; so too should this one depart.” Thus shamed by her, King Daśaratha replied, and all the people felt ashamed, though Kaikeyī herself did not understand the gravity of her actions. Then, an aged and pure-hearted minister named Siddhārtha, greatly esteemed by the king, addressed Kaikeyī: “Asamañja, while playing in the streets, would seize children and, delighting in wickedness, throw them into the waters of the Sarayū. Witnessing this, the townspeople, angered, went to the king and said, ‘Choose between Asamañja and us, O protector of the realm.’ The king asked, ‘Why do you fear?’ and the citizens replied, ‘While playing, he throws our unsteady-minded children into the Sarayū for his own amusement.’ “Hearing their words, the king abandoned his own son, though he had committed no harm, to please the people. He placed Asamañja, along with his wife and attendants, upon a chariot and exiled him for life, as his father commanded: ‘Let him live in banishment as long as he lives.’ With spade and basket, Asamañja wandered the mountains, roaming in all directions as if he had committed some terrible sin. “Thus did King Sagara, most righteous, not abandon his duty. But what sin has Rāma committed, that he should be thus obstructed? We see no fault in Rāghava; for him, descent into hell is as unthinkable as a stain upon the moon.” So the assembly witnessed the pain and confusion of the royal house, as the fate of Rāma and the future of Ayodhyā hung in the balance.