Kaikeyī, her heart hardened and her resolve unwavering, declared with confidence that Bharata, mighty of arm, would rule Ayodhyā. She wished that all desires might be fulfilled for the illustrious Rāma once again, as if offering a consolation for her demands. Yet, as she spoke of Kakutstha—Rāma—fear suddenly gripped her; her face became dry and her voice faltered, betraying the turmoil within. Distressed and frightened, her features parched by anxiety, Kaikeyī turned to King Daśaratha and spoke further. She insisted that Bharata would never desire a kingdom stripped of its wealth and enjoyment, likening it to liquor drained of its spirit—empty and joyless. Having thrown off all shame, Kaikeyī uttered these harsh words, and Daśaratha, whose eyes were wide as lotus petals, responded in anguish. He asked her why she struck him while he bore the heavy yoke of her demands, why she had not restrained him before this painful task had begun. Hearing the king’s words, spoken in anger, Kaikeyī, now doubly enraged, replied. She reminded him that even in his own lineage, King Sagara had banished his eldest son, Asamañja; so too, she insisted, should Rāma be sent away. Daśaratha, shamed by her words, replied, and all those present felt the sting of disgrace—except Kaikeyī, who remained unmoved. At this moment, Siddhārtha, an aged minister pure and highly esteemed by the king, addressed Kaikeyī. He recounted the tale of Asamañja, who, while playing in the streets, would seize children and throw them into the waters of the Sarayū, taking pleasure in this wickedness. The townspeople, angered by Asamañja’s deeds, approached King Sagara and demanded he choose between his son and his subjects. When the king asked the reason for their fear, the citizens explained that Asamañja delighted in throwing their unsteady-minded children into the river. Hearing their words, King Sagara abandoned his own son, who had caused no harm to him personally, in order to please the people. He placed Asamañja, along with his wife and attendants, on a chariot and exiled him for life, commanding him to live in banishment for as long as he lived. Asamañja, taking a spade and basket, wandered through the mountain fastnesses, roaming in all directions, as if he were one who had committed a wicked deed. Yet, Siddhārtha pointed out, King Sagara, most righteous, did not abandon his son for no reason. What sin, he asked, had Rāma committed that he should be obstructed in this way? Siddhārtha declared that none could see any fault in Rāghava; for him, descent into hell was as unlikely as a stain on the moon. He challenged Kaikeyī: if she saw any fault in Rāghava, she should speak it truly that day, and then Rāma would be exiled. For to abandon one who is blameless and devoted to righteousness would destroy even Indra’s radiance, for such an act is opposed to dharma. He implored Kaikeyī to cease ruining Rāma’s fortune and warned her to guard herself against public reproach. Hearing Siddhārtha’s words, King Daśaratha, his voice weary and overcome by grief, spoke to Kaikeyī. He told her that she refused to heed words meant for her own good, though they seemed harsh, and that she did not know what was beneficial for either of them. Her conduct had strayed from the path of the good, having taken to a cruel way. Daśaratha then declared that he would follow Rāma, renouncing the kingdom, comfort, and wealth. He told Kaikeyī and Bharata, along with all the people of the king, to enjoy the kingdom as they wished for a long time. At this point, the thirty-seventh sarga of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Ayodhyā Kāṇḍa, begins. Rāma, hearing the words of the chief minister, addressed Daśaratha with humility and respect. He explained that since he had renounced pleasures and would live in the forest, subsisting on forest fare, there was no need for an escort, as he had abandoned all attachments. He likened his situation to one who, after giving away an excellent elephant, has no use for the enclosure or the bond of a rope, having already let go of the noble elephant. So, Rāma said, he had no use for an army and permitted all to return, requesting only garments of bark. He asked for both the spade and basket to be brought, as he must dwell in the forest for fourteen years. Then Kaikeyī herself, shameless before the crowd, brought the garments of bark to Rāghava and instructed him to put them on. Rāma, tiger among men, accepted the bark garments from Kaikeyī, set aside his fine cloth, and donned the ascetic’s attire. Lakṣmaṇa, too, left aside his splendid garments and took up the ascetic’s covering before his father. Sītā, clad in silk, looked upon the bark garment with fear, like a frightened doe seeing a snare. The daughter of Janaka, possessing auspicious marks, took the kusa-grass garment from Kaikeyī with downcast eyes, deeply troubled and ashamed. Her eyes filled with tears, knowing and devoted to righteousness, Sītā spoke to her husband, who was like a king among Gandharvas. She asked, in distress, how the sages dwelling in the forest wore such bark garments, for she was unskilled in such matters and repeatedly fainted. Taking one piece of bark in her hand, she placed it around her neck and stood there, unpracticed and embarrassed. Rāma, foremost among the righteous, quickly came to her and himself tied the bark garment over Sītā’s silk attire, easing her distress as they prepared for their exile.