As the night deepened, King Dasaratha’s heart was overwhelmed by grief. The sorrow that clouded his mind dulled all his senses, just as the rays of a lamp fade when its oil is spent. This anguish, born from his own heart, surged over him, leaving him helpless and insensible, like the relentless current of a river battering its banks. In his torment, Dasaratha cried out, “Alas, Raghava of mighty arms! Alas, destroyer of all my toil! Alas, beloved of your father, my protector! Alas, son, where have you gone now?” His lament continued, “Alas, Kausalya, I am perishing! Alas, Sumitra, you who are devoted to austerity! Alas, Kaikeyi, my cruel enemy, stain upon our lineage!” In the presence of Rama’s mother, Kausalya, and Sumitra, the king, consumed by sorrow and lamentation, reached the end of his life. As he spoke in distress, tormented by the exile of his beloved son, Dasaratha, noble-souled and deeply afflicted, surrendered his life in the middle of the night. When dawn broke and the night had passed, the bards gathered at the royal residence. Charioteers, refined and skilled in auspicious songs, singers well-versed in praises, each began their morning duties. Their voices, filled with lofty blessings for the king, echoed throughout the vast palace. As they sang, charioteers played their instruments and musicians began their melodies. The sound awakened the birds—those perched on branches and those caged within the royal household—and they too began to sing. The palace filled with the auspicious sounds of veenas, blessings, and songs. Women of pure conduct, skilled in attendance, mostly young and beautiful, assembled as they always had. They brought water mixed with sandalwood and saffron in golden vessels for bathing, following custom and proper timing. Other young women brought auspicious items for offering and utensils for drinking, as required. Everything was adorned with auspicious marks and prosperity, befitting a king. Yet, until sunrise, everyone waited anxiously, uncertain and wondering what had happened, as nothing seemed amiss. The women of Kosala who slept near the king’s chamber gathered together and tried to awaken their lord. Behaving with proper modesty and decorum, they did not touch his bed or disturb him. Skilled in recognizing the habits of sleep, the women became seized with trembling, fearing for the king’s life. Like blades of grass quivering at the edge of a stream, so too did they tremble, and seeing the king, their fear grew. What they had dreaded as calamity was now certain. Kausalya and Sumitra, overcome with grief for their son, remained asleep, not waking at the proper time. Drained of radiance, pale and bowed down, they were overcome by sorrow. Kausalya no longer shone, like a star veiled by darkness, and Sumitra appeared the same. The queen’s face, stained with tears, lost its luster. Seeing the king and the noble queens lying thus, the inner palace, with its lord lifeless in sleep, seemed changed. The noble women, stricken, cried out loudly. Like female elephants whose leader has fallen in the forest, the women suddenly regained consciousness and wailed aloud. Kausalya and Sumitra, abandoning sleep, arose; seeing and touching the king, they cried out, “Alas, lord!” and collapsed to the ground. The daughter of the king of Kosala writhed upon the earth, her radiance gone, covered in dust, like a star fallen from the sky. The king lay peacefully, while Kausalya lay fallen beside him. All the king’s wives, led by Kaikeyi, wept and, tormented by grief, fell unconscious. Their cries rose as a mighty sound, filling the palace with fear, confusion, and distress—where once prosperity had reigned. All around, the palace echoed with tumultuous wailing from distressed relatives, whose sudden joy had vanished, leaving them pitiable and dejected. The palace of the king, who had reached his destined end, was now transformed. The illustrious king, surrounded by his wives who wept bitterly in grief, seemed as one lamenting without protection. Seeing the king, extinguished like fire, like the ocean without water, like the sun bereft of brilliance, gone to heaven, Kausalya, her eyes filled with tears and emaciated by sorrow, embraced the king’s head and spoke to Kaikeyi: “Be satisfied, Kaikeyi, enjoy the kingdom without hindrance. Having cast aside the king, you cruel one, devoted to wicked deeds.