From the lofty palace, Manthara gazed down upon the city of Ayodhya. The royal roads below shimmered, freshly sprinkled and adorned with lotuses and water-lilies, as if the city itself was celebrating. Everywhere she looked, Ayodhya was resplendent, decked with splendid banners and fluttering flags, the air fragrant with sandalwood water. The people, their hair still damp from ritual baths, thronged the streets in joyous crowds. The city resounded with the voices of distinguished Brāhmaṇas, who carried garlands and sweets, while the gleaming white doorways of temples stood open in welcome. The air was alive with the music of many instruments, and the chanting of Brahmins mingled with the delighted trumpeting of elephants, the neighing of splendid horses, and the bellowing of excited bulls and cows. Everywhere, the people’s joy was unmistakable, and the city seemed to rejoice as one. Manthara, seeing Ayodhya so beautifully adorned and its citizens so elated, was filled with astonishment. She wondered to herself, “Absorbed in such happiness and generosity, what wealth is Rama’s mother distributing to the people? What is the reason for this extraordinary happiness? What will the delighted king do?” Overwhelmed with joy, Rama’s nurse, radiant with delight, shared with Manthara the great fortune soon to befall Raghava. “Tomorrow, under the Pushya star, King Dasharatha will anoint Rama, who has conquered anger and is faultless, as crown prince.” But when Manthara heard these words, her heart flared with anger. Quickly, she descended from the palace, which stood high like the peak of Mount Kailasa. Burning with wrath and perceiving only evil, Manthara approached Kaikeyi as she lay on her couch and spoke sharply: “Rise, fool! Why do you lie there? Danger is coming upon you. Overwhelmed by a flood of misfortune, you do not perceive your own peril. Though you appear fortunate, you boast of your good fortune in what is undesirable; your fortune is unsteady, like the current of a river in the hot season.” Struck by these harsh words, Kaikeyi fell into deep distress. She looked at Manthara’s troubled face and asked gently, “Is all well, Manthara? For I see you greatly afflicted.” Hearing Kaikeyi’s soft words, Manthara, skilled in speech but filled with anger, replied, her tone growing more dejected. Though she claimed to wish Kaikeyi well, her words were meant to sow distress and turn her heart from Raghava. “O queen, a great and unending calamity has begun for you: King Dasharatha will anoint Rama as crown prince. I am plunged in deep fear, filled with sorrow and grief, burning as if by fire, and have come here for your welfare. Kaikeyi, your sorrow will be my great sorrow; your decline will be my decline, and your prosperity will be my prosperity—of this there is no doubt.” She continued, “You were born in a royal family and are the chief queen of the king; how is it that you do not understand the severity of royal duties? Your husband, though he speaks of righteousness, is deceitful; his words are gentle, but his nature is harsh. You, with your pure heart, trust him, and thus you have been thoroughly deceived. Now he approaches you with empty consolations, but in truth, today your husband will unite Kausalya with prosperity. That wicked-hearted man, having removed Bharata from among your kin, will soon install Rama in the kingdom, with all obstacles destroyed.” “An enemy, under the guise of a husband, and a mother who claims to wish well, is like a venomous serpent embraced by a child—so have you been held. Just as an enemy or a neglected serpent would act, so today King Dasharatha has treated you and your son. O naive one, accustomed always to comfort, you have been destroyed along with your kin by the sinful one who, with false soothing words, is placing Rama on the throne. Therefore, Kaikeyi, act quickly for your own good at this opportune time; save your son, yourself, and me, who am witnessing this with astonishment.” Hearing Manthara’s words, Kaikeyi, her face beautiful and serene, rose from her bed, filled with joy, like the crescent moon in autumn. Exceedingly pleased and filled with wonder at the news, she presented Manthara with a splendid divine ornament. Having given the ornament, Kaikeyi, delighted, spoke again to Manthara: “This most pleasing news you have told me, Manthara, is truly dear to me. Tell me what more I can do for you, since you have brought me such joy. I see no difference between Rama and Bharata; therefore, I am pleased that the king will anoint Rama as heir to the throne. There is no greater boon for me than this. You, who are worthy of affection, have spoken sweet and delightful words, like nectar. Since you have spoken thus, I grant you the highest and best boon—choose what you desire.” But Manthara, envious and filled with anger and sorrow, cast aside the ornament. She spoke sharply: “Why have you, foolish one, rejoiced without cause? Do you not realize that you are in the midst of an ocean of sorrow? Though I am overwhelmed by grief, I restrain myself for your sake, O queen. Why are you joyful when you should be mourning, having encountered such great misfortune? I grieve for your lack of understanding. What wise woman would rejoice at the rise of a rival wife’s son, as if death itself had come? It is out of fear for Rama, not just for Bharata, regarding the sharing of the kingdom; having considered this, I am distressed, for fear arises from one who is afraid.” Thus, the seeds of discord were sown, and the fate of Ayodhya began to turn under the shadow of Manthara’s words.