Once again, King Dasaratha’s heart sank, his senses overwhelmed by sorrow and agitation. There, before him, he saw Kaikeyi—his youthful wife, dearer to him than life itself—lying on the ground in a manner wholly unbefitting her station. The king, pure and sinless himself, gazed upon her, yet saw that her mind was set upon something troubling, almost as if evil had entered her thoughts. She lay there like a delicate creeper cut from its support, like a goddess fallen from her heavenly abode. She appeared to him as a kinnari cast away, as an apsaras who had lost her grace, as a vanished illusion, or as a deer subdued and caught. Like a female elephant wounded by a poisoned arrow from a hunter in the forest, Kaikeyi lay deeply distressed, her affection for Dasaratha causing her great pain—like a majestic elephant wounded and suffering in the wild. Dasaratha, his mind tormented and his face wet with tears, wiped his cheeks with his hands. He spoke gently to Kaikeyi, whose eyes were as lovely as lotus petals. “O lady, I know of no anger within you. Who has accused you? Who has insulted you? Why do you lie on the ground, covered in dust, causing me such sorrow, when my mind is always devoted to your welfare?” He continued, “It seems as if your mind is afflicted by some unseen force, disturbing my own heart. I have skilled physicians, all capable and well-pleased. They will restore you to happiness—tell me, beautiful one, what illness afflicts you? Or is there some cherished wish yet unfulfilled, or has someone done you harm?” “Who today has gained great joy, or who has suffered great harm? Do not grieve, do not torment yourself, O lady. Who that is not to be slain should be slain, or who that is to be slain should be released? Who that is poor should become wealthy, or who that is rich should become destitute? Both I and all that is mine are under your command; I cannot refuse any wish of yours. Speak what is in your heart—even at the cost of my own life. Knowing my strength, you should not doubt me. I will fulfill your desire, I swear to you by my merit; as long as the wheel of time turns, so long is this earth mine.” He spoke of the Dravidas, Sindhus, Sauvīras, Saurāṣṭras, peoples of the southern lands, Vaṅgas, Aṅgas, Magadhas, Matsyas, the prosperous Kāśis and Kosalas—all the lands filled with wealth, grain, and cattle. “Kaikeyi, choose from them whatever your mind desires.” “Why do you trouble yourself, fearful one? Rise, rise, O beautiful one! Tell me truly, Kaikeyi, what has brought you fear; I will dispel it for you, as the sun disperses the mist.” Thus addressed, Kaikeyi, comforted and ready to speak her harsh request, began again to press her husband. Now, listen to the next chapter in the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, in the Ayodhyā section. Kaikeyi spoke harsh words to the king, who was pierced by the arrows of love and overcome by the force of desire. “O lord,” she said, “I have not been wronged or insulted by anyone; but there is a certain wish in my heart, and I desire that you fulfill it. Swear to your promise, if you wish to grant it; then I will tell you what I truly desire.” The king, with a slight smile, spoke to Kaikeyi, his beloved, taking her gently by the hair as she sat on the ground. “O proud one, you do not realize that there is no one dearer to me than Rama, that tiger among men. By that unconquered, foremost, high-souled Raghava—by Rama, who is worthy of life—I swear to you, speak whatever is in your heart. I surely could not live even for a moment without seeing Rama; by him, O Kaikeyi, I swear to fulfill your word. By that Rama, whom I choose above myself, my sons, and all others, O Kaikeyi, I swear to fulfill your request. Good lady, consider this in your heart and grant me relief; reflect well, Kaikeyi, and tell me what you think is right. Seeing your own strength, you should not hesitate; I will fulfill your wish, I swear to you by my own merit.” Delighted by these words, Kaikeyi revealed her dreadful intent, like Death itself arriving. “Since you swear and grant me a boon in due order, let the thirty-three gods, with Indra at their head, hear this. Let the moon and sun, the sky, the planets, night and day, the directions, the world, this earth, the Gandharvas, and all the Rakshasas bear witness. Let the night-wandering beings, spirits, household gods in the homes, and all other beings know what you have spoken. This one, steadfast in truth, of great splendor, knower of righteousness, truthful in speech and pure, grants me a boon—let all the gods hear.” Having embraced and praised the mighty-armed king, she then spoke further to the boon-giver, her heart overcome by desire. “Remember, O king, what happened before in that battle between gods and demons, when an enemy endangered your life. There, O lord, I protected you, keeping watch and striving; for that, you granted me two boons. Those two boons, O lord, which you gave, I now seek to claim from you, O protector of the earth, O descendant of Raghu. If you do not grant me the boon you promised in righteousness, today, dishonored by you, I will give up my life.