Sumanthra, the steadfast and loyal aide of King Dasaratha, was struck with disbelief and fury upon hearing that his sovereign had consented to send Prince Rama to the forest, coerced by the unyielding demands of Queen Kaikeyi. Until this moment, Sumanthra had always trusted the king’s decisions as wise and deliberate. But now, rage consumed him, and he cast aside the protocols of courtly decorum.
Turning to Kaikeyi, he spoke with unrestrained scorn:
“O Kaikeyi! Shame upon you! You have disgraced the noble King Dasaratha, revered across the three worlds. Yours is a grievous sin—betraying a monarch who has tirelessly upheld the welfare of his realm. You have insulted him beyond repair, a king whose valor rivals Indra’s, whose composure is as steadfast as a mountain, and whose depths of resolve mirror the great ocean. None could have overpowered him, but you, exploiting his boundless love and trust in you, have reduced him to this pitiable state.
“How dare you humiliate a king who enriched you with wealth, a crown, and power? Dasaratha, whose generosity bestowed upon you boons worth more than the treasures of the heavens, is now bound by your whims. Such ingratitude! In this tainted court, we cannot remain. We shall follow Rama into the forest. Rule as you please with your son Bharata, for when the sages, loyalists, scholars, and virtuous citizens depart, what will remain of Ayodhya? How will you govern a desolate kingdom devoid of righteousness and wisdom? Your actions are vile, unfit for the dignity of a queen. It astonishes me that the earth does not open to swallow you whole!
“Your wickedness, in stripping Rama of his rightful inheritance, will undoubtedly invoke the wrath of the sages. Prepare yourself, for retribution is inevitable. Tell me, Kaikeyi, how could you behave so cruelly toward the one who has given you all? I now see that you have inherited your mother’s inferior nature—like a neem tree that cannot bear honey.
“Your lineage itself is tainted. Your father, King Ashwapati of Kekaya, was granted the gift of understanding the language of all creatures. One day, while your mother was present, he overheard an ant lamenting to another that his daughter would bring ruin to a renowned kingdom. The king laughed, confident that he had no daughters. But when your mother, then pregnant with you, demanded to know the cause of his mirth, he was trapped by the boon’s condition: revealing the speech of animals would cost him his life. Furious at his silence, she stormed away to her tribal village, abandoning you to him. Despite this, he raised you with care, entrusting you to another queen’s affection and training you in the arts of warfare.
“Dasaratha, in his boundless compassion, accepted you as his bride and showered you with love. Yet, like your mother, you repay such generosity with ingratitude and malice. Even now, you have an opportunity to right this wrong. Withdraw your demands, and restore harmony to the royal family. The blame that looms over you will echo through the three worlds if Rama departs.
“Kaikeyi, there is no one more fitting to rule than Rama. Dasaratha desires to crown him, then retire to a life of asceticism, as prescribed by the Vedas. Relent, and spare the kingdom this turmoil!”
But Kaikeyi, unmoved by Sumanthra’s fervent appeal, maintained a cold and unyielding expression.
Dasaratha, bound by his word yet stricken with anguish, summoned Sumanthra once more. “Prepare the fourfold army. Fill chariots with gold coins sufficient for fourteen years. Let traders, singers, dancers, and all who depend on Rama accompany him. Provide him with the best weapons, comforts, and provisions so that the thought of the kingdom will not disturb him. Arrange for a vast supply of gold to be donated wherever he goes, for pilgrimages and visits to hermitages shall be his solace.”
Kaikeyi, realizing the scale of Dasaratha’s arrangements, grew fearful, suspecting that he intended to deplete Ayodhya’s wealth and talent. Her face twisted in anger. “O great king!” she said bitterly, “You are emptying the treasury and evacuating Ayodhya, leaving Bharata with only scraps.”
Dasaratha, incensed by her insolence, retorted, “O enemy in the guise of a queen! You have crossed all bounds of tradition and decency.”
Kaikeyi, her rage unabated, invoked an irrelevant comparison: “In your lineage, King Sagara banished his son Asamanjasa, stripping him of royal benefits. Do the same to Rama!”
At this, the court was steeped in shame. Siddharth, a senior counselor, addressed her:
“Kaikeyi, your analogy is flawed. Asamanjasa was a tyrant who inflicted cruelty upon his people, throwing innocents into the Sarayu for his amusement. King Sagara banished him to safeguard his subjects. But Rama is a paragon of virtue, courage, and sacrifice. Your venomous words reveal the poison in your heart. How can you liken such a heinous deed to the noble character of Rama?”
Dasaratha sighed, his voice heavy with sorrow. “Kaikeyi, you disregard the wisdom of Siddharth, who comprehends the past, present, and future. Through deceit, you are endangering the kingdom and all who depend on it. I renounce the throne and its riches to follow Rama into the forest. Rule with your son as you please.”
Kaikeyi, shaken by this turn of events, found herself isolated, surrounded by those loyal to Dasaratha. Yet she clung to the belief that Rama’s steadfastness and adherence to duty would ensure her demands were fulfilled.
In this unfolding drama, the tension of conflicting loyalties and the unshakable resolve of Prince Rama offer a glimpse into the complex dynamics of royal families and the timeless struggle between duty and desire.
