Paralysed with horror, the king could utter no word, like a quail in the woods at the swoop of a falcon. The monarch was as crestfallen as a palm-tree struck by lightning.

With his hands to his forehead and closing both his eyes, he began to grieve like Grief personified. ‘My heart’s longing,’ he thought, ‘had just blossomed and begun to bear fruit like the tree of Paradise, when like an elephant Kaikeyi has torn it up by the roots and destroyed it!

She has made Ayodhya desolate and laid the foundation of everlasting calamity!

What a thing to happen at such a time as this! I am undone by putting trust in a woman like an ascetic who is ruined by ignorance when he is about to win the fruit of his austerities!’

Thus did the king moan within himself. The wicked queen, seeing his evil plight, was infuriated. ‘Is Bharata not your son?’ she cried. ‘Did you buy me in the slave market?

If my words pierced you like arrows the moment they entered your ears, why did you not think before you spoke? Answer now, say either yes or no; you are famous in the house of Raghu for keeping your word!

Refuse the boons you promised me, abandon truth and court infamy in the world! Loud in your praise of truth, you said you would grant me the boon, imagining, no doubt, that I would ask for a handful of parched grain!