On first hearing it, the young Queen was filled with delight, and tossed a costly and beautiful jewel to her handmaid, in token of her pleasure. But the woman knew how to poison the mind of her mistress, and an hour or two later, when Dasaratha came to call on Kekai, in order to acquaint his youngest wife in person with his plans regarding Rama, the servants told him, to his consternation, that if he would find her, he must follow her to the anger-chamber.
There, in truth, lay the King's wife—even, if the truth were known, his favourite wife—on the bare floor, like a fallen angel, having cast away her garlands and ornaments. Clad in garments that were not fresh, her countenance clouded with the gloom of wrath, she looked like a sky enveloped in darkness, with the stars hidden.
Like unto the moon rising in a sky covered with fleecy white clouds, so did Dasaratha enter into the mansion of Kekai. Like a great elephant in the midst of a forest, did he seek her out, in the anger-chamber, and, gently carressing her brow and hair, ask what he could do to comfort her. Again and again did he promise that nothing she could ask would be in vain.
At this Kekai rose, and called upon sun and moon, night and day, the sky, the planets, and the earth, to witness to the King's words. And having done so, she reminded him of how she
