“Hear, my beloved lord, that which pleases my heart; vouchsafe to me for one boon the installation of Bharata (as the prince-regent of AyodhyŒ). And for the second boon I ask with joined palms—pray accomplish my desire, my lord: let RŒma dwell in the woods for fourteen years in the garb of a hermit and wholly detached from the world.” The king was grieved at heart to hear these gentle words even as a CakravŒka bird is filled with agony at the mere touch of a moonbeam. He felt dismayed and could not utter a word, like a partridge in the woods at the swoop of a falcon. The king turned altogether pale as a palm tree struck by lightning; with his hands to his forehead and closing both his eyes he began to mourn like Grief personified. “The celestial tree of my desire, that had already blossomed, has been torn up with its roots by the elephant-like Kaikey¶ just when it was about to bear fruit. She has desolated AyodhyŒ and laid the foundation of everlasting misfortune.” (1—5)