The Princes of Ayodhya-The Ramayan Through Short Stories

Wistful Evenings

Shortly after the death of Atikaya, Ravan's army receded as if touched with the red-hot burning end of a poker. It had already started to weaken once the majority of Ravan's sons were dead, but once the last, the mightiest of the batch had also succumbed to the ever nearing ropes of death, the rest had decided that they had fought enough for the day. The army of Ravan would only again touch the soil once the sun hit the Earth during the next dawn.

------O------

Once Ravan's army was gone, chased away by loud, intimidating shouts from the vanars and cheering and dancing from the majority army, the vanar sena too went away. The dusty battlefield was no stranger to the scorching heat of the Lankan summer, and they were more than happy to go away from it once it was clear that they had won the battle, yet again, though the war still waged on.

In the Healing and Planning tents was fresh, cold water, cool herbs to heal their wounds, and shade under the tent cloth. The sunset was dusty and the thick air clogged the tired lungs after the long day. The army of Ram's receded from the battlefield, hanging onto each other like life supports and picking up their injured friends. Soon, no one remained, except a single looming shadow, standing on the field.

Lakshman watched the "Golden Army" trickle off of the battlefield, and unknowingly dropped the shambles left of the arrow which Atikaya had shot into his bicep. They fell on the ground as if they were two lifeless twigs, and not missiles of death. The fallen body of Atikaya still lay on the ground, untouched, the chest remaining eternally still. Lakshman watched the body as if it were some spectacle for his viewing.

He did not near it, nor did he keep the armor or crown as spoils of war.(Gucci was not to his liking). Lakshman was not interested in spoils of war (That explains it too). The only point where he would approach a body was if it was Meghnad, and he could lift up the head of the monster and show it to his God, as in Ram, and tell him that Lakshman had come of some use to this world after so long.

He stepped back a step, and then another, his eyes still on the body, before he turned back around, hair flying even in the mild wind, and paced back towards the tents.

------O------

Ram looked up as the familiar footsteps approached, those quick, loud, heavy ones of Lakshman's, much like his personality. Quick, loud, angered, and often brash. These footsteps had been like this since they were children, since they were young, and Ram grinned broadly, letting go of the cloth which he had been wrapping around a spool, much to the chagrin of an angry Jal, who proclaimed that if he, the leader and supreme God, was wrapping cloth then she would die of shame. But Ram was stubborn, and eventually, the sister of Nal agreed with a sigh, handing him the cloth she had sewn that day ever reluctantly.

However, with all the trouble Ram had gone through to help, he dropped it all as Lakshman walked in, Lakshman, who set down his bow and immediately began to help around as if he had done nothing remarkable. Lakshman, who took the herbs from a stunned and panting Jambavan and crushed the thick-skinned herbs as if they were already powdered. Lakshman, who glanced at him for a moment abashedly before looking down again.

But that was exactly what Ram was not; abashed. "Lakshman!" he cried, all sewn cloth forgotten. It seemed no one else had realized the day's hero had entered the tent, and upon the familiar name, everyone spooked, jumping up and down, whirling around from their work. Ram suddenly paused, not having realized the loudness of his words. The injured sat up from their beds, groaning at the sudden pains from their wounds, and some vanars' jaws dropped. Ram thought he could spot Lakshman gulp. There was nothing but silence.

And then an uproar of cheers. Lakshman's hand was forcefully pried from where it had latched onto the mortar and pestle, and shaken multiple times that his arm was almost ripped off. Monkeys climbed onto him, taking their chance to watch the world from seven feet above and pull his hair in gratitude. Someone (Jal) had made a crown of flowers and leaves which was handed up until it was set on Lakshman's head. Another person (Aniya) had made a flag, which was promptly planted in Lakshman's limp hand, saying '#1 Demon-killer, seven foot tall non-evil giant, and hermit actor'.