The Princes of Ayodhya-The Ramayan Through Short Stories

The Flower's Folly

"Hmm, what is this," murmured Urmila as the maid delivered her a note. She unrolled it carefully, curiosity buzzing in her brain. As she unrolled the last part of paper, and her husband's name jumped right back at her in curly, loopy handwriting. She squinted, used to neat, prim calligraphy. She whirled around, ready to call her husband.

"Hey, Laksh, this is meant for you..." she trailed off as she spotted her husband's steady breathing as he lay down on the bed. He was asleep. "I guess I'll just put it here for you to read, then." She placed it on his table and crawled into bed as well. Lakshman turned around in his sleep, putting one hand on her arm as if never wanting to let go.

Smiling softly, Urmila brushed his hair away from his face, and his frown immediately disappeared. Even in his sleep, those stray bangs troubled him to no end. Urmila turned again to look at the wall in front of her, breathing in a familiar citrus scent that always seemed present in this room. Whenever she cried, it would calm her down if her own husband didn't.

Urmila turned again to look at the letter. It seemed so enticing, just sitting there, open for anyone to read. She glanced again at her peaceful arya, untroubled in his rest, a small smile taking over his face. Lakshman had always stressed for them to be open in their relationship, and he certainly would not hide anything from her. Again she turned toward the letter, recalling the loopy handwriting.

Who could it be that was writing a letter to him? Curiosity, innocent and gnawing at her bones, spread across her body, and clenching the blankets tightly, and biting her lip, Urmila grabbed the letter and put it on her lap, exhaling in gratefulness as Lakshman didn't even move. Of course, Soumitri was always deep in his sleep, not alert like he was when awake. Taking a deep breath, Urmila unrolled the letter and began to read.

'Dear Prince Lakshman,

I send this letter only to you and not your family for I think that it is an important one indeed, and perhaps not one you would wish to want to share with your family. I, Raja Vanshik, am narrating this, but my daughter is writing for me.

Urmila paused for a second. Raja Vanshik? Wasn't he the King of Mahisthami? That one king who had a daughter? A very pretty daughter, as she recalled. Shaking her head, Urmila continued reading, breathing in the words like air, her eyes growing wider.

When we arrived at Mithila first, my daughter was in great peril, and you volunteered to help her. There, you saved her life. Throughout the trip, we closely observed your bravery and reservedness with awe and excitement. And then, you saved my dear daughter, Phool Jani, flower of my life, from a fierce lion that threatened to end our pride and joy's very life!

Urmila blinked, before almost bursting into laughter, quickly stopping herself when she heard a light inhalation on Lakshman's part. Nope, he was asleep. Of course, they still must think he did all of those things voluntarily? Then, her smile disappeared. Where was this letter going? Her heart raced as she picked up the aging, silky parchment again. It couldn't be what she feared it was. Yes, it just had to be only a letter of deserved gratefulness and nothing more. It couldn't be anything more!

When we returned to Mahisthami, my daughter couldn't stop talking about and thinking about you. When we announced to our kingdom that you had saved her not once, but twice, you were received very well. You must know, you were a great bringer of joy to them before, having saved my daughter's life many times.

Urmila paused in her reading, and turned again, incredulously, towards her husband. Many times? Many times? Didn't he hate the princess? Her heart continued beating quickly, so loud that she thought he may have heard it were he awake, but her brain wouldn't stop reading the letter, aching with curiosity and slight anger? Jealousy? Urmila did not know, but she continued reading hungrily like a starved woman.