The Princes of Ayodhya-The Ramayan Through Short Stories

Apna Time Bhi Aayega-Part 2

'Never underestimate anyone. Monkeys can fight now, and they WILL fight.

In a flash, the king desperately picked up his bow and aimed his next arrow right towards the heart of Lakshman. As soon as the arrow was released, Lakshman dodged, and all it did was embed itself into the Earth. Another arrow, this time flaming with orange, rushed towards the prince, who countered it with an arrow which shot orbs of water. Metal spikes, many of them, were met with an invisible purple shield.

Ravan lifted a steel arrow with golden tips, and Lakshman lifted a simple one of wood and splinters. And yet both met in the middle with a show of sparks and embers. The next arrow leaving from the golden chariot escaped with a loud twang of the bowstring, but Lakshman fought silently, cleverly, like a black panther hiding in the shadows of the jungle, prowling, waiting, waiting, waiting. Ravan sent an arrow of shadows towards Lakshman, one which could consume the victim with darkness and sorrow, one that would cause them to kill themselves. A bright flash swallowed that arrow hungrily. The arrow of light. Surya Baan. Ravan stepped back, his heart racing, bumping back and forth in the ribs of his chest.

The vanar sena may fight with trees and boulders and rocks, but this man was not unwilling to fight with astras and arrows. Ravan growled once more, and stood up, straighter this time. He collected three golden astras in his hands and released them, one after the other, after the other. And Lakshman smiled. That hermit had the audacity to smile, and you know why he smiled? He sensed that the enemy was becoming frustrated, he sensed that the enemy was becoming angry, angry, angrier than he was.

Which was a feat, considering that Lakshman was plenty angry that his arrows weren't going through. But here, he was facing a real challenge. And so those three golden arrows were met with six ones of silver, and they clashed with a loud boom. Shards of metal fell everywhere, but in the light of the mid-air explosion, neither side even blinked before each released an arrow of their own. It was like a game of badminton; the approaching shuttlecock had to be apprehended, had to be predicted.

It also had to be flaming and very lethal, but hey! This was war. Ravan watched as each of his atras clashed in the middle with their equal, and glanced at the bow of Brahma which he wielded, wondering how it could possibly fail him every single time. How could this otherworldly bow, wrought from the same silver and marble upon which the God floated above, possible release arrows suddenly rendered so weak, so equal with the opponents'?

And then, Ravan found his answer. Why should he wait for their arrows to clash, if he knew that they would? The moment he released a single arrow, he'd release another! It was so easy, wasn't it? And so, Ravan shot another flaming baan, not caring to watch as the water one overtook it. One more, and the area was bathed in darkness for a quick moment, bathed in a smoky, dusty darkness which none of them had known before, a pitch black to match Lakshman's eyes.

One more, one more shining golden arrow, as the sun matched out the dark bomb which he had released, and Ravan watched as blinking confusedly, Lakshman did not notice the golden arrow approaching him. No, Hanuman noticed first. "BHAIYYA!" he yelled frantically, reaching an arm out as if it would help any, his voice suspended in time and fate. Lakshman whirled around, just in time to see the golden arrow reach his neck. He moved, in a split second, he moved, and the only thing it did was dig deep into the golden flesh of the rib.

There was simple silence, fractured, simple silence. It seemed as if the sound was pulled away from the vanar sena and drifted to the rakshas army, which roared with pleasure. Lakshman still stood upright, staring calmly at the arrow, out of which gushed blood, dark red and angry like a stream of water. Angad clapped a hand over his mouth, shaking his head as the surrounding area was bathed in the blood of the man who had stood upon it victoriously only moments ago.