The Princes of Ayodhya-The Ramayan Through Short Stories

Duty

"There is one thing...that a man can always do. And that is his duty; not by manoeuvering and finessing, but by vigour and resolution."

Once the sun set, the army of Ram did not retreat. They stayed on the battlefield. Ravan called for his own to go back into Lanka, and yet, still, the vanars remained, unmoving. Pebbles lay around on the bleak dust, and dirt was kicked up by the chilly evening breeze. Faint footprints trailed around on the ground, and Angad stepped into some of them curiously. SO much larger than his. Some may never touch the ground again. Bigger feet than his, bigger shoes to fill every time one of them fell.

The heat, the humidity of Lanka still remained in the air like a thick cloud after the war, and many collapsed. Even Surya seemed to take pity on them, descending quicker than usual into the foreign other mountains. Dusk came as a welcomed time for the vanar sena, who spent some of the time collecting bodies from the battlefield, dragging and lifting them up, walking back to the tents. This time, the toll could not be left forgotten. If the chakra of death had been released, countless more would have passed in seconds.

How long? How long would it be before they, too, would have died? How long would it be before Ravan sent his next champion, and they too were lost to the never-ending war between adharma and dharma? How long before the night finally came, and they could rest? Before the nauseating aroma of blood and burnt flesh left the air as it hadn't for the past few hours? Before one of their generals fell too? Before the Healers ran out of herbs? How long would it be before this was all over?

As Sugriv and a recovering Angad exchanged a look as the light blue light of the night fell, turning the sky a beautiful mesh of purples, pinks, but certainly not yellows, the army seemed to realize one thing. No one quite knew how long it would take. They just knew that it would happen, whatever it was. And they had to keep fighting, because the moment they gave up, the enemy would siege them and demolish everything they stood for. At least, some amended, if they lost the war, it would forever be remembered that they fought.

-----O-----

Though the sun sunk, and it would be hours before it rose again, welcoming the world to another day of war, it felt as if they were going to battle all over again. Their own personal battles. The Healers washed their hands free of the blood and pus which had collected on their hands. Some kneeled down, finally exhaling after a long day of bated breath. Others rubbed their aching knuckles against some of Jal's jute-the softest thing they could find.

Sugriv had instructed some soldiers to get water from a nearby stream. Though the pots quickly came, carried on the backs of the few still left with energy and adrenalin after the long day, it felt as if they couldn't come fast enough. As soon as one pot entered, it was quickly grabbed, either used to sprinkle on the fainted soldiers, or thristily gulped down by Healers, soldiers, whoever got to it first.

Ram watched the situation, his eyes drooping. His grip tightened around the bow as Sugriv, with his hand, helped guide a limping monkey to a bed, where some of the night-shift Healers who slept throughout the day, rushed to their aid. There were very few of such medics, for usually, Healers worked day and night straight. Truly Ram, and some others, worried that some day, the doctors would just collapse and die from exhaustion and nothing else.

That day hadn't come yet, and many prayed it wouldn't ever come. Not only because deaths upon the ones already occurring were bad, but because the Healers were the only reason so many survived. Else, they too would pass, if not from fatal injuries, from infections and malnourishment, and small things like cuts and sprained wrists. Like today, their generals may have all passed, a mass death, if not for the quick work of some.