Upkatha

Rama pretended, Again

But tell me, my kind lady.
Haven't there been tales of love among mortals and gods?

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"No, no, no, no.."

"What?" sputtered Rama, his mouthful of the big bite he had  taken in quite a hurry.

"You need to fold the chapatti like this-" she said rolling it-"and then you take a bite of this roll, along with a spoonful of the curry."she ended, executing the said action.

Rama swore he could watch at her eat all day. Her eyes lit up as she slowly chewed the food, as if she was savouring a taste he would never come across.

Sita snapped her fingers in front of his face, "Why are you giving me heart eyes, Rama?"

"When do I not give you heart eyes?" he smiled.

"Truer words have not been spoken. Now, go on do it!"she clapped, trying to ignore the flush in her cheeks and pushed the plate towards him.

However, the urge to gobble up that heavenly supper was overpowering tonight. And there goes the bite, in all it's unsophisticated glory, down his throat.

She could only pout and throw her hands up in exasperation.
"Oh for goodness sake!"

Lakshman walked into the straw cottage, with some freshly cut firewood.

"Lakshman, go wash your self first and then join your brother. We're having your favourite for supper."

"The one?" he grinned, his smile lighting up their world.

"Mhmm, yes." she smiled, setting his meal out.

He sat down eagerly, almost a bit too jumpy at that.
"And how are you myself my man?"

Rama almost choked, "I'm fine, my lady."

The men devoured the food, urging Sita to eat along with, but she refused. She liked observing them eat, they were like an ancient rusty couple. Rama would pass the bowl, even before Lakshman knew he wanted another serving. And he would offer him the slurry mint chutney, just as it was about to finish. The worked well together, inner channel if you know what I mean!

"Bhabi, you make the best food. That is that."

"Absolutely, absolutely."

She was about comment on how Urmila's desserts were much better than hers, but she bit her tongue there and then. No, not before him. He was already struggling with this heavy guilt, and she knew just how much he loved her. He couldn't stop himself from stepping out of that 'typical Lakshman' persona when it came to Urmila.

But what could Sita do? All her life she had lived with her little sister, well until now at least. She would bring Urmi up, every single minute, only if she could.

But it hurt, to think and feel and breathe after.
She cleared her head. Thinking and hurting was for the quiet spaces in the night.

"You don't say, Swami? How do you even know the taste. You swallowed it straight!"

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The curry tasted a lot like what Sita would make for them. Sita. He would say her name every hour, every minute, every breath. Just to solder the fact that she was real. Sita was real, and alive, and breathing. Breathing in a different air, but still.

Somedays he would eat alone, and they let him. He needed some space to vent.

He noticed that he had one chapatti still left on his plate. Folding it up in a roll he took a bite. And then slowly added  a spoonful of curry into his mouth, chewing at it slowly this time.

He closed his eyes and excavated for some unique taste, chewing on and on and on until the food had gone bland. But still, he smiled and pretended to have whole potpourri of flavours bursting in his mouth.

"You make the best food, Sitae. That's that."

She would've been so proud, probably clapping  like an excited child. Fisting around at finally having had made Ram eat in the 'Sita sophisticated way.'

He laughed at the thought, laughed on until he went hollow.

After cleaning up, he walked in the garden with all the kids. Telling them about the nocturnal animals and their nightly hunts. He took them to the hedges of Wisteria and made them smell it's heavenly fragrance, mixed with the scent of the night. He put them all to bed, kissing their foreheads and assuring that he had himself killed the monsters under the bed.

He may be the Royal Highness  all day, but after he was a family man. A brother, a father to all their kids, a husband maybe.

Before retiring to his bed, his cold uninviting bed, he removed his royal attire, folding and hanging it on the rod.

"Let's turn on an oil lamp, now shall we?" he called out to the stars.

He chose Sita's favourite scented oil, pouring it daintily atop the dish. He lit the wick in a very Sita like way, and smelt the air after.
These calm me down, the scents and the soft glow.

That's all he could do now. Pretend to be Sita, do things her way. Step into what Sita was. That's all he could do now.
Live through Sita.
Hoping it would be enough.
But it was never enough.
It would never be enough.
So Rama pretended, again.

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I'm starting like with small thingies I love, I'll jump into length later.

Another surprise coming for Diwali btw!

I tried okay, don't crowd me :')

Also, do you get the metaphorical ongoing here? It looked damn meaningful in my head though-

SiyaRam, RukminiShyam own me please.
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