The Princes of Ayodhya-The Ramayan Through Short Stories

Backstreet's Back (alright!)

As the army of monkeys held an impromptu party on the flying chariot, Lakshman took the opportunity to step to the side, peering over the edge of the railing at the immense forests below. Those deep green trees masked the footprints of his brother, which still must have been etched into the soil, even a year later. Certainly, no deer would have trampled over them, and no rain would have washed them away. Even the wild beasts had recognized the divinity of his brother. Would the god of the rain not know it?

He was happy. Extremely, immeasurably happy.

First, Ram bhaiyya was reunited with Sita bhabhi after a long battle. The warm joy on their faces spread to everyone else in a ten kilometer radius (meaning that there were some very hyperactive birds down below, perplexing villagers everywhere).

Second, he was about to reunite with the love of his life. This fact was equally wonderful and nauseating. He hadn't heard a word about Urmila for fourteen years, hardly even her name. Ram and Sita had both been too kind to utter it. Even the way it passed through his mind seemed foreign.

That he would still love her, he had no doubt. Lakshman was not a man who loved easily, and not a man who lost love easily.

But...would Urmila still love him? Would it be the same? They were strangers of time, separated for longer than they had even known each other. Perhaps this exile had changed something about him, made him unlovable. There was a scar on his chest, for one. Sanjeevani wasn't ideal for cosmetic procedures.

"Isn't that the Dandakaranya?" Angad piped up, pointing down.

"Ah, so it is." Ram smiled, still clasping Sita's hand. "Shall we take a small pause? Bharat may still be preparing things."

"I could see the cottage one final time," Sita agreed with a wistful smile of her own. "It was my home for so many years, after all."

"Perhaps I can organize things in Kishkindha," Sugriv added from behind. "I need to settle any brief affairs the kingdom may have had in my absence. We can reunite near the Pushpak Viman once we are all finished."

Lakshman tore his anxious gaze away from the forest below.

----O----

The forest seemed to be a sort of Ayodhya of its own. The deer and birds greeted Ram and Sita cheerfully along their path, squirrels scampering near their feet. Even though they were supposed to be returning in joy, Lakshman remained alert behind them. Who knew? It would be quite bad if they had managed to defeat Ravan after a long, bloody battle, only for a hungry tiger to ruin the whole thing.

They came to a staggering halt at the clearing. The cottage was exactly how they left it. White paintings curled around the mud walls, faded and peeling. Pots of water, now empty. The hole in the roof, left unthatched. A bowl remained fallen near the front, across the faint line of the rekha Lakshman had drawn. The fruit had probably rotted away.

He had almost forgotten the suddenness with which everything had gone wrong. One minute, everyone was alright. His bhaiyya, his bhabhi, safe and happy, the lyrical sounds of their conversation joining into the symphony of the forest. Then, all at once, disaster.

"If only Ravan had never come upon us," Ram murmured, glancing up at his home of ten years. "We could have lived out our final year in peace."

Sita wound her arm through his elbow. "But you were fated to defeat him, Raghunandan. If it hadn't happened this way, it would have been another." She pressed her head against his shoulder. "I am only glad that, after this whole ordeal, we can finally go home."

Ram curled back into her, his head over hers. "Yes, home. I can finally give you the life you deserve, Sitei."

Sita's hair swayed slowly in the breeze. "But I have had it all along. The only life I want is one with you."