Fleeting Moments-Ramayan Oneshots

Master

"Lakshman, third in line to the throne, prince of the Raghuvanshi clan, Ramanuja, Bharatanuja, elder twin to Shatrughan, Dasharathnandan, Saumitranandan! Fight me to the death, your brothers are all dead!" she cried fiercely, and that got a response all right from the warrior prince.

Scooting out his chair, he crushed the golden goblet in one hand without trouble, stood up, drew a long sword that nobody even knew was there, and went swiftly into a fighting stance, pointing his sword towards Urmila. His eyes widened as he recognized the face, and he quickly sheathed his sword, plopping down in his chair innocently amid the awed silence.

"You see, I know my husband well!" Urmila patted his shoulder proudly, not even perturbed, as Shatrughan gaped at the long sword now hidden in his dhoti, Ram and Bharat tried to hide their laughter, and the princesses didn't bother, bursting into peals of giggles.

Lakshman breathed heavily, chest rising and falling rapidly. Guilt, guilt, guilt flooded him, his mind, his brain, his hand which had gripped that sword so confidently, ready to kill. He had directed his sword towards his wife because he had been too busy worrying about his house in the woods. He could have killed dear Urmi, just because of an accidentally overwhelming emotion. Stupid...stupid...stupid...

"Come outside, Laksh, look at all the fallen trees!" cried Shatrughan, jumping up and down like a child even though he was twenty at that point. That statement woke up the usually grumpy and not-a-morning-person Lakshman up in a split second, as he sat up and raced out the palace gates. Shatrughan, Ram, Bharat, and their respective wives, who had all woken up earlier, as well as Urmila, were about to greet him, but he raced past them at a pace they did not know was possible.

"Where is he going?" asked Urmila worriedly, turning towards Shatrughan and pulling up her ghunghat. Shatrughan shrugged, and gestured that they should follow him. They followed Lakshman through the forest, as he brushed past thick brambles like they were nothing, unknowingly clearing a path for them.

Worry, worry, worry, was all that Lakshman knew. A day, a night of constant fears, and as he stepped over the last fallen tree before the clearing, he almost did not want to know. Perhaps some things were best left unseen, just believed. Too late, as a ray of light invaded his scrunched up eyes, and he reluctantly stepped into the clearing.

As he blinked, he stumbled back. In front of him stood his little meditation house, good as always, completely unaffected, sun shining on it as if the gods themselves were looking upon it. It was a stark contrast to the fallen trees, thick vines strung messily everywhere, creatures crawling about. Relieved at such a great level, Lakshman began to laugh, great breaths of air filling his lungs, sunshine glowing on him for the first time. Across the forest, into the palace, Dasharath was announcing Ram's coronation exuberantly. Manthara was listening schemingly. Kaikeyi was smiling unknowingly. But Lakshman was laughing, laughing freely, clutching his stomach, tears of joy forming in the corners of his eyes, not knowing it was the last time in fourteen years he would be able to do so.

And that was how the wives and husbands found him. Laughing, relieved in front of a beautifully crafted house. Happy, happy, happy. And, even through the uncontrollable laughter, Lakshman predicted their reactions.

Ram, worrier supreme, would say, "Laksh, you should not have done that! Running through the forest, as if you didn't care about being harmed! Well, we care, we do! Get up, Laksh, are you alright?" Fussy as always, but his Ram bhaiyya did love him. His Ram bhaiyya loved him very much, and love was NOT a burden.

Bharat, ever the lover of arts, would say, "Wow, what a beautiful house, Laksh! When did you become so great at architecture, I do not know. If you just embraced your inner artistic side instead of sword fights and warfare all the time, maybe you could become a great!" Kind, good, hoping for the best of him, but appreciating his inner strengths, and urging him forward. Not a duty, a want.

Shatrughan, humorous and well-wishing, would say "Good, see brother? You look much more attractive when you laugh! Almost as attractive as I, and that is no small feat! Oh, if only you were more identical to me, you might have more success with women." Weird, that his single younger brother, some people would say the most unfeeling (other than him) of them all understood the best part of what was happening right then; not the fact that he was unharmed, not his intact and geniusly crafted house, but his laughter.

And how did Lakshman predict this all, accurately, even, through this loss of self-control, through his mad bout of laughter? Well, there was a reason people called him "Master of Emotions".

A/N-This is just a quick oneshot I wrote about Lakshman in my spare time. I didn't think this would fit into "The Princes of Ayodhya-Ramayana Retelling", which is my other, much longer and ongoing story. So, I made it a oneshot!

I do not think I will add more to this, I just want to explore how Lakshman let go of his feelings, unknowing that this was the last time he would be able to in fourteen years. That's right, did you catch that part?

Either ways, if you read this, please let me know if you want more one shots/feel-good stories like this. Happy to oblige.