The Princes of Ayodhya-The Ramayan Through Short Stories

The Final Match

Shrutakirti was on a mission. Actually, she was almost always on this particular mission. She was off to steal some sweets from the kitchen. Dripping gulab jamuns, and fluffy milk cakes, and crumbling ladoos galore! She paced ever closer, and looked up right at the edge of the doorway. Right in front of her, staring at her curiously, was that Shatrughan!

"Um, hi." he waved and Shrutakirti put a single finger on her lips and shook her head, beckoning him away. He didn't leave, only frowned, and pulled her inside the kitchen. They both ducked just as the main cookturned around quickly, muttering angrily.

"Those two, I thought it was them! Always steal my sweets, meant for the great king and the other princes." She shook her big, meaty head and placed two large bowls of ladoos on the counter, one this way and the other on the other counter. Shatrughan poked Shrutakirti's arm, and she turned to stare at him agitatedly.

He pointed to himself, and one way, and her to the other. Shurtakirti frowned, but he picked up a pebble and threw it far away from where they were. The cook whirled around, picking up a heavy wooden ladle and stomping off in that direction, muttering to herself about thieves, and how she had caught them this time.

Shatrughan raced off, as did Shrutakirti, and each grabbing a bowl of ladoos, they quickly ran out of the kitchen, breathing heavily as the cook's dismayed shouts barely reached their ears. Shrutakirti popped a ladoo in her mouth and Shatrughan stared at her in amazement.

"Wow! You're just like me in some ways! You're a good thief, a good planner, and you like sweets! I must say though, you didn't come prepared. One should always have a pebble handy, I learnt that from my mother. The beatings she used to give me when I tried to ruin Bharat bhaiyya's paintings." he shuddered, and Shrutakirti found herself nodding along. That Bharat and his painting, quite horrible!

Flashback

"What are you doing, rajkumar? Father calls you urgently to the Dining Hall?" she leaned into his room and looked around. The floor was clean, all except one area which was littered with paint tubes and paintbrushes and pieces of paper and what not. She frowned, looking up, her eyes tracing the mess to a certain prince sitting in front of a canvas. "What are you doing?" she repeated hesitantly.

"Tell your uncle a bit later. I'm painting! I can't be disturbed when I am painting!" he cried, turning around. Shrutakirti stayed silent, slowly pacing into the room, holding her skirt up slightly as she went to observe the painting. It was a beautiful landscape, the fields of Mithila, but something was missing. Something...ah yes!

"It's very pretty, but actually, I think you forgot to include the mountains in the background, you know, those grey and purple ones, looming in the background with sharp peaks?" she held her hands up a bit higher as to try to explain, but figured that he wasn't understanding from his confused and slightly frustrated frown.

"Shatrughan says the same thing, that I always "forget" things in my paintings! I am taking an artistic license, an artistic approach, I perceive things differently!" he cried, waving his hands around as to explain. Shrutakirti raised both eyebrows in surprise, and Bharat, realizing that she was not understanding, pointed to the purse she was holding.

"You see, that sleeve of yours?" Shrutakirti looked down at her dress. "It is missing a few swirls right there. Everything isn't even, it isn't perfect! That would be the same thing as here! With the mountains, nothing is even. Without them, it is all symmetrical and equal." Shrutakirti looked up, offended, and mouth agape. She had embroidered that sleeve!

"You have no experience with embroidery! It is much more delicate than that paintbrush and palette of yours! I think that eveness is not necessary in art, just a beauty that some cannot perceive. A beauty that perhaps you cannot perceive!" Bharat whirled around, hands on his hips. He usually was calm, but such an offense to his art had to be taken personally and shot down immediately. He had to protect the dignity of his palettes!