The air was chilly, and Shatrughan was reminded sharply by the breeze that bit at his bare shoulders, that late monsoon was morphing into early fall. Bharat, who rode in front of him, had realized this, and was wrapped in a deep orange traveling shawl. Shatrughan had been in too much of a hurry to remember.
He remembered Bharat's voice trailing off as he read the parchment from Ayodhya, excitement turning into concern, his voice quieting down.
He remembered grabbing it from him. He remembered Sumant's messy handwriting.
Come fast. Don't delay.
Then, he remembered nothing but haste.
Quickly pack the last of his shoes, Shrutakirti's jewels, and all the gifts that his uncle had shoved in his arms. Make sure that he was wearing the right shoes, the right dhoti, the right crown. Tuck the crumpled letter into his side purse.
There was no time for pleasantries. No time to meet villagers, or thank palace servants, or have a final bath in the luxurious tubs. No time to take a message home, or eat a little something before leaving.
They were going to search for answers. There was no time to consider the weather.
Bharat had found Mandavi and Shrutakirti a chariot, and the stablemasters had dragged their horses out. He could barely glance at the Royal Palace of Kekeya, or touch the feet of his uncle, or usher his wife and bhabhi into the rickety carriage.
Now he was here, outside in the late monsoon, with the wind hurrying his horse along.
They were going as fast as they could. The path from Kekeya to Kosala was heavily forested, gravelly, and shaded from the warm sun. It is remarkable, Shatrughan thought, that we've been traveling for so many kilometres, and not one ray of sun has yet fallen upon us.
Even Surya Maharaj was evading the Raghu Clan.
____
Guru Vashisht's orange robes were billowing in the wind when they arrived. They soared up into the air behind him, whipping away easily when he stood as still as a stone. Bharat dismounted from his horse smoothly, but Shatrughan stayed up on his stallion for a moment more as the gates creaked heavily behind the chariot that had followed them through the journey.
Still, once both his brother and guru stared at him expectantly, Shatrughan climbed off as well, feeling his head rush from the sudden change in altitude.
Shrutakirti and Mandavi stepped out of the carriage, and while Mandavi lingered behind for a moment, Shrutakirti stepped forward, holding her flying pallu in front of her face to protect it from the cold.
He met her concerned eyes for a sudden, fleeting moment, before being forced to turn away.
"Why were we called so urgently, Guruji?" Bharat asked, holding his crown to prevent it from flying away when the winds strengthened.
The Guruji opened his mouth, but the wind began to wail, as if it in itself was unwilling to let the princes hear the news. Understanding that whatever words he spoke would be the wind's property, Vashisht simply gestured the princes in.
Never a man to waste a word, he simply mouthed one thing to the guardsmen. Close the gates.
____
There was something clawing at Shatrughan as they walked through the corridors. This way and that. They passed the throne room, the queens' chambers, even their father's personal room, deep in the palace. Shatrughan had barely gotten a glimpse of it, but whatever bit he saw felt unfamiliar. The curtains were drawn. The carpet was alarmingly neat.
YOU ARE READING
Fleeting Moments-Ramayan Oneshots
Historical Fiction"Things end, but memories last forever." Before he defeated Ravan, before he became the saviour of the world, before he sat upon the throne of Kosala, Ram was a simple prince. Before his wife, Sita, was abducted, before he had to endure endless har...
