No amount of rain, wind, or clouds could stop Ram and Lakshman as they walked down the forest trails. Thankfully for them, however, there was none. It was sunny, but Ram looked upon the sun that shined down upon him with scorn, his lip curling. The sun had no right to shine. The day had no right to be so perfect. The wind no permission to blow. Clouds no reason to pass. Sita was in the clutches of a demon, and everything seemed normal.
How long had it been since he had last seen her? That round face? Her long, dark hair? Her soft, pretty eyes? It felt like years, longer than the vanvass, longer than his life, longer than a Yug, longer than it actually was. Maa Kaushalya had once told him that sorrow and separation from a loved one made time pass slower than it did. Maa Kaikeyi said that happiness determined perception of time. Maa Sumitra told him that it was not emotion or separation that affected time, but how one reacted to it.
Was that true? Ram closed his eyes shut and tried to imagine himself happy. He couldn't. But he could do something else. The day felt so normal, too normal. If he wasn't trudging through the forest, if his light orange angavastram didn't have a few spattered drops of Marich's blood displayed on it, if every second did not remind him of her, her words, her actions, then perhaps he could pretend. He could pretend to be happy, just to make time pass faster. Ram wished he had shot that Brahmastra off when he had the chance. The anger resurfaced like all anger did when faced with regret; as if a dagger dove into a new scar, defiling old wounds with fresh ones.
Lakshman watched his brother's back, swallowing down his words like one would do a mouthful of medicine; with a grimace of disgust, and somewhat one of regret that they had not spat it out. Anger was something, that unlike all else, did not grace his brother Ram. Anger was something that Ram did not employ to his advantage. Anger was something that Ram threw aside without thinking. And yet, anger was what he knew Ram felt, overpowering anger. Lakshman exhaled, swallowing again. They were nearing the edge of the forest. No longer could they pretend to be frolicking in the warm, welcoming, familiar arms of Chitrakoot. Now it would be a harsh wind that greeted the princes.
Harsh, and unforgiving. Strange, Lakshman thought, that something he looked upon with dislike and uneasy apprehension was something that he was described as. Something that he would not change. Stubbornness was like the cool, powerful wind; it hit against you, never ebbing, refusing to yield, and eventually, you went along with it. Was that how everyone behaved around him too? Avoiding the puddle of anger he was? When did he get so poetic? Lakshman shook his head, ridding his mind of all thoughts. What would happen next, would he start playing bagpipes, tap dancing, and reciting dirty little limericks ending in rhymes? Well, truly, anything could happen, but he certainly hoped not! What was the point of building up a reputation over years, only to have it demolished in seconds?
The third prince, beloved of Urmila, was jolted out of his thoughts when the branches stopped brushing against him. Ram had stopped, and now stared at the Rishyamukha Mountains with barely concealed awe. "Look, brother of mine, at how tall and proud these mountains stand!" Ram straightened himself too, puffing his chest out, broadening his shoulders. "I cannot afford to be weak. Let's go!" Lakshman followed his footsteps. Such trust his brother had in him, enough to believe that he would be tall and proud without saying. But what if he was not? He couldn't afford not to be either. Lakshman too straightened himself, simmering in barely controlled anger. His bhabhi was somewhere, somewhere unforgiving in its hostility. And he would not stand here, allowing it to happen.
-----O-----
Ravan and Sita landed on the island of Lanka. It was truly breathtaking in its splendour, and even if they arrived in distress and struggle, all the visitors took a second to have their breath pulled out of their lungs as they took in the grand city. But not Sita. She may have noticed it, in the corner of her eyes, but in her mind, the most beautiful kingdom was the one which she ruled with her husband. And if not that, then her dear Videha, her birthplace. Sita found beauty not in gold and shimmer, but in what happened in the city, what it was made for. And she saw nothing great about a city of slaughter and evil.
"Come, woman!" Ravan's grip on her wrists only tightened, and Sita struggled as she was pulled towards his gardens. Ravan's gardens were vast. He had many of them, each unique, but none was more beautiful than his favorite, the Ashok Vatika. Trees practically bent over, so laden with ripe fruit as they were. Red and pink flowers bloomed in every corner and quarry. One would not find a single pest, a single sharp rock, a single place unbeautiful there. All except Sita, who treasured the gardens of Mithila above all others, and felt like spitting when seeing these ones. What use was beauty when it was not pure?
"See? This!" Ravan laughed, pushing Sita onto a pavilion around a tree. "All of this! All of this and more, it's all mine! This is just one garden, among others, Sita, and they could all be yours too, if you just agreed to be my queen! You are here! You are being courted by the very King of Lanka himself! What more could you wish for? Say it, say that you will be my queen, and riches, beauty, and gold will all be yours!"
Sita snarled, shaking her head, and scooched back even further on her pavilion in order to get away from the boasting king. "Never! You hear me? Never! I don't want this garden, I don't want these riches, I don't want your gold! I have plenty! You call this beauty? I should show you the gardens of Mithila! This beauty is impure, it is tainted! Courted? You call this courting? You have kidnapped a pious wife and tried to make her your own? Never! Never, I say!"
Ravan's eyes flashed, and he leaned in closer to try and shake her shoulders, but his hands only hovered above Sita as she raised a blade of grass. "Don't touch me! Don't touch me! Before you touch me, you will burn to ashes, King of Lanka! Upon the word of a pious woman, if I am good and pure and if my thoughts have never wavered from the name of my husband, if Ravan, King of Lanka dares touch me, he shall burn to ashes!"
Ravan stepped back. Sita's piousness and purity could not come into question. He would indeed be reduced to ashes if he did. But his anger was left incurred nonetheless, and his fists curled. "If you don't consent to becoming my wife in a few months, you shall instead die! Your husband and family shall die! Have it your way, and everyone you know and love shall be mutilated and sent to the Kingdom of Yama!"
He made to step away, and turned around, when Sita uttered her last mirthless words. "My husband is Ram, son of Dasharath, Yuvraj of Kosala! I shall have no other! He is the best man on this Earth, no one can outmatch him! Before I betray him, I would hang myself. Beware, Ravan, beware. They are coming, they are coming to avenge my dishonor and kidnapping, they are coming to reclaim me. My husband Ram and my son-my brother, Lakshman, they are coming to take me back! Beware when their feet touch the battlefields of Lanka! Blood shall be spilled, but it shall not be theirs."
-----O-----
"Spilled blood? Bhaiyya? What is going on? Why aren't you wearing a new one?" cried Lakshman, finally noticing the splatters of red on Ram's angavastram. They sat on the banks of the river that separated them and the mountains, and finally, they spoke to each other. After what had felt like months-years, words were exchanged. Ram closed his eyes shut, as if not being able to take such a trivial matter when other things needed to happen.
There was a pause, an intake of breath. Somewhere, sometime, someplace in another universe, another existence, another dimension, in another being, Ram could have laughed-he would have laughed at how impatient Lakshman was. Some things changed, and they would always change, continue to change till the world ended, but Lakshman never would. Nothing about Lakshman, indeed had changed. It was like he would be the one constant in his life, and Ram was glad of it.
Though for years of working in the sun, he was still fair as ever. His eyes did not seem to lighten. If anything, he had grown even taller, for now he could lift himself onto a tree without climbing. And his impatience, of course, would never change. Lakshman seemed to have quieted down, accepting that his brother would never provide an answer, but Ram would, his cryptic ways left as unchanged as Lakshman's. Ram would, sometime, sometime eventually. That time was not now, however.
"Time is a fickle thing, isn't it? Racing past you as if you are in a marathon, a competition? You can barely hold onto its fibres,and when you finally can, it decides to end things, and the race of life is over." Lakshman blinked. What new language had his brother dreamed up in his boredom? And where could he find a thesaurus for it? "Let us leave, Lakshman, while the day is still bright." Ram's very words seemed to be against him too, for the sun seemed to cross the top center of the sky and seemed ready to sink into the horizon. The sky, which was a bright blue only minutes ago, was right on the tip of turning purple and pink and orange and yellow, and Ram quickly got up, Lakshman with him. The third prince might have been a little confused by poetry, and Ram's charming crypticism and word bending, but quickness he could understand.
A path swirled around the Rishyamukha mountain, and without hesitation, Ram began to climb it, Lakshman right next to him, for Ram had insisted upon it, laughing for what seemed like the first time in decades. "God Lakshman! You are not my servant, so stop following me around like one! You are my brother, my dearest brother, and you should walk next to me!" And so a very unwilling Lakshman was pulled next to a very insisting Ram, and now they walked next to each other on the narrow path, elbows bumping once or twice, and the elder prince of Kosala began to start to regret walking up the mountain in the afternoon instead of the morning, wondering how tall it truly was.
"Mountains are just as cryptic as you, bhaiyya." Ram turned towards Lakshman confusedly. "You look at it, and think that it is simple, but once you start getting to know it, it becomes complex. And here we were, thinking that it's so short. I'll die by the time I get up there!" Ram burst into laughter, shaking his head. But the happy sound was pulled out of his throat as he quieted down and looked off into the distance. Finally seeming to crack the code of the cryptic crown prince, or finding the handbook to understanding Ram after years of trying, Lakshman interrupted his thoughts. "We'll find her. We will! I know it!"
But before Ram could object, he saw a man approaching him. A man that looked like a brahmin. The brothers paused as the man walked closer and closer, a wide smile, rather, a wise smile, etched upon his face like it was engraved permanently there. The man carried a walking stick, and looked between the two brothers once he finally reached them. "What brings you two here? It must have been a long walk!"
But before Lakshman could ask him the same, or rather "How did you get up there, you look rather old," seeing as his hair was graying, Ram cleared his throat, not wanting to reveal much. "We are from the forests of Chitrakoot. We walked out of them, searching, and we found this lovely mountain. We decided to walk up it, just to see the view. It has been quite a long evening, has it not?" He could have asked Lakshman to do it, seeing as he was the better liar, but Ram pushed through it. He had to lie to himself too, live a lie for a few minutes, forget Sita.
The man tilted his head, his smile not even wavering at the obvious lie. "Ah. Well, I see. My name is Pawan. I live here, on this mountain. May I ask, why were you in the forests? You look quite like kshatriyas, with your bows and your arrows, and all of your weapons and glore. Are you from any nearby kingdom, for there are many around this area, aren't there? Are you accompanied by anyone? A sister, even a wife perhaps?"
At the mention of wife, Ram paled, and leaned into Lakshman a little bit. Lakshman wrapped his arm around his brother, and once seeing that he was in no state to talk, turned back towards Pawan hesitantly. His mind was quarreling with himself. For one, this was a brahmin, he was a good man. Perhaps he could even be trusted! On the other hand, Lakshman did not trust anyone, and that instinct never had betrayed him so far. But for some reason, something nagging at his heart, Lakshman chose the latter.
"This is Ram, Yuvraj Ram of Kosala. I am Lakshman, rather, Rajkumar Lakshman of Kosala, his younger brother. Ram bhaiyya was exiled to the forest for fourteen years by our second mother, Kaikeyi, who put her son, Bharat bhaiyya, in Ram bhaiyya's place. Ram bhaiyya's wife, Sita bhabhi followed him, as did I. '' Pawan seemed to soften. "We went into Chitrakoot, spent thirteen years there too. Then, one day, a rakshas named Ravan, apparently King of Lanka, kidnapped her after tricking the both of us a few days ago. We do not know where she is, how she is." Lakshman turned towards Ram, taking his temperature. "Ram bhaiyya is worried sick. I am too. I thought of her as a mother, a fourth one."
Pawan straightened up as Ram regained his senses, wiping away the last of his tears. Suddenly, he was overtaken by a bright light that made both brothers stumble back, before he took the form of a monkey. A large monkey, who stood on both feet, and stared at both brothers. "Hello! My name is Hanuman. I have a feeling like this is my life's purpose, helping you and your brother, Ram sir. My King and good friend, Sugriv, who resides right here on Rishyamukha Mountain, was disturbed by your appearance, as you do look quite dangerous, and sent me to check who you were! I think that we may be able to help you, if you help us! Please, come along with me, sires!"
A/N-Yes! Here comes the true, real plotline, rushing towards us like a boulder truck! So maybe we're not happy with it! So what? I mean, I'm not going to write Uttarakhand anyways, so whatever! As I said, the old me would have focused five chapters on just them getting up a mountain, which would actually probably be boring, even for me. But new me says a faster plotline! So...faster plotline! I mean, why not? Why NOT?
One more thing-I HAVE WRITTEN FOUR HUNDRED PAGES OF THIS STORY! *celebrations* Four hundred. Can you believe it? I definitely cannot. I wonder if I'll reach five hundred. One thing I do know is that I'm reaching 250,000 words, because I've checked, and there's no way I'm not, unless I abandon this or something, which I won't, no worries.