Ram had always been rich. Ever so rich. Everyone knew it, from the villagers who saw him every day, to foreigners even as far as Persia, who could only dream of the riches they saw in the paintings of him.
As the Yuvraj of Ayodhya, favorite of Dasharath, the overflowing treasuries of Kosala were his in everything but name. He had mountains of gold, rubies the size of his fist, diamonds as large as his eyes, glinting sapphires that sparkled even in the dim light of the enormous room deep inside the palace.
Kosala was an empire, and its treasuries were its heart. But Ram's heart never belonged to the treasury which so many coveted. No. To snatch Ram's riches away from him, one would have to rip his family from his hands, separate him from everyone he loved.
Something that shone brighter than the sapphires Dasharath had bought from Lanka was Ram's love for his family. They were his true treasure. They made him a rich man.
Ram had his entire family stowed away in the treasury of his heart.
Ram had always had his mothers; all three of them. How rich could a man be, he thought, to have not one, but three mothers. Three different mothers, mothers who loved him, mothers who mentored him and kept him sane and wiped his tears before he could even think of crying them.
Sumant always said this: "A man's greatest advisor, and his greatest ever possession, is his mother." No wonder the villagers called their Yuvraj wise and rich.
Maa Kaushalya, to teach him the ways of a ruler. To show him how to sit up straight and oversee his future subjects. She, who first placed the heavy crown of the Yuvraj on his weak head and told him to put your chin up, Ram, for on your head, you carry Kosala's name. Maa Kaushalya, to be proud of the future king he would be.
Maa Kaikeyi, to mollycoddle him and spoil him. To splurge her allowance on toys for him and buy him a new kurta every week. Maa Kaikeyi, who was so kind to him that Ram remembered that one could always be kind to somebody else, despite their station. Maa Kaikeyi, to be proud of the good man he was.
Maa Sumitra, to keep him humble and wise. To call him for late night quilting near the fireplace, and with the orangish flames setting her sparkling eyes alight, tell him to keep his head cool, his hands steady, and never let anyone know his weaknesses. Maa Sumitra, who told him how to hang on to every last bit of his happiness, the only thing to keep him sane. Maa Sumitra, to be proud of the advice he imparted to others.
Three jewels in Ram's hand.
Yet all three of these jewels seemed to have left him, all of a sudden. Ram couldn't help but feel like his mothers were far away, in that moment, though they were merely in the castle behind him.
He stared at the orangish sky and squinted at the moon that disappeared at the edge of the mountains and stayed silent until Shatrughan gently shook his shoulders. "Bhaiyya?" he asked. "Bhaiyya! What's gotten into you? Are you not feeling well? We can stay back!"
"Oh shut up!" Bharat laughed, high above them on his horse, as Lakshman shoved his shoulder playfully. "You just want an excuse to not go to Kekeya with me and Mandavi. When were you this attentive to Ram bhaiyya's health, of all things?"
Shatrughan frowned at him in a manner of mock hurt, but his voice lacked any sarcasm when he started speaking. "What are you talking about? If Ram bhaiyya was sick, then I'd stay back, and you would stay back too! Forget Maharaj Yudhajit, we take care of our bhaiyya first." He turned worriedly towards Ram, who smiled at him.
Of course. What was he worried about? Even if he did lose the three jewels that were his mothers, he still had his brothers. Bharat, to encourage him. Shatrughan to keep him lifted up.
Yet as he saw them leaving on their horses at the wake of dawn, the back of their heads getting smaller and smaller, Ram wondered if he would lose them too.
But no matter! Ram had his Papa, Dasharath. And while the elder man was always a king, a regal king who had been ruling for thousands of years, they were closer than fathers and sons normally were. Ram had his Papa, in whose warm embrace he would sleep sometimes when he got restless about the future. Ram had his Papa to reassure him about his ability and teach him how to nock an arrow in his bow and let it fly. He always had Papa to catch him.
Ram would always have his father to guide him throughout kingship, and throughout life. He couldn't imagine one without him.
-----O-----
"P-Papa is...dead?" Ram asked weakly, his voice a raspy whisper. Bharat swallowed, staring at the ground almost guiltily, and behind him, Shatrughan, and behind him, their mothers. Ram stared at them, and his knees buckled.
Lakshman rushed forward to catch him before he hit the ground, and in his arms, in front of the entire family, Ram started to cry.
His mothers didn't wipe his tears, but sobbed themselves. Ram could hear the muffled sound, but only barely over his own gasps. Bharat and Shatrughan could do nothing but stare at the ground and try to prevent their own tears, and only Sita's hand on his shaking shoulder could pull him out of his misery.
He had always had his father, his brothers, his mothers. Yet, he felt like he had lost all of them in one go as he watched them walk away from his little cottage in the woods.
-----O-----
But he still had Sita. Sita, who was like a crystal rose, delicate but strikingly beautiful in all her fragile strength. Sita, whom he could now love without other's teasing eyes or quiet reprimands. It was just them, in their own world, in the middle of the forest.
But Ram felt guilty, for what was a crystal rose without its polish? Sita had grown up in a royal family, with all the monarchical benefits her doting father could afford. She'd been married to him with the high faith that she would live with the same, if not more luxury.
So when she had asked for the deer, in all of her innocent desire, Ram could do nothing but try to get it for her, hoping that it could provide some semblance of home in Kosala. Home, where they would soon return.
"Bhaiyya!" Lakshman called after him. "Be careful! The deer looks fishy to me."
"I'll be back soon, Sita!" Ram laughed, his voice betraying his excitement. "And I'll have that fishy deer with me, don't worry!"
"I could never worry if I am relying on you." Sita smiled.
Ram was used to leaving. He left Kosala for Chitrakut. He left Chitrakut for Dandakaranya. He was leaving Sita. But he was never used to people leaving him. Sita would still be there, in their cottage, when he came back. Sure, there was that nagging feeling that appeared in his thoughts, unwelcomed. But it was nothing.
Ram had no idea that his crystal rose would shatter that day and disappear as if lifted from his treasury by a sly thief. Ram had no idea that he would lose Sita.
-----O------
He screamed. Ram, who had never known rage, controller of his emotions, screamed, clutching at his hair, dropping to his knees under the weight of his guilt. Lakshman tried to lift him up, but Ram stayed adamantly glued to the ground, as if begging the Earth to swallow him up and spare his senses from the grief.
"SHE'S GONE!" Ram shouted. He shouted to the giant trees and the silent birds and all the deer that weren't golden and shining, so obviously a trap. "They all used to call me rich, and we ended up living in poverty, in the middle of nowhere, surrounded not by my so-called hectares of gold, but by the shuddering trees."
He wiped his nose, suddenly congested by his tears. "She was all I had," he rasped, giving up on his rampage. "She made me feel rich. She was my everything, Lakshman. Why would you leave her like that? Did she trust in me more than you? You, who have been with me since birth?"
He could not feel Lakshman's hand on his arm anymore, and yet Ram knew he was still there. Yet Sita wasn't.
He got up and exhaled. "I haven't lost her forever, Laksh. I will find her! Then, and only then, will we go back to Ayodhya."
Lakshman nodded and slowly wiped his tears. "I believe in you bhaiyya. You can do this."
-----O-----
The shore of the ocean was breezy, and the wind whipped Ram's hair behind his neck. He breathed in the salty air and exhaled, looking at the vast sea and the towering palm trees on the other side.
He could sense Lakshman's presence behind him, brooding and enormous, yet silent with respect. Ram smiled, his shoulders sinking slightly. "Tomorrow, you're going to fight Indrajit."
"Yes, bhaiyya." Lakshman agreed. He seemed to take Ram's words as an invitation to walk up to him. "Bhaiyya, I'm so happy you let me go! I'm so excited. Really. I'm going to defeat Indrajit tomorrow, with your blessings."
Ram smiled at him, and hugged him tightly. "Bhaiyya, why didn't you let me go before? This whole thing would have been done so much faster," Lakshman wondered, his voice ringing in Ram's ears.
Ram said nothing, just shook his head and stepped back. Lakshman tilted his head at the unanswered question, but began to walk away.
"You know, Lakshman. I'm so poor, yet I still feel regal enough to command this army. I don't have a coin in my dhoti, jewels on my clothes, yet I still feel so full." Ram blurted after him.
The younger one turned his head around mid-step. "Bhaiyya, it must be the vanar sena! They have shown you so much respect over these few months, you have realized that money or riches don't make a ruler."
Something about his selfless words reminded Ram of Sita.
Sita.
Ram grinned back. "Yes, that must be it. The respect of the people." And some part of his brain added 'and your love.'
-----O-----
Lakshman's blood was the color of freshly cut rubies, his golden skin paling, his onyx eyes closed.
Ram's entire treasury, and he had been the key that kept it locked and full.
Ram had known many things. Ram had known love, immense love. Ram had known accomplishments that were recorded in history books. Ram had known praise coming from every direction. Ram had known sacrifice, for hadn't he sacrificed his entire treasury? His father, his mothers, his two brothers, his wife.
But Ram had never known what it was like to be so poor. Growing up in a huge family, amidst all that love, in that giant treasury, and though Ram had slowly been draining it, he'd never known it to be empty. Ram had never felt so empty.
Not when his mothers were gone. Not when his father was dead. Not when he saw neither Bharat nor Shatrughan for thirteen years. Not in the dread that crept up in him at the sight of an empty cottage.
He'd never felt like an unfortunate man before. He'd never felt as if he wasn't wealthy. Ram had always been rich, ever so rich.
Because he had Lakshman, to wipe his tears like his mothers, to trust in his every action like his father, to encourage him like Bharat, to lift him up like Shatrughan, to fill in the void Sita had left behind. Slowly, Lakshman had become everything he had left behind.
Now, there was nothing.
Even if Ram had been presented with all the gold and jewels in the world at that moment, each and every material luxury he had possessed in Ayodhya, the gem-encrusted crown of Kosala itself, none of those meager riches could have matched his opulence.
A/N-This is kind of like my side of @Ramayana_lover's prompt. If you haven't read hers yet, for some weird reason, go and read it now! It's in the OS book titled 'Rama's Treasury'.
I was thinking of publishing this in shorts, where more people would probably have read it, but this by all means is the size of a oneshot, so it goes here!
I think I kind of dragged this on too much. Not fully in love with it. I prefer Amita's version because of its simplicity, but hey! I wrote it! So it's oky.
Thank you for reading, and byyyeeee!