Genre: Slice of Life

Summers in Ayodhya tended to be rainy, and damp, especially when they reached into late July and the monsoon season began to parade in. Perfect for the hectares of ricecrop that thrived near Kosala's border with Mithila. Perfect for the four princes. 

Ram loved to watch the rain from the pavillion in the Vishnu temple. He sat on the steep steps, leaning heavily against a tall stone pillar, exhaling as the familiar symphony of monsoon echoed around him. 

The hordes of palm trees had begun to swish, pulled like a magnet in the direction of the furious wind. The rain hit like falling pebbles against the marble floors of the fountains and courtyard. The sun had long since disappeared behind the thick blanket of clouds that smothered the Earth.

His eyes began to droop shut when, suddenly, loud shouts bounced off the high ceilings around him. He heard the old copper bell that hung from the ceiling ringing, and then something, someone, in bright yellow clothing, whizzed past him and into the steady downpour. 

Ram's eyes snapped open, and he registered a hazy image of Shatrughan jumping hyperactively, already drenched from the rain. "LAKSHMAN! RAIN!" the youngest shouted, beckoning wildly with his arms. "Come on!"

Ram's eyes widened, and he whirled around, spotting Lakshman appearing from behind him, but before he could tell him to slow down, you'll slip, Lakshman was also bounding out of the relative shelter of the cement roofs and into the torrent. 

Shatrughan pounced on the puddles in his now muddy golden colored shoes, kicking the water around until it sloshed and started to soak through the bottom of his dhoti.

Lakshman stared up at the cloudy sky, pushing his plastered bang away from his face before grinning, pleased, and starting to jump around as well. 

Ram chose to stop looking at the rain, and instead watch his two young brothers. Shatrughan began to drag Lakshman around the courtyard to jump together into the biggest puddles for "maximum impact". 

They were two blurred figures, dashing around in the tropical rain, with their dark brown hair and bright clothes the only thing distinguishing them, perhaps, from the haze of whistling wind and limp trees. 

"Don't let the water get to your kurtas!" Ram shouted. "Maa Sumitra won't be happy! Those came from Kashi!" Lakshman's face snapped up to look at him, and he quickly stepped away from a particularly menacing looking puddle. 

"You'll protect us, won't you, bhaiyya?" Shatrughan yelled back, his kurta already soiled beyond repair. "What's the point of being the greatest warrior on the planet if you don't protect your own family?"

Amused, Ram put his chin in his hands. 

In the side of his vision, he spotted a figure approaching him from the side. Ah. At long last. 

 "Bharat," he laughed, without even looking. "Come on, sit down." He patted the appealing stone stair next to him, which Bharat eyed uneasily before delicately seating himself, adjusting his pale blue dhoti slightly. 

They sat in comfortable silence, sons of Kaushalya and Kaikeyi. "I wonder," Ram began. "How they don't get bored with the rain at all! It's the same thing, jumping in puddles, getting drenched in water, but I suppose there's something magical about a rainstorm. One can never tire from it!"

Bharat finally piped up, concerned as he watched the two princes in neon dance like the courtyard was a disco. Well, Shatrughan was dancing; Lakshman was just stomping. "Bhaiyya, won't they get hypothermia?"

Ram sat up, staring at the scene with greater scrutiny, eyes squinting. "Hypothermia?" he asked, voice suddenly worried with the new prospect. But his ears perked up slightly as he thought he could hear Lakshman's reluctant laughter above the heavy drumbeat of the downpour, and he allowed himself to relax back onto his makeshift pillow of a stone column. 

"Let them have a moment's fun." Ram sighed good-naturedly. "Who knows what will happen tomorrow? The end of monsoon is approaching, Bhadra. Rains like this won't happen until the next year, until they turn sixteen." 

He adjusted himself so he could fold his hands around his knees. "Then they'll become like us old souls, sitting inside the temple, watching others have fun."

"Well, if you say so." Bharat agreed, pulling out the sketchbook and thin charcoal he always kept tucked in his dhoti. Ram watched intently as Bharat flipped to his next open page.

Ram always loved watching Bharat draw. It was like ink flaring on paper. Something beautiful in its completion. Like him with his bow, or Lakshman and a sword, Shatrughan and pranks. It was Bharat's thing, Bharat's joy. 

Bharat was just finishing a particularly appealing raindrop when Shatrughan appeared in front of him. "BHAIYYA!" he shouted. 

Startled, Bharat dropped his sketchbook and charcoal and looked up. "Shatru?" he half-laughed, half-choked. "You look like a rakshas. I can barely see your face from behind your hair. And your clothes are fully drenched! How can you even move in your dhoti, forget jump?"

"It's a learned skill." Shatrughan sniffed, before his eyes took on a dangerous glint. "And you're about to learn it!"

Before poor Bharat le artiste could process what exactly Shatrughan meant by this new learning opportunity, he was dragged out into the storm. 

Bharat stood there in shock for a moment, before he began to chase Shatrughan indignantly. "SHATRUGHAN!" he shouted, running after the devil around the fountain and down the courtyard. 

Ram laughed at this new spectacle, safe from the mischief in the temple under the eye of Vishnu. 

Finally, Bharat tired, wheezing and hands on knees as Shatrughan waggled his tongue and jumped around in puddles enticingly. "Ram Bhaiyya!" He cried. "See what he does to me?"

Ram grinned. "I'm seeing, Bhadra!" He replied with mock sympathy. "It appears there's no room for us old folks amongst the young ones!"

"You're not old, bhaiyya." Lakshman yelled indignantly. 

Ram had already itched to leave his position as a mere observer and join. He stood up, stretching before sighing. "I suppose I must join the fun too, mustn't I?" he asked, before running into the rain himself. 

Ram never quite understood what it was about rain that never seemed to tire him. But he doubted it was the storm itself. No. He'd never tire from seeing Bharat fuming, Shatrughan cackling evilly as he jumped in puddles, Lakshman kicking the water until his clothes were fully drenched. 

It didn't take long for the mothers to find them either. 

While Kaikeyi immediately went dancing after her sons, Kaushalya stayed back with Dasharath and Sumitra. "Come back in!" she called. "It's getting cold now!"

Dasharath cuddled her back into his large arm, placing his head on top of hers. "Let them have their fun," he laughed. "Remember when we used to do this too?"

Kaushalya flicked his arm reprimandingly. "Yes. And I also remember the one week fever you had afterwards."

Dasharath paled. "RAM!"

A/N-I've always wanted to write something about the rain, but this was just not it. I mean, it's nice and all, but it didn't convey the mood correctly? And it was abrupt? And repetitive. I can do better. So I'll probably do another similar short. 

However, the only reason I published this today was to show you guys this:

I drew Jagdamba Mata, Maa Durga, and mystery woman! Who do you think mystery woman is?