When the Nightmares Started Instrumental

In the great tale of the Ramayan, Ram had seemed to value two things over his own life. First, his dharma. Second, his family. Ram's dharma seeped into his every action. It was an inherent part of him-a part that he could never let go of or leave behind anywhere. But family. Family was the central thing stolen away from Ram, the only thing which he could ever lack. Whatever perfection he had achieved in morality and character was flawed in the presence of family.

Indeed, when one achieves enlightenment, follows dharma to an extent that is unquestionably above everyone else, then from their peak, from where they look down upon the world with a greater knowledge of character and divinity, they see the people they unknowingly left behind, the loved ones that were stolen from them on the path to dharma, slowly drifting away.

-----O-----

"I'm so excited for Ram bhaiyya to come home," Mandavi said, eyes sparkling. "See? I even learned how to make sweets. So much has changed in these fourteen years, but at least he shall come back, and everything will be normal again." Shrutakirti smiled weakly at her, before turning around to gaze at Shatrughan, even as servants paced down the halls with mountains of flower petals and rangoli powder.

Shatrughan could never sleep anymore. Just as Bharat often overslept these days in order to avoid the pain of living life, every day, Shatrughan refused to sleep. Somewhere in him, he wished deeply that there was some heroic reason behind this. He wished that he couldn't sleep out of worry for Ram bhaiyya, Sita bhabhi, and Lakshman. He wished that it was concern for the kingdom. He wished that it was concern for his family.

But it was none of those. Shatrughan could never sleep anymore out of fear. Fear was like a crippling disease for him. It blackened his happiest thoughts and threw him back into melancholy whenever the light seemed close enough to reach. Most days, Shrutakirti had to slowly stroke his hair, sing to him, rock him like a baby for his eyes to even close, lest they remain wide open throughout the night.

But what was his fear? Nightmares. "It's so stupid," he told Bharat, rubbing his eyes. "I'm scared of something that doesn't even exist! Nightmares. I'm like a little child now, crying for my mother because in one of my dreams a monster creeped up on me and scared me out of my fantasies. I'm always like a little kid. That's why nobody thinks I should be on the throne. Not the people. Not my family. Not even I think so!"

"Gosh I'm such a coward," he sniffled. Bharat stayed silent, playing with his fingers in his hands. Shatrughan waited for a second. Then he looked up, wiping away his tears before Bharat could. "No." he said, his voice suddenly stronger. "I am not a coward, bhaiyya! Because while the idea of fearing nightmares may be silly, the fear itself is not!" Bharat still said nothing, so Shatrughan continued.

"I see Ram bhaiyya and Ravan. I see them in their final battle. But Ram bhaiyya is slowly withering. It's as if someone took his brain and replaced it with something else. He looked like Ram bhaiyya, sounded like Ram bhaiyya, but he wasn't Ram bhaiyya. Ravan killed him in the end. And then I saw Sita bhabhi and Lakshman running onto the battlefield. Ravan killed Lakshman, and pulled Sita bhabhi away."

Shatrughan sat up, jaw clenching, shrugging off the hand Bharat had placed on his shoulder. It swung limply back to its owner's side. "Won't you say something?" he asked Bharat coldly. "Something. Anything. Ram bhaiyya won't die. Ravan won't kill Ram bhaiyya. Sita bhabhi will be returned back to us safe and sound. Ram bhaiyya will prevail in this like he has done with every other thing."

Bharat remained silent. Shatrughan didn't seem to care anymore. "I've never had dreams like this before. For all the times Ram bhaiyya has fought in battles and engaged in wars, I have never had nightmares like this. Where I truly believe everything I see. Something has changed."

"You see, bhaiyya, I'm starting to doubt everything. I always thought that bhaiyya was invincible. Unbeatable. I still want to believe it. But that dream. It repeats every day, whenever I try to close my eyes for a moment's rest, it takes me in its grasp and throttles my consciousness. How are you sleeping? It asks me. How are you sleeping in peace when your bhaiyya will die in war? You shameless creature."

Shatrughan chuckled without humor. "Everything has changed, bhaiyya. Fourteen years have passed, and the world is slowly turning gray for me. All that I once believed in has disappeared. It started with Papa. And it shall end with Ram bhaiyya." Whatever was left of his tears was wiped away. "And now Bharat bhaiyya won't say anything either." He scoffed. "Come. Let's just sit in silence like two mourning widows."

Bharat's pale eyes rolled up to gaze at Shatrughan's listless, cold face. "Mourning widows have lost all their hope, Shatrughan." he said, voice hoarse. "Their husbands have died. They can accomplish something in society, yes, but always without that companion. They have no faith left in whatever power is above. Don't compare us to them, Shatru, because you don't understand their pain."

"Bhaiyya!" Shatrughan shouted. "I have lost all hope! I'm tired! I'm exhausted! I want to throw this crown into the fire and watch it melt! I understand all of their pain! Don't downplay our own situation! Stop being so noble-"

"Shatrughan." Bharat interrupted with a clipped voice. "Don't you think I feel it? Don't you think I have pain in my body, that whenever I see anything of Ram bhaiyya's, my heart wrenches? That I long to hug him and hear his words one last time? He, who was always reliable to no end and had a supply of uplifting words in him that could never be extinguished? Don't you think I feel pain?"

"DON'T YOU THINK I'M HUMAN? I come back home from my uncle's, and my father is dead, my brothers and bhabhi are gone, and my mother is to blame, and I am expected to take a throne which I could have never imagined would be mine! I was never supposed to be the king, I was never supposed to be expected to lead Ayodhya, and I was never supposed to be the eldest man in this family!"

"I'm tired! I'm exhausted! I paint and paint all the pretty things without seeing them. All the bright vibrant flowers outside my window, and yet they're faint and shaded in my paintings. I see those flowers, and I want to rip them out from their bushes! I will never be able to capture them, just like I will never be able to capture Ram bhaiyya's essence and words, just like we'll never be able to catch a hold of certainty!"

"No one is expecting you to, bhaiyya!" Shatrughan cried, sounding desperate now. "All we are expecting is justice. But maybe we won't have that."

"Justice," Bharat laughed. "Oh justice, capricious justice. How it evades us, like the rainbow I chase but whose colors I can never grasp in my hands, nor in my art. Fate is a fickle thing, changing sides like a fly always escaping our advances. Nothing can guarantee justice, and nothing can expect it. All we have is hope. Hope gives us expectation, and expectation gives us reason."

"How can I expect anything, bhaiyya?" Shatrughan sighed. "How can I have hope? In my dreams, ever realistic, I see Ram bhaiyya dying. My hope has been seeped out of me. I am like a mourning widow, only that I know what is going to happen, and still I cannot stop it. I cannot stop it, and I cannot have my last moments either."

"You have to believe," Bharat said. "You have to believe that the person in your dream wasn't Ram bhaiyya. Try to remember your dream. Every single bit of it, every quirk of your Ram bhaiyya's, every moment where something seemed off about him. You said it wasn't, but how are you so sure? If this was an illusion, how could you pick it out?"

Shatrughan seemed in deep thought for a moment, before his face lit up. "Ram bhaiyya never furrows his eyes when he is about to release an arrow. He always stares straight at his target, as if knowing his instinct will be right each time. And when Ram bhaiyya shoots, he always places his left foot first, not his right. It gives him better balance."

Shatrughan looked up with sudden new vigor. "But how do you keep up hope, bhaiyya?" he asked. "If you have told me, you must have already known. How do you expect Ram bhaiyya to come back immediately?"

"It's not an expectation, it's a need." Bharat laughed. "Ram bhaiyya has gone off to defeat adharma, and I have stayed back to take care of the family. Of you. We both have our duties. Ram bhaiyya has expected me to take over his while he goes into the world and becomes a warrior greater than the scriptures foretold. We both have our dharma. And I have completed mine to the best of my ability, despite never being truly meant for it."

"Now Ram bhaiyya has to keep his promise, his dharma." Bharat smiled. "Lucky for us, that's the one thing he knows to do best. More than the sentiments of his family, kingdom, his own, he values dharma. He will kill Ravan. It is his duty, and Ram bhaiyya always fulfills his duty. At least, his duty to his dharma."

Bharat stared down at his hands. "And it is not only that. I can't keep this up for much longer, Shatrughan. I am not cut out to be the eldest man in the family, to be the center of encouragement and enlightenment, to be the person to be consulted upon every matter, and you aren't built to be a King. We are meant for other things, mere substitutes for the real man. But if the real man doesn't return, what are we to do then?"

"The kingdom will fall into ruin, despite our best efforts," Shatrughan realized, sitting up from his slouching position.

Bharat nodded. "So more than hopes, more than expectations, more than our best dreams and faith in the future, we must know that Ram bhaiyya comes back alive. He is the rock of our family, the glue with which we are held together. His memory has done the job for the past fourteen years. But it fades, along with his power. Without him, we will all fall apart."

"You dreamt, Shatrughan, of Ram bhaiyya fall apart on the battlefield. But he will never fall apart as long as he knows he is doing the right thing. His dharma. We are not like that. We are sentimental fools who cannot keep our eyes steady on our duty. We are each other's strength. Without Ram, we will go."

Shatrughan straightened himself. He put his crown back on, brushed off his sleeves and took Bharat's hands tightly in his own. "Bhaiyya. Wherever Ram bhaiyya is, he must know this. We do not have faith in him, have hopes for him, or expect him to defeat Ravan. We are certain he will. If he has ever cared for us at all, he will. Enough of these fourteen years of exile. He has a duty to us too. And he must fulfill all of it."

"I believe in Ram." Bharat said. "He will kill Ravan. And he will make quick of it too. "May Lord Ram fulfill his dharma as he was always meant to do. And may we unwaveringly believe in him throughout as is our sole job in this story."

They, two brothers held together by the strings of fate and the heavy weight of responsibility, bound by their duties, grasped each other's hands like lifelines, and hoped that their true lifeline would complete his purpose.

-----O------

From where she sat, Sita could see Ravan's balcony clearly. Sometimes, she knew, he came out, gripped onto the railings and stared out into the horizon, where, no doubt, the vanar sena had assembled, making ruins of his army and gaining more and more land and power by the day. She couldn't see any of Ravan's expressions, but sometimes, Sita liked to guess. She liked to guess his disgruntled face and his angry face, and she would sit up, satiated at his expense.

But from where she sat, Sita could not see the battlefield itself. She could not see the monkey army who had helped her husband so much. She could not see their tents, their fires, their little parties, or the way they looked when they had a victory. Most importantly, she couldn't see her Raghunath defeating Ravan once and for all. She would not be able to feel that satisfaction the moment her captor was gone permanently from this Earth.

Sita's back hurt, for she had sitten either slumped or straight up, but never leaned back against the tree the entire time. She was never fully relieved at each death, never completely rejoiced at each victory. For each time, after every single death, she was reminded of his continued life, as he once more stood, lamenting on his balcony.

Good. Sita thought. Lament. Lament like my Ram did when I was stolen from him. Lament like every widow of the lost soldiers of the vanar sena. Lament like the families of the men you've killed, and the women you've raped. May you lament like each and every being you've wronged. May you feel all their pain, all their suffering, and may you wish with all of your might to end it all, and never be able to.

She stared at the horizon like Ravan did and saw the setting sun and smiled. The sun set on the glory of the empire of Lanka. The sun set on the life of Ravan. Ram's arrow would bring a new light.

-----O-----

It wasn't nighttime yet, but it felt as if days had passed on for Lakshman. He sighed, standing there, shaking his hands out, straining his face muscles, as each hour didn't feel like a year anymore. But as he looked at Ram bhaiyya, who stared at the setting sun like it had wronged him somehow, Lakshman stopped. Because the burden that he had just been relieved from hadn't yet been lifted from Ram bhaiyya. So who was he to feel relieved?

Tomorrow would be a different day. But the day after would be like a different year. Like a different lifetime. All Ram bhaiyya could think of was tomorrow, the imminent battle and Ravan's rage, but Lakshman's mind was occupied with the thoughts of the end of the battle. Tomorrow, they would all watch his bhaiyya show his true potential. Lakshman was, dare he say it, scared for that, but his Ram bhaiyya wasn't. So who was he to show it?

His Ram bhaiyya had a dharma to follow. His hands didn't waver now, and wouldn't waver then. His Ram bhaiyya had a wife to regain. His eyes didn't drift now, and wouldn't drift then. His Ram bhaiyya had a Kingdom to rule. His judgment didn't lack now, and wouldn't lack then. His Ram bhaiyya had a rakshas to kill. His decision didn't change now, and wouldn't change then. So who was Lakshman to worry, when his unwavering, undrifting, unlacking, unchangeable Ram bhaiyya would storm the battlefield tomorrow?

A/N-Ok. This is probably the final chapter before Ram versus Ravan. Probably. The next chapter, Ram confronts Ravan. And....that's it. That's the final battle of the book. Gah. I can scarcely believe it. We're here! 

Someone-ahemahem-mentioned that they were lacking some Bharat content, so I put some in here. Also, I've been complained to multiple times that there simply isn't enough Bharat Shatru in this book, so BHARAT SHATRU! I loved how the sections slowly got smaller until we reached Lakshman's thoughts. Maybe it's because he's the most straightforward? 

ALSO: We have somehow reached 65,000 reads. Somehow. So I'll tell you this now. This book will probably not be updated for more than a week as I perfect the Ram vs Ravan chapter. I know this book is flawed. I spent too much time on unimportant drama, and then the entire climax happens in a single chapter. I shold have built it up. I spent too less time on Ravan, and too much on parties and humor. 

But no time for regrets! Because someone as shameless as Ravan deserves that!