The day was a bright one. The sun, so golden that it made Sita's hair shine, peeked through the thick leaves. The rain had suddenly stopped falling, and Ram tentatively peeked out of the cabin, blue eyes gleaming and face smiling as nary a drop fell from the sky. He picked up his bow, large and regal, and stepped outside the doorway, where he spotted Sita, picking berries, and occasionally, popping one into her mouth.

He spotted an opportunity, and a large grin spread across his face. Slowly, steadily, silently, he crept closer, closer and closer, until he finally reached the area where she stood up, and grabbed her shoulders from behind. "EEK!" Sita squeaked, dropping her basket of berries so that the red missiles, ripe and mushy, flew into the air and landed in her hair and Ram's face, that they looked stained with blood.

"Why would you do that?" Sita cried, smacking his arm with a mixture of playfulness and anger. "Why on Earth would you do that? Look, it has ruined all of my hard work." she pouted at him, before leaning down to pick up the berries. "I spent hours upon hours picking these, Ram, you really should not have done that." she sniffled, picking up her basket and putting it on her arm, before scowling at him.

"Okay! Okay! I am sorry, I truly am. It was wrong of me to surprise you like that, and I will not do it ever again!" Ram apologized, hands raised into the air." Sita turned away from him stubbornly, and Ram felt a tiny tumor of sadness grow in his heart. "Aww, Sita, please forgive me." He hugged her from behind, and she patted his cheek good-naturedly, a tiny, pleased blush spreading across her face. "Puh-leeeeeeze!" Ram squealed, sounding just like a toddler Shatrughan imploring his mother to let him play some more.

"Oh alright, you little nuisance! Alright! Here, I'll tell you this, the only reason I was angry is that those berries marred your handsome face." she admitted. Ram, surprised at this romantic overture, laughing, jumped into the air in victory, and danced around the hut. She had never acted so romantic before, not since they had left the palace, anyways. And Sita never said things like that so boldly either! Anyways, Ram found a reason to celebrate that day.

Sita stared at him as the sun shone on his face in radiant beams, reflecting off of him as the sunlight did the moon. He reminded her, in that very moment, of Shatrughan, in the way he was acting right then. Goofy, emotional, and childish. How he must not be like that anymore, how he would have to be serious and emotionless. She missed the prince, whom she considered to be like a younger brother. Speaking of which, where was her other younger brother, the one that had accompanied them? The one that usually stayed around their camp, watchful eyes just waiting to spot a demon to rip apart.

"Arya?" she asked urgently, and all the smiles disappeared off Ram's face immediately as he turned towards her, raising an eyebrow in questioning. "Where is Lakshman bhaiyya? I could not see him this morning, and I can't find him in the nearby forest! Do you know where he is? He never goes anywhere without permission unexpectedly unless it is urgent, of course." Ram paled at this reason, and all of his dancing whatsoever stopped as he paced closer towards her, clutching his bow with a death grip. His knuckles turned an ivory white, and SIta winced at how tight they were.

"That is true, Sitae. I have not seen him this morning either, and usually he comes promptly for breakfasting time. I-I cannot pretend that I know where he is, to be honest," Ram brooded for a second. Random thoughts, however unreasonable they were, popped into his head. He could do anything for Lakshman, and that included being unreasonable. Was his brother hurt? Was he in danger somewhere? Was he in trouble, and was Ram spending precious time thinking when he could be helping him, when he could be searching for him? These very thoughts stopped Ram's heart, and he immediately grabbed his quiver from the front porch of the cottage.

Sita, however, thought practically, calm in this time of not knowing, as perhaps she would not be later. "SOUMITRI!" she called into the forest, making her screeches the loudest that she could make them. Ram jumped back in alarm, before breathing a sigh of relief. Certainly, his wife was the most sensible wife he could have ever wanted, wished for, or even possibly acquired. She was also the most beautiful, the most knowledgeable, the most elegant, okay, now he was getting off topic... If Lakshman did not listen to her urgent calling, then he most likely would be in trouble.

And sure enough, a loud thumping sound echoed in the nearby wooden thicket before a worried Lakshman, clutching a thin yellow parchment in his hands, skidded in front of Sita, his eyes still directed to her feet even in his urgency. "Oh no! Bhabhi, bhaiyya! Your bodies are covered with wounds! How did you get them?" he squeaked, dropping his bow and arrow as well before running into the cottage and grabbing some cloth with which to heal them as Ram turned around, frowning for a second before bursting into laughter..

"No, no, Laksh. It isn't anything of that sort. Sita just dropped some berries, and they flew into the air by the wind, landing on our faces. You know how pigmented those berry juices are this late in the season. We have not been injured." Ram chuckled, and Lakshman sighed in relief, dropping the cloth and stepping back.

Meanwhile, Sita's eyes were caught by the parchment he had dropped. It floated gently to the ground, where it rested, seemingly untouched by the mud and the dirt, in pristine, albeit yellow, condition. She bent down and picked it up, but did not look at the writing, instead handing it to Lakshman, who took it gratefully, making to tuck it back in his hands, about to crumple it up into a ball. Ram, however, was not that self-restrained. "Parchment? Lakshman? Where did you get that? Parchment is scarce in the jungle!"

Ram grabbed the paper, and unfolded it, looking curious. "Bhaiyya, please give it back," Lakshman immediately implored, hands clasped together. His eyes fearfully looked at the parchment, and that was what increased Ram's curiosity. Was it a love letter he had written to Urmila that perhaps had never reached her? Was it an attempt at communication with his wife, whom Ram knew, he sorely missed? Was it something else, maybe?

"Oh no, no, let me see? Since when did you get so romantic that you would hand-pen letters, Laksh? No, let us see indeed." Sita's curiosity also seemed alight, and though she had enough thoughtfulness to douse the flame of yearning for knowledge when she had grabbed the paper, she found no reason to restrict herself from reading when Ram was. Lakshman paced back and forth, switching from foot to foot as he stared worriedly at his hands.

Without a second more passing, for Ram wanted something to tease and embarrass his brother over, he unfolded the paper fully, and his eyes began to scan it before he started to read it out loud. His voice adopted a taunting, sing-song sound that reminded Soumitri with a painful pang, of his twin, who would have jumped at an opportunity to tease him as well.

"To the Ones Lost," Ram began with a clearing of the throat and a twitching of the nose at the cryptic title. Perhaps it was his wife, whom he had lost? This was going to be a most fun read indeed! Sita giggled at his excited voice and eager tone as Lakshman only shrunk back into himself even more, looking apprehensive, and even...was that guilty? Ram did not know.

"To Urmila, whom I left behind. Who deserves another man. Who should remarry. I might not survive this test of our love in your heart, and that is alright. I might wither away in your mind, and rightfully too. I do not expect you to stay back in the castle, sad and wearing the white of a widow. You should be laughing, wearing colorful clothes, matching the vividness of your personality with jewelry embedded in precious jewels. But now, I know you enough over the year and few months we spent together, that you have thrown away all of your jewels in distaste for what you call "vanity". I call it innocence, an innocence everyone should possess. For no woman should lose their husband for fourteen years.

To Maa, whose orders I shall never disobey even if I have lost my sanity. I am not the perfect son, husband, or brother. I am nothing you raised me to be. I am not even worthy to be called your son, and I know it. I am first in your mind, in your prayers each day, but you are not my priority. I am selfish. I am snobbish. I am stupid. I am everything you did not wish to be. You lost your pride and joy, the happiness, of your youngest son, because of this rash decision of mine. Remember, when I was younger, how I used to ask you to love me more than Shatrughan? I will not do so now, for you love him more rightfully.

To Shatrughan, the one who is good. You are a responsible husband, brother, and son. You stayed with your wife, never thinking twice about your decision to stay back. You fulfilled your duties as a brother, making sure that the kingdom stayed happy for the eldest who is in exile. You never insulted your father, instead performing his final rites with grace and dignity, as he would have wanted you to. You are the youngest, the unplanned son of Dasharath. You are the product of a mistake of my mother's, the kindness of my mothers, and yet the descendants of Ikshvaku will be the better for this momentary mishap. You have lost your childishness, your purity, because of my actions.

To Maa, not Rani, Kaikeyi. Mistakes can be made, but murders cannot. Accidental sharp words can be uttered, but orders cannot. Gifts can be taken, but advantage cannot. Accidents can happen, but evilness, pure in its impurity, cannot. You made a mistake, you did not know. You uttered sharp words but you did not realize. You took your two boons rightfully, though how you took them was criticized. You were not evil in your accident. You lost your favor, but you also lost some of your pride with the utterance of my harsh words. You love Ram bhaiyya. You always did.

I have done you wrong. I have done you wrong. You will forget this, forgive this, but I will not. The guilt will continue on and on to bang my head with the jaggedness of a rock, because I do not forgive. I do not forget. To the ones who have lost...you have lost because of me. I am a taker. I take without giving. I do without thinking. I leap without looking. I am rash. I am quick. I am harsh. I sit in this jungle, writing and writing, but nary a tear pours out of my eyes, though I know they will pour out of yours.

To the ones who have lost, now you will find, that in this seemingly emotionless man, lies guilt. Guilt, because after days, and days, and days upon end thinking, I have forgiven myself. Ram bhaiyya and Sita bhabhi do well, they are happy in the company of each other. I do too, knowing that they are content here in this jungle.

I am happy, in this forest, where the birds chirp with the innocence of Urmila, that I know she has given to them, because innocence is not acquired without someone else having lost them. The deer in the herd has just gained a fawn, a son, which Maa Sumitra has blessed them with, having lost hers. The young eagle in the nest now troubles his parents, as you once did, Shatrughan. Your "curse", as I had put it so harshly, really a blessing, must have drifted to them. To the ones that have lost, now you must find happiness, because you have lost, but others have found. The virtuous always gain by seeing others gain. I hope that you find your happiness again like I found mine."

Ram looked up as Sita wiped away a tear. Lakshman still teetered from foot to foot, eyes darting between Sita's feet and Ram's face. "Lakshman," he whispered as his younger brother looked up to the sky and his shoulders slumped. "Oh Lakshman!" he crashed into him with a hug tight enough, Ram hoped, to convey the bonds that he shared with his brother.

"Bhaiyya?" came the muffled voice of Lakshman. "Do you think I am unhappy? Because I am not. I do not miss my family. My happiness is here, because you all are content, and that is my only duty. I am okay." Ram did not listen, only tightened his hug, and Sita sniffled, wiping the last of the berries off of her, and beginning the tedious task of picking berries all over again. And then, Ram pulled back, and beamed at Lakshman, who smiled just as strongly back at him.

In the palaces of Ayodhya, Urmila read the last words out loud of the mysterious letter that had drifted into the glass window. There was only silence, but a loud one. Silence always comes in between two loud events. Silence balances out the loudness. Silence was like the refreshing water in the middle of walking a mile. Urmila looked back at the stricken faces of the family, but her eyes stalled upon the faces of Rani Kaikeyi, Rani Sumitra, and Shatrughan.

Kaikeyi held her face in her hands, guilt realighted. Her heart beat in tune with the struggle of the three. She had lost her family. Sumitra simply stumbled, before landing on the bed, paling steadily, her face soon turning a sickly white as she looked ready to crumble into pieces. She had lost her son. Her elder son. Shatrughan bit his lip, tears threatening to fall from his eyes. Those eyes, they darted from the letter to the mirror. Shatrughan had lost his humor. And now Urmila thought of herself. She had not lost her innocence nor her vanity, as her husband thought. She had lost the love of her life to a foreign jungle. He had been wrong. He had blamed himself. But he had found happiness. His letter was targeted just to the four of them, the four that maybe had lost the most dramatically among the royal family. But in reality, there were many many more. The entire royal family. The courtiers. The citizens of Ayodhya. Had they too not suffered? With trembling hands, Urmila picked up the letter again, and her eyes scanned the small portion which was folded, hidden from her eyes. Her wavering voice began to read again.

"To the people of Ayodhya. You too have lost. You have lost your Yuvraj. You have lost your Maharani. You have lost your spirit. Spirit cannot easily be found. But something else can, something that you can find within yourself. Something that will bring you a moment's hope."

Without even continuing to read, Urmila spoke the last word without hesitation, for it was the word that she had last uttered to her husband, and she knew he would say here. "Peace."

They were the ones who had lost. But they were the ones who had given back in times of need. They were the ones who had sacrificed. But they were the ones who had faced loss like no other. They were the ones who had the largest hearts, the most pure souls, the kindest of spirits, and the most beautiful of smiles. 

A/N-Okay, I didn't like writing this one, I'll be honest. But I figured, why not publish it? I mean, there's no harm right! Here I go along, preaching that all chapters are good chapters and all writing is good writing, that all readers are good readers and good readers=people who read and appreciate, only to not apply it to myself. Eh. As people say, do as they say, not as they do!