Song of the Chapter: Everything I wanted by Billie Eilish

"You can lose everything. You can lose your love. You can lose your money. Heck, you can even lose your respect. But never lose your memory. If there's a knife held to your throat, don't lose your memory. If you're a second away from your death, don't lose your memory. Because it's those memories which will burn your thirst for revenge on a spit, which will bring you back to everything you were before. But everything comes with a cost. Those very memories may torture you more than glorify."

Neel still couldn't believe it. He couldn't believe how fast it had happened. One second, it appeared as if Lakshman bhaiyya was winning an invincible battle, and then, he was laying on the ground, eyes seemingly lifeless and empty. If someone had told him before the war that one of the generals would be attacked so, he wouldn't have believed it would be Lakshman bhaiyya. Come on, without even growing up with him, they all knew he had been training for this for ages.

It didn't take a detective to know that Shri Ram and lakshman bhaiyya were very close. If the dark man was anywhere, it was sure that the other would be somewhere right behind. They gripped onto each other as if they were each other's lifelines. And this scene reminded Neel that perhaps it was quite true. The way that Shri Ram began to pale rapidly as well, as if his own life was being drawn out of him, maybe Lakshman bhaiyya possessed part of the man's soul which he could not live without.

However, Jambavan edged closer to the scene, touching Lakshman's shoulder. "Wait," began the dark bear. "There may still be a chance that he could survive-" Shri Ram let out another shrill yell. "But we'll need an experienced healer with abundant resources." Jambavan rubbed his forehead, exhaling and stepped back.

There was silence in response to this statement. Tentative looks were exchanged, but all Angad, Nal, and Neel could see was Lakshman, laying there like some sort of corpse. It wasn't right. If there was anybody here with life in them, it was Lakshman bhaiyya. He seemed to be brimming with simmering energy, like a cup ready to overflow. If the action was happening, wherever the most arrows, heated words, and blood was being exchanged, there was no doubt that the redheaded prince was there, scanning the scene with his pitch eyes.

"Wait-" Vibhishan began, his voice hitched. Everyone looked up except Ram, who still knelt over Lakshman, shaking his shoulders desperately, though something seemed to click in the man; his brother would not wake up. "Wait. There is a medic in Lanka. Sushen Sahib. He's very experienced. He does not agree with Bhr-Ravan's tactics or ideals. If we can switch him over to our side then-"

Before anyone could raise an eyebrow, Hanuman was increasing rapidly in size. "I volunteer for the task," he rumbled in his thundering voice, watching the scene from above. "I want to be useful. I always knew Lakshman bhaiyya as a person equally loyal as I to Prabhu Shri Ram, and someone who would sacrifice his life for any of us. If I don't do something about this, I will kill myself." And with that, Hanuman jumped up from the clearing, picking up heavy storms of dust from the floor.

-----O-----

Something Angad's mother had always told him stuck in his mind like glue. 'Only one thing keeps a person glued to their life, even after death, Angad. The memories of them." Perhaps if he just tried to remember Lakshman, he would be tied to life. Rubbing his eyes, desperate not to let the tears collecting at their edges spill over, Angad stepped forward. It was a mere shuffle, barely getting him into the inner circle, tentative, but not shy.

"When Father was-" he exhaled. "When father lost the wrestling match, I was inconsolable. Um. I didn't know how to live without him. I was unsure for a moment, whether to join the movement, the uncle, and the man, who had, essentially, somewhat led to my father's death." Sugriv stiffened, but did not interrupt. "I was sensitive, and so I yelled at everyone who tried to approach me. I apologize again for that. It wasn't your fault, not in any way."

"But I couldn't deal with the fact that my father was in the wrong. My mother had realized it, his most loyal and trustworthy advisors had realized, heck, even he had realized it moments before his death, but I could not. After all, how could the man who had raised me into the person I was, be wrong all this time? How could he do something so terrible? Surely, it was a mistake that he died. Unnecessary, and wrong. I didn't want to join the army. I just wanted to crawl into myself, and sob all day."

"Then one day, Lakshman bhaiyya approached me. I just thought he was like the rest of you, someone who wanted to recruit someone who had obviously gone through elite warrior training, for their army. God knew what purpose it had, why it was there, or why they had killed my father. Lakshman bhaiyya approached me, and I'm sorry to say, I was just as hostile to him as I was to the rest of them."

"But he listened-" And Angad's eyes glistened with watery tears. "Somehow, he bore all those insults, he sat down next to me, and he listened. He listened, and eventually, I had gone from insults to faint memories of my father, to just a single word. 'Why'. Why did they have to kill my father? Why did he have to die? What did he do wrong? And you know what he said to me?"

Flashback

"You're intelligent." Lakshman said, keeping a comfortable distance from the crown prince, who had curled into himself. "You do know, from the inside, but you are unwilling to unlock the gate which is stopping you from the answers. Your father raised you. He wasn't in the wrong there. He nurtured and engaged you. He wasn't in the wrong there. He loved you. He wasn't in the wrong there. All of the best memories you have of your father are ones where he wasn't in the wrong. You don't want to breach the purity of those memories with ones of his wrongdoings. I don't want to do that for you. You'll have to do that on your own."

There was silence, in the dripping cave where Angad sobbed into his upturned knees. "Ram bhaiyya is looking for his wife. She was kidnapped, my Sita bhabhi was kidnapped. Sugriv told us he would help. That's all there is to our purpose." He stood up and went to turn. "By the way, you don't have to join. You don't even have to care. But try, try your best to unlock the gate inside of you, and realize the truth. Whatever that may be for you." He turned away. "I know my truth is different from bhabhi's." With that, Angad's tears stopped, and he turned around and watched the silhouette slowly edge away.

Present

"A few minutes later, I passed Ruma Masi in the hall. Her eyes were so bleak and empty, yet brimming with agony, and when they glanced at me, somehow, they softened. They softened at me-me, the progeny of her torturer. I didn't understand it then, but those eyes, they unlocked the gate inside of me. I had selective memory loss, so I forgot everything else my father did which my mind-my heart-must have recognized as wrong. It couldn't bear to think of my father like that, and so it didn't. I realized I couldn't let another innocent lady be treated so. I had to join." And through his tears, Angad grinned. "I don't regret a bit of it."

Ram smoothed back Lakshman's hair with newfound delicacy, and exhaled shudderingly. Where Lakshman 's face would have turned a bright, tomato red at the praise,where he would have gruffly continued slicing wood or lifting logs, it stayed as it was before. Pale, empty, and a growing tinge of blue. His lips forever tightened, a light purple hue spread through them like smoke.

"I feel like," Sugriv continued. "Lakshman bhaiyya was understanding in a way, even if he didn't encounter something. He didn't always convey touching dialogues or act particularly emotional, but just the fact that he listened. That part always comforted me, I guess." He wiped away whatever remained on his chee, and exhaled a shuddery, almost heavy breath.

Flashback

"Is it bad?" Sugriv asked. "Is it bad that I killed my own brother for a throne that wasn't even my birthright? Is it bad that I ruined a family, widowed an honorable woman, half orphaned a young warrior of my kingdom?" Sugriv swallowed hard. "And is it completely, utterly, and entirely wrong that I couldn't even do all of those atrocious things on my own? I roped somebody else into it with empty promises and words?"

The early, youthful days of the search for Shri Ram's wife had fizzled away like young embers, just a fond memory. The endless searches had worn on the teams, and slowly, as the men deployed to the North, East, and West came back empty handed, Sugriv felt his hopes slowly escape from the grasp of his hands, like a rope being pulled away. Or perhaps, like smoke, they had never been in his grasp in the first place.

Shri Ram had retired to the relative comforts of the large, dark, cozy cave. But his brother, Lakshman, never seemed to sleep. Whenever Sugriv retired to his spot near the bonfire, the other always seemed to be there as well, yet somehow out of the broad range of the light produced, and even the warmth of the sparks. While Shri Ram oozed with confident reliability, the one standing behind him seemed like an icicle, rigid and cold.

"And is it even worse that I dragged my entire population into this mess, this messy, violent, dangerous mess just for an empty promise, a meaningless exchange? Should we just give up?" Sugriv abruptly cut himself off, realizing the meaning of his words. He was saying, essentially, that he regretted his decision to aid Shri Ram. Ears and mind sharp as the person next to him, these words attracted Lakshman's attention, and Sugriv could feel a pair of eyes turned towards him.

He was scared to meet them, scared to feel the emotion that the man felt. Who was he to speak of brotherly relationships to the man who had been silently beside his own this entire time. But curiosity, as always, kills the cat, and he stared back.

Those eyes stared at him, not like onyx pits of chilly despising, but like a perfect reflection in a pool. The pockets of stars against the pitch black sky, the tiny sparks escaping from the flames, and there! Sugriv's very own, ever-so-slightly astounded face stared back. They weren't filled with warmth, but they weren't cold. Those eyes, which could have reflected the entire universe, showed Sugriv just as he was; A monkey with a crown, sitting in the night at the edge of a bonfire. He couldn't see emotion, Sggriv couldn't see his face twisted, hands splattered with his brother's blood.

Lakshman saw everything as it was. 

Present

"Somehow, Lakshman bhaiyya helped me get out my depression pit. I realized that like it or not, I had gotten teh throne, and that was only with your much valuable help, Prabhu. If my promises were empty, then I had to fill them with truth. If my hopes were disappearing, I had to recapture them. If my spirit was slowly extinguishing, I had to rekindle my fire. If my kingdom wasnted to help you and follow you, then who am I as a king to deny them of a right?"

"And,Prabhu, if I have done anything right in my life, it will have been bringing Hanuman into this. He is our best warrior, our most passionate warrior, and a man of belief and truth, both in you and his God. If Hanuman is on this mission, there is no way we can lose. Shri Ram, Lakshman bhaiyya will get better, will get better, will get better, and that is a promise my army of men make to you and your family."

"And if he doesn't-" Neel whispered under his breath. "Then we will claim ten times the lives he would have and avenge him."

A/N-Guess who updated after a month? Ahem-me. Mochi. I wrote things. Yass.