Shortly after the death of Atikaya, Ravan's army receded as if touched with the red-hot burning end of a poker. It had already started to weaken once the majority of Ravan's sons were dead, but once the last, the mightiest of the batch had also succumbed to the ever nearing ropes of death, the rest had decided that they had fought enough for the day. The army of Ravan would only again touch the soil once the sun hit the Earth during the next dawn.

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

Once Ravan's army was gone, chased away by loud, intimidating shouts from the vanars and cheering and dancing from the majority army, the vanar sena too went away. The dusty battlefield was no stranger to the scorching heat of the Lankan summer, and they were more than happy to go away from it once it was clear that they had won the battle, yet again, though the war still waged on.

In the Healing and Planning tents was fresh, cold water, cool herbs to heal their wounds, and shade under the tent cloth. The sunset was dusty and the thick air clogged the tired lungs after the long day. The army of Ram's receded from the battlefield, hanging onto each other like life supports and picking up their injured friends. Soon, no one remained, except a single looming shadow, standing on the field.

Lakshman watched the "Golden Army" trickle off of the battlefield, and unknowingly dropped the shambles left of the arrow which Atikaya had shot into his bicep. They fell on the ground as if they were two lifeless twigs, and not missiles of death. The fallen body of Atikaya still lay on the ground, untouched, the chest remaining eternally still. Lakshman watched the body as if it were some spectacle for his viewing.

He did not near it, nor did he keep the armor or crown as spoils of war.(Gucci was not to his liking). Lakshman was not interested in spoils of war (That explains it too). The only point where he would approach a body was if it was Meghnad, and he could lift up the head of the monster and show it to his God, as in Ram, and tell him that Lakshman had come of some use to this world after so long.

He stepped back a step, and then another, his eyes still on the body, before he turned back around, hair flying even in the mild wind, and paced back towards the tents.

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

Ram looked up as the familiar footsteps approached, those quick, loud, heavy ones of Lakshman's, much like his personality. Quick, loud, angered, and often brash. These footsteps had been like this since they were children, since they were young, and Ram grinned broadly, letting go of the cloth which he had been wrapping around a spool, much to the chagrin of an angry Jal, who proclaimed that if he, the leader and supreme God, was wrapping cloth then she would die of shame. But Ram was stubborn, and eventually, the sister of Nal agreed with a sigh, handing him the cloth she had sewn that day ever reluctantly.

However, with all the trouble Ram had gone through to help, he dropped it all as Lakshman walked in, Lakshman, who set down his bow and immediately began to help around as if he had done nothing remarkable. Lakshman, who took the herbs from a stunned and panting Jambavan and crushed the thick-skinned herbs as if they were already powdered. Lakshman, who glanced at him for a moment abashedly before looking down again.

But that was exactly what Ram was not; abashed. "Lakshman!" he cried, all sewn cloth forgotten. It seemed no one else had realized the day's hero had entered the tent, and upon the familiar name, everyone spooked, jumping up and down, whirling around from their work. Ram suddenly paused, not having realized the loudness of his words. The injured sat up from their beds, groaning at the sudden pains from their wounds, and some vanars' jaws dropped. Ram thought he could spot Lakshman gulp. There was nothing but silence.

And then an uproar of cheers. Lakshman's hand was forcefully pried from where it had latched onto the mortar and pestle, and shaken multiple times that his arm was almost ripped off. Monkeys climbed onto him, taking their chance to watch the world from seven feet above and pull his hair in gratitude. Someone (Jal) had made a crown of flowers and leaves which was handed up until it was set on Lakshman's head. Another person (Aniya) had made a flag, which was promptly planted in Lakshman's limp hand, saying '#1 Demon-killer, seven foot tall non-evil giant, and hermit actor'.

Ram stood at the back of the line until the monkeys got too clingy, at which point he fought past the entire monkey population of the world to hug his brother tightly. "You did it!" he exclaimed. "You killed Atikaya! We were all so worried, not only about him-no, wait, actually we weren't worried about him, but anyways-and that you would die. Of course, you wouldn't die, because you're Lakshman and you're great! So I've decided you can fight in the battlefield now, because no one will be able to kill you!"

Lakshman , dazed, was not able to process any of what Ram was saying, too busy trying not to fall and attempting not to crush any monkeys underneath his Earth-shaking feet and trying not to wince as they tugged his hair. Yes, Lakshman was one of a kind, able to pry an arrow out of his arm, but not being able to stop his winces as monkeys pulled his hair excitedly (no yaar, I thought they were doing it angrily).

"Wait," Lakshman said hastily, interrupting the loud commotion. Monkeys paused their loud chants for a speech and everyone listened with rapt attention. Ram finally let his brother breathe, holding his hands respectfully together. "Why are you celebrating me so much? Yuvraj Angad, Neel, Rishabha, helped kill demon princes, Hanuman even killed two! Why are you celebrating me so much? Everyone deserves some-"

He was quickly interrupted by an annoyed uff-ho! (you know, that annoying overwhelming aunty sound. Yes, you know it, trust me, you do) "Of course!" Angad cried. "We've already celebrated them, and me of course, earlier! But you were gone again somewhere as you always seem to be, so we couldn't celebrate you yet! You, who killed Ravan's most talented son, other than Meghnad of course!" (Yes, because Lakshman obviously should have assumed that you would have the time to celebrate four monkeys before him in the middle of the war. It all makes sense now).

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

While celebrations went on in the vanar tents, mournings went on in the palace of Ravan. The messenger who walked in with Ravan's terrible news was beheaded immediately. Ravan stood up, eyes wide and the throne crumbled underneath his strong hands. "WHO DARES-" he began his customary yelling, eyes bulging and hands curling into fistsbut then he paused, because he knew exactly who would dare.

Wasn't it the same few everys single time? Yes, Rvaan had heard of them, the two hermits and The Man Hanu, Blue, Tap, and Armlet. He gritted his teeth, running his tongue over his shining molars. THe anger started to bubble up in him again, as his rationality escaped his brain sneakily, and Ravan, who had settled down on his throne again, slammed the armrest once more and stood up. "I WILL KILL-"

"Papa," Indrajit quickly interrupted, standing up and whipping his ankle length hair over his shoulder, staring Ravan in the eyes. The only one who dared. "-Dhanyamalini and Maa Mandodari are still unaware of-'' And as if not being able to bare speaking about it, Indrajit gestured to the empty seats around him, watching as Ravan's eyes too scanned all the thrones, once occupied by rakshasas like him, who thumped their armrests and drank wine in goblets and did everything he would have told them. Now, occupied by Vayu, just air, and nothing in between.

"Yes, Meghnad, you are right." Ravan sighed, and he sat down again, as if suddenly frightened by the prospect of having to tell his wives anything. Rubbing his temples, Ravan thought as Indrajit too, slowly took his seat, folding one leg over the other and shifting his jaw as he pinched his fingers together, staring at the seat opposite to himself, where his mentor, Prahast would have sat. "You tell Mandodari, your mother, and I, I shall tell Dhanyamalini." Ravan sighed, shaking his head and standing up.

-----O-----

Sweeping up his clothing into the crook of his elbow, with one swift knock, Indrajit smartly rapped upon Mandodari's door. It was his mother's private chambers, where he remembered, he had once grown up, running around. Now, he supposed, it would have been ages since he had entered. He didn't even know what it looked like anymore. Would the black silver be gone from the entrances? Would the same velvet still cover the bed? Would the floors still be tiled with shining marble?

His thoughts were quickly interrupted by Mandodari, sweeping open the doors grandly and glancing at her son before silently inviting him in, stepping away from the doors and walking poised towards her seat, watching with unreadable eyes as Meghnad did not take her offer, remaining standing by the door. His eyes, one a shining hazel, and another a stern auburn, swept over the room almost judgingly.

Mandodari wished she knew why, and though she had a few hints, she suppressed them. Only she and the Gods knew how much Meghnad had changed. His sudden interest in her chambers could be because he hated them, liked them, remembered them. She did not move a muscle until those eyes turned right back to her. How she wished she could get up, run towards him and embrace his strong frame. A mother to a son. Who knew how much that sort of affection would repulse him now?

So she sat still Mandodari, gazing at him sharply, and before Meghnad could open his mouth, she did. "Unless you have arrived here to see my private chambers, son, which you are more than welcome to, but I highly doubt it since you haven't been here for so long, and certainly would not break that record only to regard my designing, why are you here?" Meghnad seemed to flinch, or at least bite the tip of his lip for a second at her interruption, but soon enough, he was back. The cold, Ravan-like Meghnad was back.

"Maa," he began, and Mandodari shut her eyes. Maa. Maa. Maa. With the amount of times she had seen him, taught him, loved him, she was not his mother. Ravan was Meghnad's everything, his father, mother, God, mentor, sibling, friend, his universe centered around this demon king. Meghnad shifted, before moving on. "Maa." he said, more certainly this time. "Today, Atikaya went out into the battlefield."

And Mandodari knew, all of a sudden she knew, for whoever was mentioned going in would never come out, but she listened, she listened even as her heart hammered. "He was like a diamond, like a star, streaking through the army of the monkeys. Thousands were left dead, in the dust. He would have made you proud, Maa!" He would have made someone proud, indeed, and that was Ravan, but certainly not Mandodari. Atikaya would have made Meghnad's Maa proud, but she wasn't his mother anymore. Ravan was.

"But that one, that Lakshman, killed him." Meghnad uttered those words, breaking the small silence there had been, watching his mother's expression with fox-like eyes. It did not change. Mandodari stood up, and for a moment, as her figure blurred, he thought he could see her face screw up in pain, but no one knew with Mandodari. Impassive, emotionless, any feeling you could see on her face, even if it was clear as day, could just as easily be a mirage of personal wishes. "Maa?" he asked again.

And Mandodari cleared her throat. "All in the service of Ravan." she said, her voice throaty and rough. Indrajit straightened, looking the opposite way. Because this wasn't Meghnad, the thunder clouds, the boy she had born, her firstborn, her pride. This was Indrajit, the man who had defeated and disrespected the King of the Gods for his father. "Everything is righteous in the service of Ravan. Atikaya was lost in the service of Ravan. That woman in our garden commands more power than the King himself." She stared at him. "All is acceptable if it is in the service of Ravan."

She had uttered everything to Indrajit's content, her words true to Ravan's cause. Her tone did not waver from its usual strength, its usual blankness. But Indrajit knew that anything his mother had said was not true. Everything was a deception, as she stared at him. "Why is something not to your liking?" she asked softly. "My Atikaya was a martyr for Ravan, Indrajit. I should be so very proud."

So many conflicting emotions raced around in his head. Anger, for the words of betrayal his mother uttered, his meanings and her tones. Sorrow, for the mother he had lost, for the brother he had lost too, it seemed, to the enemy. And jealousy, such sudden jealousy, for the brother he had just mentioned. Mandodari had called him her Atikaya. Indrajit did not have to be a genius to know that his mother would never refer to him as such. With a turn of the robes, he left the chambers of the chief queen of Lanka, slamming the doors loudly behind him.

Faced with the back of her son, and now a slab of wood, Mandodari sunk to the ground, her face screwing up in raw emotion and unadulterated pain. The quiet Atikaya in the courts, her pompous, short-tempered, arrogant, and prideful like her husband, but hers indeed, that Atikaya was gone. The Atikaya who had devoted his life to her husband, his every splinter was of her husband, that Atikaya was gone.

The Atikaya who had visited her chambers in the evening, setting his sword familiarly on her floor and plopping down on the bed so that she could feed him, the Atikaya who had called her so lovingly his Maa, the Atikaya who had loudly declared his intentions of ruling a land for himself in the future, the Atikaya who had not blushed, but grinned widely once she had told him that she would get him a wife for that kingdom, the Atikaya who would do the most adharmic of things for Ravan, but still stayed by her side, he was gone. Every Atikaya there ever was, was gone. Lost to the whirlwind of time.

Mandodari thought she could hear the loud screams of her younger sister, if so from the other side of the palace, and squinted her eyes shut as another tear escaped. She had lost five sons, her prides, her young, soft, kind sister. So many lost in war. Lost their families, their trust, their happiness. Themselves.

Bonus Scene

Somewhere, somehow, Nal and Neel had procured oil. With clay, Aniya had crafted a large bowl where the oil was poured, and set atop the fire. With dough, the only two girls at camp, Jal and Aniya, rolled out long pieces of dough and placed them in the oil to fry, stepping away as the oil sizzled. The male monkeys squeaked, jumping around the bubbles which escaped from the hot fire, sniffing as Jal laughed.

Once they were done, Rishabha, with his toughened hands (yes, yes, I know, LAKSHU HAD TOUGH HANDS TOO, but you really think they'd allow him to pick up boiling sweets? REALLY? Idiots, I'm surrounded by idiots) reached into the pot and took out the sweets, setting them on plates and handing them around. Neel immediately grabbed five to stuff into his mouth, but Jal gently coerced them out of his hands and handed them around.

Ram grinned even wider as he picked one up, holding it to the light appreciatively before popping it into his mouth. Water was quickly brought for those who had burnt their tongues with the fritters. The warm lamp light bounced off the translucent green dyed cloth of the tent, and though he had grown up in palaces, golden and bejeweled, glowing and shining, luxurious and wanting for nothing, Ram felt, for the first time in fourteen years, as if he was home. 

A/N-Mochi is baack! Okay, now I'm actually praying that I can update each day, because I said that I would exactly three days ago, and we all know how that worked out. Anyways, by overwhelming choosing yesterday, it seems that the Ramayan What-ifs will be my next book. And then, Mahaputra! AND THEN A BAAHUBALI BOOK!

Woot Woot! Chandralekha also suggested a Weaving a Yarn, so I'll ask Mythooolover if I can do that! Promise, there will be a very funny topic to write about!!! Chandralekha (lakshmila4ardi) also asked me eighteen questions while the rest of you party poopers asked none (insert sad face emoji), but YAYAYAYAYYAY!

BY THE FREAKING WAY-this book somehow won first place in the Elixir Awards? Somehow? It did, trust me, but my forgetful self forgot (no yaar, being so forgetful, I remembered) to download the sticker, but trust me!