Lakshman, ever the vigilant protector, stood dutifully outside Ram's door, his presence ensuring the safety and peace of the chamber. As he maintained his watch, he noticed Somada and Kusha passing by. Concern immediately etched onto his face upon seeing Somada looking fatigued and weary. Her due date was approaching, and it was evident that the strain was taking a toll.

With a gentle yet protective tone, Lakshman inquired, "Where are you going, Somada?"

Somada, her eyes reflecting her exhaustion, managed a tired smile. "I had a glass of warm milk, and a maid is on her way to massage my feet. After that, I'm planning to take a good, long nap," she explained, her voice carrying the anticipation of a much-needed rest.

Kusha, who had been walking beside Somada, chimed in with concern. "I brought some very soft pillows and blankets for her and Rupa. They're so soft she'll feel like resting on clouds," he said, and behind him, a maid held a platter with beautifully yellow blankets and pillows, adorned with the softest cotton.

Moved by their thoughtfulness, Lakshman bent down and gently kissed Somada's forehead. "Rest well, Somada," he said softly as she and Kusha continued on their way, leaving Lakshman to resume his vigilant guard.

As the golden hues of twilight turned to darkness, Lakshman stood unwavering at the threshold of Ram's chamber, a sentinel of loyalty and duty. The palace seemed to hold its collective breath in the presence of an eminent visitor, one whose name sent shivers down the spine of those who knew his reputation – Sage Durvasa, a revered sage known not only for his profound wisdom but also for his volatile temper and the curses he had bestowed upon those who dared to defy him.

Lakshman, who had always been vigilant in guarding his elder brother and the kingdom, had been forewarned of the sage's imminent arrival. He had been instructed to protect the sanctity of the meeting that Ram was currently engaged in.

The sage's approach was not subtle. With each step, the earth trembled slightly, and the leaves of the surrounding trees seemed to quiver in response to his presence. His flowing white beard and tattered saffron robes were emblematic of his ascetic life, but his eyes burned with an inner fire that bespoke his spiritual power.

Lakshman, standing firm and respectful, greeted the sage. "O revered Sage Durvasa," he began, bowing deeply, "I am honored by your presence in Ayodhya. How may I assist you?"

Durvasa regarded Lakshman with a penetrating gaze that seemed to dissect his very soul. "I seek an audience with Lord Rama," he declared in a voice that resonated with authority.

Lakshman, his duty to protect his brother conflicting with his understanding of the sage's temperament, hesitated for a moment. "Revered sage, I must respectfully inform you that Lord Rama is currently engaged in an important meeting. It may be some time before he can receive you."

The sage's countenance darkened, and his eyes flared like twin infernos. "Young prince, you dare to deny me an audience with Lord Rama? Do you not know the consequences of such insolence? I am Sage Durvasa, whose anger can lay waste to entire kingdoms. If you do not immediately inform Lord Rama of my presence, I shall unleash my wrath upon Ayodhya. Ayodhya, along with the citizens will witness famine and suffering that shall last for centuries!"

Lakshman's heart weighed heavy with the impending choice he had to make. He understood the gravity of the situation – defying the sage could bring untold calamity upon the kingdom for centuries. He resolved that if it meant safeguarding Ayodhya, he would sacrifice himself.

With unwavering determination, Lakshman spoke, "Revered sage, I shall not disobey your command. I will inform Lord Rama of your arrival immediately." He offered one final bow before turning and entering Ram's chamber.

* * * * *

Ram's room seemed to shimmer with a celestial aura as Yama, the God of Death, addressed Ram, the very incarnation of Lord Vishnu.

"Lord Ram," began Yama, his voice carrying the weight of countless ages, "you have fulfilled your divine purpose on this earthly plane. You have walked the path of righteousness, upheld dharma, and displayed unwavering devotion to your duties as a ruler, husband, and protector of virtue."

Ram, his countenance radiating serenity and wisdom, nodded in acknowledgment. He had indeed embarked on an extraordinary journey, one that had tested his character and resolve in every conceivable way.

Yama continued, "It is now time for your return to the divine realms, to Vaikunta, where your eternal abode awaits. The duties of your mortal form have been discharged, and the time has come for you to leave behind this earthly vessel."

Ram's gaze remained unwavering, his understanding of the cosmic order transcending the realm of words. He was the embodiment of Lord Vishnu, and his presence on Earth had been a sacred mission, a beacon of light guiding humanity towards righteousness.

Yama, his tone gentle yet resolute, added, "Your journey back to Vaikunta is part of the eternal cycle of creation and dissolution. Just as you have fulfilled your purpose, so too have your devoted gatekeepers, Jaya and Vijaya, completed their destinies. Their earthly incarnations as Ravan and Kumbhakarna have served their roles, and they returned to Vaikunta years ago."

The mention of Jaya and Vijaya, their lives as Ravan and Kumbhakarna, stirred a profound understanding in Ram. Theirs had been complex destinies, intertwined with his own, ultimately leading them all to the divine realm.

Yama's words carried an air of finality as he concluded, "Even Sita, in her earthly form as Lakshmi, has rejoined Vaikunta, after completing her journey. Now, it is your time to ascend as Lord Vishnu, your divine purpose fulfilled."

Lakshman's footsteps echoed through the corridors of Ayodhya's grand palace as he made his way to Ram's chambers. He was unaware of the extraordinary meeting already in progress between his brother and an unexpected, divine guest. The doors to the chamber stood ajar, and with a respectful bow, Lakshman entered, announcing his arrival.

"Brother," his voice was firm yet respectful, "Sage Durvasa has arrived at the palace gates and demands an immediate audience with you."

However, what Lakshman didn't anticipate was the presence of another, far more imposing guest - Yama, the god of death himself.

With an intensity that matched his divine stature, Yama's voice thundered through the room, revealing his displeasure at Lakshman's untimely intrusion. His eyes, like twin orbs of burning coal, blazed with a wrath that could extinguish the brightest of stars. He was the god of death, a being whose very existence was an embodiment of finality.

"No living creature has gazed upon my true form and lived to tell the tale," Yama declared, his anger resonating through the chamber. 

"Great Raghuvanshi, your word is your dharma, your sacred duty. You promised that anyone who entered this chamber during our conversation would face the penalty of death. The sanctity of your word must be upheld, even if it means condemning your beloved brother."

Ram's heart ached at the thought of meting out such a severe punishment to Lakshman, the one who had stood by his side through every hardship, the one who had sacrificed sleep, comfort, and even his own peace of mind to ensure Ram's welfare. Lakshman was more than a brother; he was a pillar of strength, an embodiment of unwavering loyalty and love.

But Ram was also the embodiment of dharma, a paragon of righteousness. His word was sacrosanct, a reflection of his commitment to uphold the moral and ethical principles that guided his life.

"Lakshman," Ram began, his voice heavy with sorrow, "you have disobeyed my command. To uphold my promise, I must impose a death sentence upon you."

The room, once filled with an air of solemnity, now bore witness to a profound and agonizing decision that would forever change the course of their lives.

Lakshman, though surprised by Yama's presence, did not waver. He had always been the epitome of loyalty and devotion to his brother and his duty. And now, faced with the consequences of his actions, he stood resolute.

"Brother, my King," he said, his voice steady, "I accept whatever punishment you deem fit. My only concern is that Ayodhya remains safe from the wrath of Sage Durvasa. I would willingly give my life to protect our people."

Ram nodded, and slowly a drop of tear fell from his right eye.

Yama looked at Ram. "Remember our conversation Rama, your arrival is greatly anticipated for."
I

* * * * *

Urmila entered her chambers after the evening prayer, greeted by the delicate embrace of twilight. The room was bathed in a soft, lavender hue, the last remnants of daylight casting a gentle glow through diaphanous curtains that billowed like ethereal spirits in the evening breeze.

The walls were adorned with intricate tapestries, woven with vibrant threads that whispered stories of forgotten lands and mystical creatures. A hint of jasmine lingered in the air, a sweet and fragrant reminder of the palace gardens. The room seemed to hold its breath, suspended in that fleeting moment between day and night.

As Urmila moved further into the room, a sudden gust of wind rushed through the open windows, carrying with it a sense of restlessness. In that moment, her gaze was drawn to a framed painting that had adorned the wall for years. It was a masterpiece, a portrayal of love and devotion, painted by the skilled hand of Somada.

The subject of the painting was Urmila herself, standing alongside her beloved Lakshman. It captured a moment of profound intimacy and affection, their eyes locked in a silent exchange of emotions. The painting had always been a testament to their deep and abiding love.

Yet, as fate would have it, the wind's forceful intrusion caused the framed painting to tremble precariously on its hook. Urmila watched in dismay as it plummeted to the ground with a resounding crash. The frame shattered upon impact, its once-protective border reduced to a fractured mess.

A profound sense of unease washed over Urmila as she knelt to inspect the damage. She couldn't comprehend how such a thing could happen. She and Lakshman had cherished this painting, and it had hung securely for years. The fact that it had fallen and cracked felt like an ominous omen, a disturbance in the tranquility of her twilight chamber.

Urmila couldn't shake the feeling that this incident held deeper significance, a portent of events yet to unfold. The broken frame seemed to reflect the fractures in her own heart as she gazed upon it, an unsettling premonition of challenges and trials that lay ahead.

TO BE CONTINUED

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