Lakshman had a bad feeling about this. He looked grimly at Vibhishan. If he were ever to be vocal about the way things were being done, he told himself, now was the time.

“So we throw rocks into the sea?” he asked in as measured a tone as he could manage.

“Yes my dear brother,” said Rama. He could see Sita already. “The mighty sea god Varun has assured me they will float.”

Float indeed, thought Lakshman. He could imagine his brother, himself, and bits and pieces of the vaanar sena crying out for help to each other as they floated away in different directions in the sea, all sitting on separate rocks.

Having slept for most of the day in proper asur fashion, Akasur and Chamund greeted the beautiful Lanka evening with great spirit.

They sat perched on a high wall, not looking down and in possession of two large wooden mugs full of soma stolen from the ruins of the classiest tavern in upper Lanka.

They talked of many things in their lives, recounting tales humourous and otherwise, laughing generously at each others jokes. They remained largely truthful until the soma started getting the better of them. Both fell from their perch and landed with a thud on the street side. In front of them, shops did brisk business and nobody paid them much attention.

Early on in the demon-slaying career of Sri Rama, the prince of Ayodhya went to a swayamvara. He had to string a bow (allegedly Shiva’s) to win a princess’ hand in marriage. In his boyish enthusiasm, he overdid it and ended up snapping the divine instrument in two.

“Oops!” he said under his breath as all of Mithila cheered for him and Sita’s cheeks reddened.

Somewhere far away, the divine triumvirate of Shiva the destroyer, Vishnu the caretaker, and Brahma the creator were watching this live by means known only to them.