A/N :- Hey, guys! I'm Chikni Chameli The Second. This is my first story on FictionPress, so please cut me some slack. Hope you like it!

Disclaimer :- I do not own the Ramayana - I'll let Valmiki have that little victory - or anything else you might recognise in this story. Neither do I own any squirrels. Not that I want to, either, because, much as they're cute, they're just slightly-less-antisocial rodents. And I'll bet they bite real hard.

The weather was hot and the forest dense. A tiny squirrel scurried towards the man who had been leaning against a tree, staring into space in a way so melancholy that it caused the squirrel to ache.

Lord Rama had always felt a strange affection for squirrels. The way they swiftly and nimbly ran up a tree never failed to fascinate him. Not once had he walked past a squirrel without giving it a tender fondle.

But now... Now, he was in no mood for squirrels. To him, the world had stopped. Frozen. It was as still as the flow of time, or his sad eyes. He felt as though he had lost everyone he had - his family, his wife, his brothers - which was reasonable, given the situation. He felt weak and helpless.

Now, don't blame him. It wasn't his fault. Everyone has his moment of weakness. Even gods.

You might argue, dear reader, that Rama was no ordinary god. Ah, he was the great Lord Rama; the kind, generous, just, respectful Lord Rama, son of Dasharatha, incarnation of the mighty god Vishnu.

But that was no reason to rejoice. If anything, it merely fueled his sorrow, making his heart seem heavier.

The poor squirrel, in a feeble attempt to raise its master's spirits, offered him a berry.

Ah, berries... How Sita loved eating berries...

A sharp pang of pain jolted him as his mind started swimming in thoughts of his beloved wife, Sita, loving, beautiful, kind, devoted, and now kidnapped.

His first encounter with her was still fresh in his mind. He remembered how she had daintily giggled and skipped away when he had offered flowers to her. How tears of pain glistened in her eyes when he arduously lifted the bow, and how her eyes started sparkling with joy when he tied the string to the end of the bow.

He sighed. Oh, how lost he felt without his family! It was as if he were losing his way in a humongous labyrinth, and as if his family were his only link to the exit, and to sanity, like Ariadne's string.

A rustle in the bushes caught his attention, and in an instant he was on his feet, an arrow notched in his bow, the typical stance of a veteran warrior. He wearily breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that it was just a rabbit.

Rama had become very jumpy these days. His nerves acted up whenever he was alone. He might look confident when he had company, like he knew what he was doing, but in truth, he didn't. He hadn't an inkling of what was happening and what he should do next. He wished his steady mother were with him, to guide him. He remembered how her optimism never wavered, even in the slightest.

"Ma, look, my ball fell into the gutter."

"Then go and take it, beta."

"Noo! Gutter has rats. Lots and lots of big rats that bite. And it's full of icky dirt!"

"Son, rats are nothing. You are the prince of Ayodhya, the most prosperous kingdom, with the bravest and kindest king, Dasharatha. You are such a strong boy."

"...But it's so deep!"

"How do you know? You haven't tried."

"I have!"

"Then try again. Never give up. Because, sometime, you'll get it."

That last line echoed in his mind again and again. Rama realised that just sitting there helplessly wasn't going to fix the mess. He got up, brushed all the dirt off him, and vowed to set things right. And he did.

Lord Rama went on to recruit a huge army, to build a bridge from India to Lanka, to slay each of Ravana's heads one by one, rescuing not only his beloved wife, Sita, but also all the Lankans, who had all those years been oppressed under his tyranny. Lord Rama went on to become the king of Ayodhya.

All it took was some determination and confidence, an age-old formula that can do wonders.

A/N :- Liked it? Hated it? Please review to tell me! I'll accept reviews of any sort, even flames. Constructive criticism is most welcome.

Thank you!

- Chikni Chameli The Second