“Would it be sinister to wish it rained while people were out with their crackers and to pray that all their fireworks get drenched in the process?” Ram wondered.

After a hard-fought battle in Lanka, all he ever wanted was a moment of respite, some time with his friends and family alongside some good food – after all, the exile didn’t have much on offer for the average foodie. But Ram’s return back home to Ayodhya was anything but that.

All he heard these days was a cacophony of fireworks. He was living in a haze, quite literally. And what about all the family time? Well, if only he could see them amongst endless plumes of smoke. Life post-war was miserable.

He headed outside for a walk the next morning. “14 years since I took a morning walk for leisure”, he thought. “I’ve looked forward to this day for so long.”

And as he set foot outside, a few appalling sightings awaited him. With bits of paper strewn everywhere, used fireworks scattered all over the place he felt sorry for all that had transpired the previous evening. Eventually, his mind drifted back to the battle with his ten-headed nemesis, the infamous kidnapper of his beloved wife, Lanka’s all prevailing ruler and his consequent triumph. He recalled how eager he was to come home and celebrate with his countrymen.

“Bloody hell! Something doesn’t feel right.” He had heard that victories were supposed to be sweet. But this win was bordering on nauseous now.

“How on earth am I supposed to explain this to people?”

An hour later, he was back home – still troubled by his thoughts. He was trying to think of a solution, but he couldn’t come up with one. He knew that for every argument he put forth, the public would have a counter – he had heard so from Maruti, a close friend who was in sync with the times.

Ram was old-school. Maruti was the exact opposite. He hated missing out on time at the gym, for fitness was his foremost concern. Besides, he was familiar with the perils of outrage on social media. He didn’t have any profiles online, but he’d heard and read enough to know it all. To add to it, intolerance had suddenly become the buzzword. “The last thing I’d ever want is for people to call this intolerance and add fuel to the fire”, Maruti had said.

They had begun to lose hope. They saw no way out. Leaving the country wouldn’t look good, they thought. People would call them traitors. But again, if they went out and made a name for themselves anyway, people wouldn’t have any qualms exclaiming that they were extremely proud to be their compatriots. The double-sided nature of everything in their homeland had set their heads spinning. At that moment, they looked at each other and nodded their heads.

Each knew what the other had meant to say. A week later, Ram packed his bags and prepared to leave with Sita in tow.

“Where to?” asked Laxman.

Ram didn’t answer continued to walk towards the door.

“Where the hell are you going?” Laxman exclaimed again – this time, a little louder.

“I don’t know. Call this a world tour if you like. I haven’t decided where I might stay. Until then, expect me to keep traveling till I see no traces of smoke, until real fog supplants the smog, until I hear no other cacophony than the calls of a hundred birds. All the unnecessary commotion here is not what I fought for. I beat the living daylights out of Ravan to confirm that good overpowers evil. That light transcends darkness – not smoke blinds one and all or random explosions deafen everyone”, Ram responded.

And just like that, Ram went back into exile.