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Posted: 15 days ago

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When Lullabies Began



The palace didn’t so much “wake up” during those months as gently shift into a new kind of life. It was subtle — the kind of change you feel before you can explain it. Light fell differently on old walls; footsteps seemed softer; laughter lingered a little longer in the air. Even the servants moved with an unspoken excitement, as though everyone knew something beautiful was on its way.


Everyone could feel it:

three daughters of the Raghu family were carrying new life, and the whole household responded the way a big family does — with worry, with joy, with too much food, with prayers whispered at odd hours, with fussing that felt like love.



---


Three Announcements, Three Different Loves


Each sister told her husband in a way that revealed exactly who she was.


Urmila


Urmila chose dusk — her favorite quiet hour. She didn’t make a speech or plan anything fancy. She simply handed Lakshman a folded palm-leaf with a small charcoal sketch of a tiny hand and round little head.


He understood instantly. His whole face lit up, and he wrapped her in an embrace so full of awe it almost felt like a blessing.


Mandavi


Mandavi went the playful route. She prepared Bharat’s favorite bowl of apple slices — but tucked beneath them was a soft little cloth she had embroidered with a tiny sun and bird.


When he found it, he looked at her like she had just handed him the world. She didn’t say anything at first; she just touched the embroidery with her fingertips and smiled through tears.


Shrutakirti


Shrutakirti told Shatrughna in the shrine they visited together. She placed a fresh garland on the altar, then slipped a single jasmine flower into his hand.


He looked at her, startled at first, then deeply moved. No words were needed.



---


The Palace Begins Preparing


The palace responded the way old, loving households do — not with loud festivals, but with hands that suddenly had a purpose.


The brothers who had once made mischief by painting on palm leaves now carved little toys. They built a cradle decorated with the sun and moon. The older mothers — Kaushalya, Sumitra, and Kaikeyi — guided the younger women with a mixture of strictness and warmth.


Everyone helped.

No one was left alone.

You could feel the care woven into every corner of the place.



---


Nine Months, Felt Slowly and Tenderly


Months 1–3


The first months were hushed and intimate. The women felt tired, emotional, sometimes overwhelmed. The palace quietly adjusted: gentler tasks, warmer meals, little lamps glowing through the nights.


By the third month, the daima (midwife) visited regularly, and the sisters began preparing tiny clothes and blankets.


Months 4–6


Their bodies changed, and the palace moved into a calmer rhythm. The men learned to be more attentive — carrying baskets, fetching food, checking in with anxious eyes.


Month five brought the first kicks, which never failed to move the husbands to soft silence.


Months 7–9


The women grew heavier and slower. Sleep came and went. Emotions sharpened. The older mothers stayed with them often, massaging their backs, telling stories, keeping the nights from feeling frightening.


By the ninth month, everyone was on alert. A small sound in the corridors could send half the household running.



---


The Births — A Year of Three Cries


Angad, Lakshman and Urmila’s first son, arrived first. His cry echoed through the palace, and suddenly there were tears everywhere — from Urmila, from Lakshman, from the grandmothers who couldn’t stop staring at him.


Taksh, Bharat and Mandavi’s first born arrived a few days later. Mandavi held him like she couldn’t quite believe he was real. Bharat hovered around them, grinning too widely and wiping his eyes when he thought no one saw him.


Subahu, Shrutakirti and Shatrughna’s first tiny tot, completed the trio. He was welcomed into the world by a room full of exhausted but joyful relatives who had just finished celebrating the earlier births.


The naming ceremonies followed one after another, turning the palace into a place full of prayers, music, and tiny baby yawns.



---


The Second Round of Cradles


A few years later, when the first three boys had already filled the palace with chaos and laughter, fate decided to bless the family again.

Another trio of boys arrived within a span of only a few months.

Shrutakirti’s second son, Shatrughati, arrived first this time.



Then came Urmila’s second bundle of joy, Chandraketu.




Finally, Mandavi welcomed her second son, Pushkal.


Six cousins in total — close in age, wild in energy, inseparable from the start.



---




A Family That Loved Deeply


There were tears during labors, laughter during naming ceremonies, shared fear, shared relief.

The brothers learned to rock cradles and hum lullabies.

The sisters learned they were stronger than they realized.

The older women rediscovered a purpose they hadn’t felt in years.


The palace changed because the people in it changed — they moved with more care, spoke with more softness, held one another with more trust. And the children grew up surrounded by so much affection it seemed to seep into their bones.



---




Years later, the carved cradle still sat in a corner, its paint softened by time and touch. The old palm-leaf sketch and embroidered cloth were tucked safely away. They had become little reminders of how the family had begun its new chapter.


But the real legacy lived in the way the cousins laughed together, in how the brothers supported one another, in how the sisters looked at each other with a quiet understanding that only shared motherhood could create.


The Raghu household had promised to welcome its children with love —

and it kept that promise, every single day.

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the order of the birth of kids is loosely based on anand ramayan

Edited by cuteamanboy - 14 days ago
cuteamanboy thumbnail
8th Anniversary Thumbnail Visit Streak 30 Thumbnail Voyager Thumbnail
Posted: 15 days ago

the order of the birth of the children is loosely based on anand ramayan

different versions have different interpretations

cuteamanboy thumbnail
8th Anniversary Thumbnail Visit Streak 30 Thumbnail Voyager Thumbnail
Posted: 15 days ago

check the pictures

share your views


kids are in kurta keeping the safety guidelines

cuteamanboy thumbnail
8th Anniversary Thumbnail Visit Streak 30 Thumbnail Voyager Thumbnail
Posted: 15 days ago

please share your views

cuteamanboy thumbnail
8th Anniversary Thumbnail Visit Streak 30 Thumbnail Voyager Thumbnail
Posted: 15 days ago

can i ask

why you are commenting in pm and not in posts

cuteamanboy thumbnail
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Posted: 15 days ago

is there any network issue

cuteamanboy thumbnail
8th Anniversary Thumbnail Visit Streak 30 Thumbnail Voyager Thumbnail
Posted: 15 days ago

ok

no problem

hope you keep reading and commenting on my posts if possible

cuteamanboy thumbnail
8th Anniversary Thumbnail Visit Streak 30 Thumbnail Voyager Thumbnail
Posted: 15 days ago

glad

you comment through pm

SilverBell thumbnail
Posted: 15 days ago

Wonderful Birth Of The Children Six Cousins In Total

cuteamanboy thumbnail
8th Anniversary Thumbnail Visit Streak 30 Thumbnail Voyager Thumbnail
Posted: 14 days ago

image and sentence formation credit to chat gpt


Meeting of Strength and Grace under Sunlight



---


A Morning in the Garden


The first touch of dawn spilled gold across the courtyard, waking the quiet garden from its gentle sleep. Dew clung to every leaf like tiny pearls, and the hibiscus buds were still curled inward, waiting for the sun’s invitation to bloom.


Lakshman stepped into the garden barefoot, drawing a deep breath of the cool morning air. He closed his eyes, centered himself, and began his surya namaskar, each movement fluid, steady, and graceful. The rising sun lit his silhouette in soft honey–orange, making him look almost carved from sunlight.


On the balcony above, Urmila leaned against the railing, chin resting on her palm. Her long braid slipped over her shoulder as she watched him, a smile tugging gently at her lips. She had woken early, telling herself she would read… or perhaps water her plants. But she knew the real reason she was up before sunrise.


Down below, Lakshman raised his arms and stretched into the sky—

and only then opened one eye slightly.


He spotted her instantly.


Urmila straightened, trying to look casual, but he saw the tiny flustered flick of her fingers brushing her hair behind her ear.


He smirked.


“Good morning, Urmila,” he called, without breaking his pose.


“Good morning,” she replied, attempting to sound perfectly composed. “You’re up early.”


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“I always am,” he said, shifting smoothly into the next movement. “But I’ve never had such an attentive audience before.”


Her eyes widened. “I–I wasn’t watching. I was just… checking the weather.”


He glanced up at the clear sky. “Oh? How is the weather today? Is it… flexing?”


Urmila let out an indignant little gasp. “That’s not even a word!”


“It is when you use it,” he replied, laughter threading through his voice.


She folded her arms but couldn’t hide the pink blooming in her cheeks.


Lakshman stood straight again, drawing a slow breath before switching to the next round. “If you really were watching,” he said softly, “I wouldn’t mind.”


Her arms loosened, her voice softening. “I like… mornings like this. When you’re down there. The garden looks peaceful when you’re in it.”


He paused mid-bend, momentarily forgetting what step came next. “Does it?”


“Yes,” she said, leaning a little farther over the railing. “It’s like the whole place listens to you breathe.”


For a moment, the world felt impossibly still. Even the breeze paused to hear.


Lakshman recovered with a half-nervous chuckle. “If you keep talking like that, Urmila, I’ll forget my sequence entirely.”


“That would be terrible,” she teased. “Imagine—you, the great disciplined one—losing focus.”


He shook his head. “Only you can do that to me.”


She blinked, surprised by the quiet sincerity beneath his playful tone.


He finished his last stretch, palms pressed together in namaste toward the sun, then turned and offered another small namaste up to her. “Will you come down and walk with me a bit?”


Urmila hesitated—not because she didn’t want to, but because she liked this view from above, where the morning made him look like a part of the garden itself.


“I will,” she said softly. “But only if you promise not to tease me.”


“I make no such promises,” Lakshman replied instantly.


She laughed, bright as the morning light itself, and turned toward the stairs.


As she disappeared inside, Lakshman looked up at the balcony once more, shaking his head with a smile he couldn’t suppress.


He had done surya namaskar thousands of times. But somehow, with her watching, it felt entirely new.


Here is the continuation — keeping the same warm, soft, cute tone.



---


A Walk Among Sunlit Leaves


Urmila walked down the stairs a little too quickly, then slowed near the last step so she wouldn’t look too eager. Lakshman was waiting near the jasmine creeper, stretching his shoulders lightly. When she stepped into the garden, the fragrance of the flowers wrapped around her like a welcome.


“You walk fast,” he said, raising an eyebrow.


“No,” she said, brushing imaginary dust off her dupatta. “You were just waiting close to the stairs.”


“Because someone might run,” he teased.


“I don’t run,” she said.


“You do,” he replied. “When you’re excited.”


She opened her mouth to protest, then closed it again, narrowing her eyes at him. “You know entirely too much about me.”


“That’s the plan,” Lakshman said, almost under his breath.


A flutter skipped through her chest. She looked away quickly, pretending to admire the marigolds.


They began to walk down the narrow path lined with herbs—tulsi, lemongrass, mint. Urmila brushed her fingers through a patch of basil, releasing its sweet aroma.


“Your breathing is calmer now,” she noted.


“Surya namaskar helps,” he replied. Then, with a sideways glance: “But the real challenge is keeping it calm when you’re talking.”


She blinked. “Why?”


“Because you say things like the garden listens to me breathe.” He mimicked her soft tone exaggeratedly.


She swatted his arm. “I did not say it like that!”


“You very much did,” he insisted. “Should I demonstrate?”


“Don’t you dare,” she warned.


He grinned—wide, bright, boyish—and she felt a helpless smile tug at her own lips. They continued walking until they reached the mango tree, its branches swaying gently with the morning wind.


Lakshman paused and looked at her thoughtfully.


“Urmila,” he said, “have you ever tried surya namaskar?”


She clutched her shawl defensively. “I’m… not very coordinated.”


“Everyone starts somewhere.” He stepped in front of her, giving her space. “Just one pose. The easiest one.”


“I don’t trust you,” she muttered.


“You shouldn’t,” he agreed. “But I’ll teach you anyway.”


She huffed, defeated. “Fine. Show me.”


Lakshman moved smoothly into the basic standing pose—feet together, palms joined, back straight. Urmila tried to copy him, but her feet were uneven and her arms stiff.


He walked behind her and gently nudged her elbow. “Relax this.”


“Don’t push,” she said.


“That wasn’t pushing,” he said. “If I push, you’ll know.”


“Lakshman!”


He laughed, and the sound echoed through the garden. She glared half-heartedly but adjusted her posture.


“Better,” he said. “Now breathe in.”


She inhaled.


“Not like you’re smelling burnt food,” he scolded.


“I wasn’t!”


“Try again.” His voice was soft this time.


She tried, and her breath came deeper, steadier.


“Good,” he said quietly. “Perfect.”


The word warmed her more than the sunlight.


She exhaled slowly, lowering her hands. “Enough. If I continue, I’ll probably fall into a flower pot.”


“You might,” he admitted. “But I’d catch you.”


Urmila looked up at him, eyes softening despite herself. “Do you always say things like this?”


“No,” he said simply. “Only to you.”


A long, sweet silence bloomed between them, as peaceful as the morning.


Then Urmila broke it with the one weapon she had left—mischief. “You know,” she said, stepping closer to the marigold bed, “if you really want your breathing to stay calm around me, maybe you need more practice.”


“Oh?” Lakshman crossed his arms. “Is that a challenge?”


“It might be.”


“Then I accept,” he replied, stepping forward until they were barely a breath apart. “But don’t complain when I win.”


“You can’t win,” she said, her voice dropping to a gentle whisper, “if I don’t let you.”


He froze for just a moment—caught, surprised, charmed. Then he exhaled, a soft laugh in his throat.


“Urmila,” he said, “you’re dangerous.”


She smiled sweetly. “Good. Now let’s walk before you start another lesson.”


They continued through the sunlit garden, side by side, the morning warm and blooming around them—two people turning a simple dawn into something quietly magical.



---






Edited by cuteamanboy - 14 days ago

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