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Moonlit Jasmine: A Warrior’s Tender Crown🌙🌼
Moonlight shimmered through the carved stone jali, spilling silver patterns across the golden drapes of the palace chamber. Oil lamps flickered softly, their glow warm against the cool night.
Urmila sat upon a cushioned seat near the ornate bed, her long black hair flowing like a dark river down her back. It had just been washed and lightly scented with jasmine oil. The strands caught the lamplight with every movement.
Behind her stood Lakshman.
The mighty warrior of countless battles now held something far more delicate than a bowstring—his wife’s silken hair.
He leaned closer, his expression unusually serious.
“Do not move,” he murmured gently.
Urmila smiled without opening her eyes. “You speak as though I am on a battlefield.”
“In a way,” he replied. “One wrong twist and the entire kingdom of this bun will fall.”
She laughed softly, the sound like tiny bells from her bangles.
With careful fingers adorned in gold rings, Lakshman gathered the upper half of her hair. He smoothed it back with surprising tenderness, his calloused warrior’s hands moving slowly so as not to pull. His thumb brushed against her temple for a moment longer than necessary.
“Too tight?” he asked.
“Not at all,” she whispered. “You are gentler than the palace maids.”
He tried not to look pleased—but failed.
He twisted the gathered section deliberately, concentrating as though forming a sacred knot. A loose curl escaped and fell against her cheek. Lakshman paused, then carefully tucked it behind her ear, his touch reverent.
“There,” he said softly, coiling the twisted hair into a graceful bun—not too high, not too low. Perfectly balanced.
A maid approached quietly with fresh jasmine buds threaded into a delicate string. Lakshman took them himself.
“I will place them,” he insisted.
He wrapped the white blossoms around the bun, their fragrance filling the chamber. The contrast of white flowers against her dark hair made her glow in the lamplight.
Then came the final touch.
He reached for the maang tikka resting on the sandalwood tray. Lifting it carefully, he placed it at the center parting of her hair, adjusting it so it fell perfectly upon her forehead.
Urmila opened her eyes.
Lakshman was still close—closer than necessary. His gaze softened as he studied her, not like a warrior inspecting armor, but like a man memorizing something precious.
“You look…” He paused, searching for the right word.
She raised an eyebrow playfully. “Yes?”
He smiled. “As though the moon itself asked permission to shine tonight.”
Urmila turned slightly, her long hair cascading below her waist, the half-up bun crowned with jasmine and pearls. Structured above, free below.
She reached up and gently straightened the necklace at his chest. “And you,” she said, “are far more skilled at this than you admit.”
Lakshman chuckled quietly. “If the world knew I braided flowers at night, my reputation would be ruined.”
She leaned back against him just a little.
“Then let the world never know.”
Outside, the moon sailed high over Ayodhya. Inside, in the quiet palace chamber, the warrior and his queen shared a moment softer than silk, stronger than steel.
And somewhere in the distance, the jasmine blossoms seemed to bloom just a little brighter.
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