Shadows of the trees masked the sun light...

None of them screamed...

He looked at his hands... They were covered with blood...

The Royal army of Ayodhya roared in grief... He was lying on the soil, their Prince...

His eyes followed his brother, whose path was being marked in red...

With shivering hands, she slowly touched on his shoulder. He was burning like a fire...

A failure is always a failure, A fault is always a fault...
And a loss is always a loss...

lt was a ruinous night which mocked as a shining morning...