Samira talked no more, and I didn’t dare to upset her. She carried on through the trip in silence, while I spent my time conversing with the driver, I took a seat at the front and listened to him talking about the villages and cities he had frequented while working for a merchant.

He spoke of the snowy mountains in the north and how the people who lived there seemed to have stolen the fairness of mountain snow. He talked about the dusky beauties in the south and cautioned me about offending the fox-eyed warriors in the east. He further talked about the anatomy of women and the best brothels in major cities. I did not enjoy his perverted musings and was more interested in learning about warriors and mythical beasts.

“I have seen kinnaras before.”

"If I remember correctly, they do not perform for humans but solely for the god king. Ever since his departure from the three realms, they have never ventured near civilization. So, I wonder, how did you come to meet them?"

“I am not lying, lad. I’ve seen them in the northern mountains. A fine lass had taken me there after I persuaded her with an irresistible offer.” He glanced at me with anticipation, urging me to inquire about the nature of the offer.

“Let me guess, you offered to remove unmentionables off her, am I right?”

"If only that could work. No, you guessed wrong. I had offered her money and she took me to a secret spot, where I saw their spectacle in secret. Despite the bone-chilling cold, those half-horses danced and sang. Their beauty was beyond anything you could ever imagine, with their golden skins and captivating blue eyes that leave anyone at a loss for words."

I once heard a poem about them, and its words have remained etched in my mind.

In lands of green, they’re rarely seen,

Half men with bottoms of fur,

Half men with torsos of gold,

Half men with orbs of blue.

Their song has no ears to be heard,

Their dance has no eyes to be seen,

Dwelling in the land of white, Kinnara is their name,

half men, half horses, with flair forever unmatched.

After only half an hour, I deeply regretted my decision to engage in a conversation with this man. He droned on about his escapades, mostly his debauchery, which made me wish that he would never father a son to spoil and ruin. I begged the gods for the destination to arrive swiftly and waited for it like a desert blossom yearning for the heavens to quench its thirst with blissful tears.

After what felt like ten thousand sunsets, a smile appeared on my face as the town came into view. Elation unfurled at the prospect of preserving my sanity and protecting my precious ears. Watching the town had made me realize that the name "Gulabpur" was given in a literal manner. The majority of the houses were all bathed in the color of roses, while a few had shades of red and reddish browns.

The hovels outside the town, reserved for my kin, were sore to the eye, and it made me ashamed to hold such a repugnant view about our people. So, I reminded myself of my true identity, and that the trip was nothing more than a passing dream.

You are a sullied; the world would not accept you like her. Even she who accepted you doesn't want to be with you because of your...

I refused to let those thoughts hammer me into a sulky, insecure boy. Instead, I embraced the view in front of me.

Pink, flat-roofed structures stood alongside the limestone roads, forming a picturesque scene of blush and moonlight floating in waves of burnt gold. Adjoining the roads and buildings were bushes of flowers that were not supposed to grow in such an environment. However, Nagarapati of Gulabpur desired his town to be a paradise to behold and spared no expense to keep it that way.

Samira and I got down at the entrance, and the self-proclaimed Lothario gladly took our coins with his greedy hand, counting them not once, but thrice to make sure the count was right.

I bid him farewell, went on our way, and as we walked along the streets in silence, Samira exhaled deeply.

"I am the first woman you have interacted with other than your sisters. it's natural that you feel that way. Don't beat yourself up about it. I am not offended," she said, smiling tenderly.

"Come! You have an audience to impress, and you have only one chance at that."

We walked to the hotel, which is more like a haveli. The square-shaped hotel has a sandstone façade decorated with floral motifs and geometric patterns, elegantly intertwined with each other. As we stepped though the arched doorway, we were greeted by a fresco depicting an army of vanaras—creatures that are half monkey and half human—marching across a bridge. At the forefront of the army, Raghava Mahaveera stood in his magnificent golden armor, exuding an aura of divine grandeur.

A man, dressed in a white angarakha kurta and red turban, noticed our arrival and pushed open the wooden doors. The doors feature rose vine latticework painted in vibrant red and dark green.

The reception area had white marble flooring, which reflected the golden glow of the mana-powered chandelier. Tables and chairs were neatly arranged a few feet away from the entrance, positioned near a room with three archway entrances. The arch in the middle was wider than the other two. Within that room, an alcove showcased a painting of a red-haired woman riding a white lion in a snowy landscape.

To the left of the entrance, there is a wide, polished teak wood desk, and to its right, a door leads to the stairway ascending to the upper floors where the guest rooms are located.

A few feet away at the front of the desk there is another door leading to the area designated for serving drinks and hosting performances. It is common for reputable hotels to employ charanas known for their mastery in storytelling and singing to captivate the audience, who are eager to empty their purses and fill their tummies with drinks.

"Pretend as if we met today," she whispered, gazing at the fellow musicians who had perched on the seats reserved for the guests. Amongst them, a young man of Samira's age had caught my eye. His hair held the ripeness of the sun, and his skin was pearly with a rosy touch. His eyes traveled to Samira, and her red smile had pulled him with an invisible string, much to the dismay of a flirtatious young woman who fell for his honeyed words.

The red-haired man was like a wind that stirred the trees, enticing his prey to sway along in a deceptive dance until they gave him the key to their virtues and coin. He was an easy man to hate if his pursuits were solely hedonistic rather than self-preservative.

"Ah, beautiful, it has been so long since I last tasted the sweetness of your lips."

"Ah, great, a rake," I uttered without thinking, capturing his attention.

"My, my, you are prettier than half the lasses I have bedded." I blushed, and my cheeks became red as a tomato.

"Who is this young man with such a fiery tongue?" He asked.

"This one is remarkable. I met him on a journey. He told me he came from the south. What was that place again?"

"Jayateera Nagaram."

"The south!" He exclaimed. "I have never been there. My people rarely left the north."

"Your people?"

"You don't know? We are the Yatrakalavidah who came to this land during the times of great cataclysm."

“They are artists who go from place to place to perform. These people are considered the first of humanity created along with kinnaras to compose beautiful melodies for svayambhu.” Samira said.

"Boy, have you not know the world? I thought our travelling troupe are famous enough to reach the south."

"Forgive me, this one did not know about your divinity. I beseech you, spare your divine excrement upon my unworthy self…"

The red haired man burst out laughing. "Oh, you are a funny guy. I like you." He said and greeted me by joining his hands. "My name is Mihai Vasave."

"Indrasena Taraka." I said and greeted him back. "If you don't mind me asking, you meant a troupe, correct? Are they with you? Your troupe?"

"Oh no," he said, chuckling. "I am the black sheep of my troupe. I was exiled by my family for... ummm."

"He slept with the son of a power lord on his wedding night. The bride had chased him with a sword," Samira finished it for him, and mihai let out a nervous chuckle. "I was naked and running in the snow. I will never forget my greatest shame."

"Why would you do such a thing?"

"He gifted me a sarangi!" He exclaimed. "They are very, very expensive, and I would have felt guilty without rewarding him with something."

He let out a sigh. "In that vulnerable state, my betrothed discovered me, leading her to reject me. She ended up marrying another man, presumably someone more agreeable to her advances, and my parents banished me permanently. Truth be told, I never harbored affection for her because, you see, in Yatrakalavidah, women possess the freedom to select their partners if they remain unclaimed, and men have no right to decline. Hence, it is evident that my love did not extend towards her."

He gestured at the mahogany desk. "Have you two taken rooms yet? Soon you won't have any."

"We have not," Samira said.

"You'll have to take them then." He replied. We walked to the reception with Mihai in the tow.

"Sorry, there is only one room available." The woman at the reception said in an apologetic tone.

"Oh, don't worry, the pretty boy can share the room with me."

“I do not want the poor boy to hear your filth. He could stay with me.” Mihai raised his eyebrows. "He may be a boy, but the boy could be a man at any moment. So it is not safe for a woman to be alone with a stranger."

“You are the one to talk. You drunkenly kissed me and got rewarded with a tight slap.” He cringed and unconsciously rubbed his apple cheek.

“And then you kissed me after that.” He said with confidence.

“Those are your delusions. Why would any woman kiss you after that? You calmly apologized and walked away from the room.”

"I did? Oh, right, I did," Mihai chuckled. "I don't know what came over me that day. I promise you that if I were sane, that wouldn't have happened."

"I doubt that, and now that I remember you also sleep with men, which makes me fear for the boy's safety."

“No, I would never do such a thing again! It was just one time, and I got punished for it. Do not tease me any longer, please let it go!”

“It is not appropriate to share it with a lady. I will stay with him,"

Mihai raised his eyebrows and smirked, mouthing, "I told you so."

The room featured a wide bed for two people to share, and if they lay down, they could see the fresco on the ceiling depicting a blue-skinned woman aiming her longbow at a ten-headed lizard flying in the air. These frescoes are painted with special paints extracted from the fruits grown near indravanam forest.

At the foot of the bed, a red carpet adorned the floor. To the left of the bed, there was an alcove with a shelf filled with books. On the right, there was a jhorka and a chair, allowing one to look out onto the street while reading a book.

There was even a small, handcrafted temple in an alcove behind the bed, where one could pray to God Swapnadeep, beseeching him to weave golden dreams that could mask the great heartaches churned in the chasms of the soul of this indomitable, limitless, ever-churning ocean called life.

Since we arrived quite early, they didn't have anything to serve us. So Mihai and I went out to eat at an eatery and I for the first time in my life had a proper meal. I had good meals at Samira's house, but she seemed to eat things that were healthy.

Mihai and I had ordered some pearl millet bread, roasted in ghee and served with a curry of flour dumplings cooked in a spiced yogurt gravy, along with two glasses of mango lassi.

"So, what do you want to perform?" he asked, folding the bread and dipping it in the curry. "I'm not going to steal your ideas or anything. I'm just curious because I've never seen her look at anyone that way unless they impressed her."

He took a bite and waited for my reply. "Hollow Left Behind." I said.

"That's a beautiful song. Do you want to know what I will be singing?"

"Not really." I bluntly said.

"Oh wonderful. It is a song that I completed today. A song about pretty boys like you."