After the storyteller returned the stage to the merchant, he distributed the prizes. The twins were elated to win the second prize, as another pair secured the first. Like I expected, I received the second prize, and Meera was awarded the first.
When I received my prize, it was in gold—so much gold that it could solve a multitude of problems for my family.
I was immensely proud of that achievement. My talent won over the audience and charmed the uchavarnas, who were previously unreachable. I stood among them, akin to gold amid the sea of stars, masking the truth that emerged from a slumbering mind in a cold whisper. It reminded me that the truth of my birth could overshadow my victories, extending its dark wings to obscure the sun I've basked in. The truth is rational, but artists seldom are. With a quill or lute at our disposal, we chase it away to flirt with fame.
On that day, I became one of many who found no respite from the dearth of fame, and I paid the price. Fame, you see, suffocates rationality and allows its allure to smother humility, curving your lips proud. It takes a while for you to realize that you are fighting with a master that maintains a tight grip on its slave. Soon, words of wisdom would become hushed murmurs as you toil endlessly, descending deep into a gorge piled with lost dreams.
Our group went to pay our respects to the storyteller. She was a great conversationalist — eloquent with words and entrancing with a smile that loosened a tight grip on a man's heart.
"Your voice resonates like the sweetest of minstrels." Mihai said, maintaining a respectful distance. "And if I may be bold, can I take your hand."
“My hand?” She asked, amused. He extended his hand with the grace of a dancer.
With a mixture of confusion and amusement, she offered her hand.
“These.” He said, studying her long dusky fingers, and paused to let his pale stare find her fire eyes. “Are made to make minstrels weep. Have you not considered picking up an instrument?”
He let go of her hand with gentleness, and the calmness of her eyes surprised him slightly.
"Tell me, singer, do you summon these words at a moment's notice? Or have you practised with many dames?"
"Dames and gentlemen," He corrected.
"I am sure you do. It's pleasant to make your acquaintance. If you'll excuse me, I'll have to have a word with a dear friend of mine who stood as you spoke, calm as a windless tree, but her expression betrays her impatience."
"He is talented in that regard." Samira said. "My friend, let me introduce Ismene and her brother, Adonis. Adonis, would you mind excusing yourself? We intend to have a conversation strictly among women."
Unbothered by the dismissal, he followed us quietly. Mihai found a girl who swooned over him and left us alone.
I tried to strike up a conversation with Adonis by asking him a variety of questions, but I only received curt answers. Sensing his growing impertinence, I decided to leave him be and made my way back to my room.
As I was on climbing the stairs, a voice stopped me. The voice belonged to a beautiful troublemaker known to give a man bouts of heartache.
"Looks we've both been abandoned." Isemene started with a quirk on her lips. "I've seen men look at me in a way that makes me desire to cleanse myself, to wipe away the taint. But you do not have that; when you look at me, there's this thoughtfulness. I appreciate that in a man, but I do have my doubts. I've seen men shift their colors' within the blink of an eye."
She leaned closer, and her breath warmed the skin of my cheeks. "Tell me, Indra, are you a sinner? Do you reign your desire and lock it like a secret? Tell me now. Your silence frustrates me."
I took a step back. "Are you drunk? Should I get your brother here?"
“Aren't you a gentleman,” She edged even closer to press her lips to mine and I instinctively masked her lips with my hand.
She took a step back letting her smile shift. It was different —not suggestive, but pitiful.
“I understand now. Your lips are not for stealing. They are made for one who would quiet your mornings and cool your eyes with delight. You're made for love, and love" She paused before saying, "is dangerous,"
She turned away as if to depart. After taking a step, she paused briefly. Then, she turned around, meeting my gaze for a moment.
"Wait, did I say something strange?" She asked.
"Huh?"
"I shouldn't have drunk that without taking the right dosage. I should have listened to her."
She suddenly laughed, slapped herself, and said, "No, forget this encounter ever happened."
“What just happened?”
A few minutes later, Mihai strode into the room, pointing his finger at me. "My friend, let us entertain ourselves with fine company, what do you say?"
"I have to be in Mohanapur by sundown."
"Is it important? Does your future depend on it?"
"No"
"Then come with me. I met a wonderful woman from south who introduced me to a group of equally wonderful people. If you are entertaining thoughts that I am luring you into nefarious activities, don't be. I am mostly decent."
I would have liked to say that the answer was no. But, it wasn't. If it had been, the man I am today wouldn't exist.
As we step out, we came across Samira. "I need to talk to you." She said, glancing at mihai. "Alone."
"Very well," he said, feigning disappointment. "My dear friend, do entertain me with the details at a later time."
When Mihai walked away, Samira smiled at me. "I have matters to attend to, and I shall return within an hour. Should fortune favour us, a surprise awaits you. Meet me here."
"What surprise?"
"My dear, Indra, a well-kept secret ages the surprise like a fine wine. Be patient,"
She walked off but paused briefly and turned around. "Your skill exceeds that of anyone I've encountered before. I take pride in your abilities as a master and importantly as a friend.”
I couldn't help but break into a warm smile, a surge of childlike joy bubbling within me as her words resonated. It was as if her praise had illuminated a hidden corner of my heart, casting away any shadows of doubt or weariness.
****
Mihai waited outside. When I arrived, he led me away from town towards the outskirts, beyond the hovels of my kind. In the distance, I saw an encampment large enough to shelter nearly a hundred people.
"Where are you taking me?" I asked.
"The woman I was courting was enthralled but not enough for favors', but luckily her finger pointed me to them.”
He gestured at the camp. "These people are Vaṇijya Nadyaḥ. I have heard from my father that they put the merchants of Ambar and Vijayanagara to shame, but unlike them they still have a good heart."
Vaṇijya Nadyaḥ's tents were crafted from a patchwork of coloured cloth and their poles were made of bamboo. In the gentle desert winds, they swayed back and forth like rainbows in a waltz, while the people, with their instruments, acted as the composers.
"Greetings, fellow travellers," said the matriarch of the tribe, an elderly woman tending to the camels at the edge of the camp.
"Greetings, wise matriarch," said Mihai. I mirrored his gesture by joining both of my hands and bowing deeply.
"We have brought you a gift," He said.
"And what might that be?"
"Our songs," He answered.
“I bid you welcome to our humble tribe.”
The tribe was relatively small, consisting of approximately forty to fifty people. Men dressed modestly in kurtas and head wraps, while women wore embroidered skirts, blouses, and headscarves adorned with mirrors, coins and beadwork.
“Why do men dress so modestly?” I asked
“It is a funny story.”
“Tell me.”
"When they grow weary from dancing and singing, they will gather around the fire to eat, and that's when you can ask them for a story."
“Why not tell it yourself?”
"I tend to exaggerate stories for my own amusement. These people may not react kindly to me adding my spin to their stories. Although they are considered our cousins, they have their own version, and we have ours. Disagreements arise regarding which version is the correct one and that is something I want to avoid because it drags on and on and ends with broken bones and egos."
We devoted the ensuing hours to conversations with the members of the tribe. As a curious young man, I asked many questions, and thankfully, none took offense and willingly shared their knowledge.
From them, I learned about many places: lands enshrouded with blushed blossoms, a city with a thousand temples, an island city that does not follow divine laws. I also learned into the cuisine, culture, and music of these places in great detail.
Finally, at the precipice of night, the entertainment began with Sukhavrishti, a group dance in which multiple women participated together. They swayed with rhythmic footwork and hand gestures, while men played the drum and flute.
"What is this dance?"
"It's a dance to please the divines to give them bountiful harvest, which in turn means prosperous business. The exquisite dance performances, while captivating, are primarily driven by economic motives. They hold these every Shanivara, right on the cusp of summer."
As they danced, light journeyed about the mirrorwork, sojourning for only the briefest moments before pursuing a new conduit. After this dance, the entertainment transitioned into a more relaxed and casual atmosphere, featuring songs of love, humor, and innuendos.
As guests we were invited to contribute to this merriment. Mihai sang narrative songs about women outwitting men reeking with arrogance and conceit in their own game. He balanced it with a humorous song about a half witted man that cannot draw honey from a flower which drew suppressed giggles from girls and boys of my age.
Unlike him I didn't do anything fancy, my wit was a bud, and charm was nonexistent, so I chose a simple love song, borrowing Mihai's sarangi.
In the pale blue sky, you are everywhere,
envy clouds mask you to taunt me,
They asked me to give you up,
for you are up there and I am here,
but I was deaf to their treachery,
I will not give up, not now nor ever.
You may chase the wind, let rain befall.
I will be there, I will be there,
no matter what, no matter the cost,
because you are the one for me.
When I look at the rainy sky,
I see a dull rainbow,
for it does not know color of you,
God has not weaved color of you.
This earned applause and some interest from the fairer sex; however, it died down as quickly as it came due to my ineptitude in spinning the words. Still, one person had shown interest in me.
Someone whom I cannot bear to lose. She was a maiden wrapped in lily-white beauty, crowned with the gossamer of sunshine that danced in the breeze—a sight stark against the red skies of twilight.
She was the most beautiful soul I ever met, a dearest friend who wanted to end my tumultuous silence with love. If you had captured her and asked me to forfeit my life, I would, for she would do the same.
"You're not much of a talker, are you?" she asked with a smile that conveyed genuine curiosity without a hint of judgment.
"I've lived a rather isolated life," I said, unsure of how to respond.
"My name is Andrea," she said, greeting me in a manner similar to how Mihai does, by extending her hand and expecting me to shake it. I obliged.
"Indra."
"Indra, may I steal you for this evening?"
"Why?" I inquired.
"Why?" she exclaimed, and her lips spread into a playful grin. "You are a deeply distrustful person, aren't you?"
I was indeed deeply suspicious of my esteemed betters.
She let out a sigh tinged with resignation. "Alright, I suppose I'll tell you the reason. You see, it's the contours of your nose that captivate me. I yearn to feast my eyes upon its form without any awkwardness. Engaging in conversation allows me this simple pleasure."
"What?" Before I could register what she said, she took my hand and started running.
"Where are you taking me?" I cried.
"Some place not here, somewhere very dear,"
She led me to a tall, slender bell tower with a hue resembling that of morning fruit. It was part of a temple built in honor of Raghava.
The priest was not present to be a loud-mouthed obstacle. She rushed me to the top through an intricately carved doorway with a grand arch. The ascent was smooth; the stairs, though ornamental with carved balusters, offered structural support with much thought put into practicality.
"You are an odd person," I said and paused, realizing the error in my hasty remark upon a quick glance at her hands. She belonged to the Kshatriya class.
"I apologize, my lady. I did not realize that I was speaking to my superior."
"The proper manner of seeking forgiveness entails indulging the whims, as you put it, of your superiors. Now unravel my identity and do not fret about making wrong guesses for they won't be far from truths."
"You have fair skin and fair hair; you are not from around here. You are a treasure hunter who has come to see our lands after getting a whiff about ancient treasures."
"Very astute observation impressive,"
"Is it?"
"Yes, if there are enough people to believe in it. Presently, there are only two of us—two who delight in embracing this untruth."
I entertained the prospect that she might have been dropped as a baby but my gut told me there wasn't anything wrong with her. In actuality, she lacked a tenuous grasp on the concept of humor like the rest of us grumpy bores. I decided to be taken in by queerness rejecting the constructed normalcy.
"Since I guessed who you are tell me who am I?" I asked, smiling a little.
"You are a prince bored of palace affairs, picked up an instrument and ran away. You now live your life trying to awe the folk and sweep the women off their feet,"
"Oh, sure, I'm so charming that I can sweep the women off their feet... and then promptly trip over mine!"
"Don't worry, I won't be one of your many, so you don't have to worry about it," she said, looking at me expectantly, asking me to play her game of pretend.
"That is very fortunate, for you shall not need to be a lady unattainable, and I shall be spared the role of a persistent lord who cannot take no for an answer. So I shall take my leave."
I turned to leave, but her hand grasped mine, and she said, "How can you leave when you withhold a song about my life in exchange for something you have lost?"
"What did I lose?"
"A purpose,"
"A man without purpose is a sad thing indeed. You have almost convinced me but may I ask why do you need a song,"
"Why? Its because the world is shaped by a song of course."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Its simple really. I want you to shape my life, Indra,"
I did not have a parchment or a pen to write the song but it nevertheless came to me as if I knew who she was.
A young woman lived in a forest,
In a castle hidden in greens,
She yearned for a life of adventure,
To lands that dwelled in dreams.
Those dreams had come and whispered,
Maiden, go and claim your life.
But she refused to heed them,
And only shook her head.
A young man rode to her tower,
And saw her from far below,
On a white steed, he ventured,
So pale and so serene.
He called to her from the meadow,
"Maiden, fear not,
Your groom has come for you,
She felt a faint whisper that warned her not to go
He freed his sheathed weapon,
With a swift blow, he chopped through the door,
He took her to a prison,
Where he claimed her as his own.
Her dreams grew grim and distant,
But her spirit refused to waver,
One moonless night she trailed the shadows,
And ended a wicked lie.
The maiden took his white steed,
Journeyed to lands unknown,
The dreams had come and whispered,
You are free at last,
What was ever meant to be.
"You should keep my nocturnal activities a secret. You singing the wrong sort of songs is troublesome.”
"I value my neck." I said feeling it with my hand.
She nodded in appreciation. 'You're a very agreeable man. Now, let me give you what was promised. A purpose. And what better way to help you with that than a poem?"
Generous with heartbreak,
Tightwad with happiness,
it keeps on flowing.
Born with a heart filled with hate,
And with the hands of a puppeteer,
It weaves its lies,
wrapping the universe in its spell,
And all men can do is dance to its tune.
