I slipped away from the garden and mingled with the rest of the workers. Those who noticed my absence refrained from ratting me to the guard and pretended as if nothing had happened. You might be wondering why they would do such a thing. You see, feet kissing is an art solely reserved for Uchavarnas, not untouchables destined to never rise from our ranks socially or economically. All we could do is to bend low, for a lesser being has no right to look upon the sky.
A few hours later, we finished our work, received our payment, and returned to our lives in our walled prison. By the time we finished, darkness spilled like a never-ending sea. The moon shone brightly, peeking from behind the clouds, allowing its radiance to touch only the fortunate few. The stars blinked with gusto, resisting the encroaching darkness that threatened the light, much like a jealous maiden scorning a fair blossom disimilar.
With the coming of moon and stars everyone hurried to sleep but I did not return home. Instead, I found a quiet corner away from the sight of many faces sea. Among those faces, some bore a spark that winked even in dreadful misery that surrounded them. That spark held me too, making my lips blossom into a cheerful smile as my gaze and lips worked in unison, reading the writ of employment.
Some of you might be surprised to learn that I know how to read. Allow me to explain: reading and writing in the common tongue were legally required skills for everyone in the empire, including nichavarna scum like me. Why were traitors like us allowed to read and write? Well, only your god-king can answer that. He made the rules, and no one had the guts to question him.
Reading the letter, I questioned my reality and pinched my cheek to see if it was all just a dream. When I felt the pain, I held the letter close to my chest, afraid to be apart from it. Not only was I offered a paid job, but I was also given the opportunity to receive training. It made me very happy, but I didn’t act foolishly. I didn’t tell my family the entire truth. I simply couldn’t risk it. I instead explained to them that I had impressed my prospective employer by carrying her belongings when her coolie ditched her. A stupid lie, but when one is desperate for a little bit of money, they eat up all the cow dung you throw at them.
"Serve your master with unquestionable loyalty, boy," my father advised.
"I will, Father," I promised. I did not like my father and had no respect for him. He was a man full of vices, which brought misery not only to himself but also to his family. Hatred for his ignorance and infidelity burned hot beneath my guise as an obedient son who never refused to heed his words, and it lingered even after his departure. My hate for him was consistent and it was only when I became a man that I saw him for what he truly was—a pitiful wretch.
People say that apples don't fall far from the tree. In my case, they would be half right. Like him, I ruined the happiness of the woman I loved, and never paid the price. Though I did not insult her faith by committing adultery, I hurt her in many ways that I am ashamed to admit. Perhaps I am not a better man than he; I had the liberty to be at peace, yet I treated it as something disposable.
“Good, you sought employment; perhaps you can find something for your sisters. A kind word from your master would do the trick,” my mother said hopefully.
Our home could not sustain with just two of us working; our wages were low and not enough to feed five mouths. Devika and Mythri were thirteen summers old and had been taught to do menial chores. All they needed was work-shy employers who were willing to part with some coin to free themselves to other activities.
“I will try, mother.”
"Do not talk to her at all; by mistake, you may draw her ire. They will take offense, even if you do not mean it. So it is better to be safe than sorry, even if it seems unfair."
“Unfair?” My father raised his voice and tried to get up from his bed, but couldn’t. “They are kind enough to let us live, and you talk about unfairness.”
My mother ignored him and served me a bowl of porridge. “She might be a woman, but do not underestimate their cruelty. I knew a seemingly kind woman who lashed out at a servant because her husband looked at her in a perverse manner. I want you to be very careful.”
“I will.”
“Tell me about her. Does her skin truly have the shine of sun itself, like all the beautiful maidens in the myth? You know I have never seen a higher caste women before. Do tell me, brother! Share every detail with me!” Mythri, impatient and most curious one of my two sisters, asked.
“She was beautiful and very kind. And, no, before you ask, I did not hear her sing.”
“If you are lucky, you may even get to hear her sing!” She cried. “How wonderful would that be?”
“Indeed,” I said, my tone weary.
“Mythri, do not pester our dear brother. He has grown weary from work; let him rest,” Devika said.
I completed my porridge and stepped out, carrying a sleeping mat made of straw. Our mud house was modest, with enough space not to feel completely suffocated. It even had a portion of empty land to plant some vegetables and a stick fence to separate the street from our land.
I laid out my mat on the grass and used one of my tunics as a pillow. But before I could get to sleep, I was surprised by an unexpected guest—Devika.
“How did you come to it? Mother and father may believe your lies, but I don’t.”
Being observant is a fine trait unless your siblings or enemies possess it.
If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
“What does it matter if I acquired it through other means?”
"I just want to know if you got it safely," she replied in a softer tone.
"Promise me that you will not tell anyone. Unlike you, they would overreact."
She folded her hands. “Very well, tell me, how did you come to acquire that writ?”
“The lady thought I was exceptionally handsome,” I joked, much to Devika’s lack of amusement.
"Sorry, I couldn't resist," I said, chuckling to myself. Then I recounted everything that had happened while Devika listened with a face so grave and stern that it truly scared me.
To those who will read my chronicle, beware of the anger of a silent person, for their anger may not harm you like a brute's would. The consequences of their anger are unknown, and the uncertainty of it is very frightening. Devika and I are unpredictable in how we react to things, One can only imagine how two unpredictable people may act when they face each other. As an unpredictable person, let me tell you, it is more frightening when you are not at the top of your game and encounter your equal.
“I won’t tell them about this, but dear brother, how could you be so reckless? I always thought we were cut from the same cloth.”
“You grew up listening to the stories of Tanvi, the bane of danavas and wanted to be like her. As for me, I admired her friend, the humble charana called Anurag, renowned as the nightingale bard. I loved singing, sister, but I never thought I could have the opportunity to learn it. Now I do,”
“Can you trust her?”
“If she desired to harm, she could have inflicted it upon me in that very moment.”
“This is dangerous; I don’t want you to go. You could say she changed her mind. It is not unrealistic to think that an ucchavarna got bored with their inferiors and discarded them. Your mother would understand, and our father would scold you for a day or two for being lazy, but he would eventually let it go.”
“You know I won’t change my mind. In my place, you wouldn’t as well.”
“I wouldn't change my mind, which is why I wish for you to be better. I have always regarded you as the sensible one.”
“Survival is indeed sensible, my dear sister. However, what purpose does this survival hold if one cannot passionately strive for a dream? Is it even a living if I can't achieve what I want?”
There came a silence between us, a silence laden with the absence of unsaid things, thoughts danced in depths of her mind, a counter-argument that took time to break out of its cocoon. Inside it was a brewing sisterly wisdom that wanted me to refrain from playing dice with devil. A few minutes later the silence came to an end with a voice bearing the calmness that comes from seeing many summers.
“We both wll always move in one direction, regardless of sensible interventions, aren’t we? Do whatever you will, but know that you should never hide anything from me, and I wouldn’t either." She took my arm and smiled. "Let us be each other’s anchor. If you sense any problem, do not hesitate and tell me everything.”
“I will.”
Oh, how we acted that time, putting on an illusion of wisdom while sorely lacking it.
“I shall let you sleep.” She said before entering the hut.
I lay down on my mat and bathed in milk and silver. The shy wind gently stroked the leaves of a sponge tree, beginning a melodic song. The wind and the tree, akin to age-old lovers, understood each other’s patterns. The song of the wind and the dance of the trees was a poem of love and dreams. And it was indeed a good night to be lost in dreams, but there was no such need, because I knew that my dream would play true the following day.
*****
In the heart of the vibrant and bustling merchant district, I found my way to Samir’s house. Her dwelling was of modest size, fashioned from warm hues of sandstone that exuded coziness and intimacy.
I ascended its steps and gently knocked on the wooden door with an intricately carved depiction of a deer hiding behind the trees. Samira opened it, greeting me with a warm smile.
She was dressed in a ghagra choli. The ghagra, a flowing and flared skirt, had a subdued shade of blue reminiscent of serene desert skies. Crafted from pure, velvety silk, the fabric featured meticulous hand-embroidery with intricate floral motifs, while threads of gold delicately traced along the borders and hemline, adding a touch of opulence. Her choli, a fitted blouse, mirrored the grace of the voluminous skirt, completing the attire. The ensemble was perfected with a soft peach dupatta gracefully draped over her shoulder
.“Let us go inside.” She said.
The spacious foyer welcomed me with rich tapestries and paintings. One tapestry, in particular, caught my eye—it depicted an elephant gracefully walking on red soil and basking in the moonlight. It was skillfully woven with various threads — red for the soil, golden for the majestic elephant, silver for the scattered stars, and white for the crescent moon on a dark sky stitched from black threads.
A painting portraying a handsome man with dark skin also captured my eye. His long hair cascaded down like a river of darkness, adorned with glittering silver periwinkles. A sapphire angavastram gracefully draped over his shoulders, and a pleated dhoti of matching color covered his lower body. He perched upon a tree trunk with a sitar in his hand, backed by a forest. Surrounding him were young maidens with diverse colorings, ranging from smooth ebony to marble white.
“The owner of this house is a patron of the arts. It served as a sanctuary for his introspection and privacy, a place of great importance to him. However, with the right offer, he graciously allowed me to stay for a year.”
“Can people learn music in a year?”
“Oh dear, it can take almost five years to learn the basics. To perfect it could take a lifetime.”
“Does that mean I can’t learn in a year?” I asked anxiously.
“Indra, you are unlike any other. Just yesterday, you effortlessly grasped the newly composed song of esteemed Raghunadhan and matched his voice with remarkable precision. That makes you a prodigy, but remember, you still have much to learn. I have spent the entire night thinking of different methods to teach you.”
“You look... well, for someone who lost her sleep,” I remarked, blushing as she caught me staring.
She chuckled, her bell-shaped earrings swaying to the rhythm of the dry wind coming from an open window. 'Well, I have a secret for that, and it can help you learn faster. But for now, you need to take it slow.'"
She led me through interconnected rooms to a chamber with a trap door that granted access to the cellar. The thick-walled cellar, dimly lit, had a small window providing limited ventilation. Numerous casks of various beverages and sacks of edibles were neatly arranged on sturdy stone shelves. The air carried the faint aroma of aged spirits and preserved goods.
“This is a cellar?”
“It is, and the owner had also constructed a hidden room for his personal interests. I filled it with my instruments, so you can use it for practice. It has everything you need, including mana lights and a fan.”
“Fan?”
“It is a three-petal metal flower that provides air. Once, a talkative university student, eager to show off, explained to me that two petals are made of divyaloha, powered by inscriptions that make them desire to touch each other.”
“Like the elemental guns?”
"Yes, they use the same metal as bullets. Isn’t it funny? The very first application of its discovery was as a weapon. Now, do you have any other questions?” she asked as we neared the room's door.
“You said you want me to learn because I have talent, but there is another reason, isn’t it?”
“There is, though I’m not sure if I understand it myself. I’ll tell you once I understand what it is. Now, will you come?”
I took a step, and with that one step, my life’s transformation began. All that remained at its cusp were echoes of sorrow in my heart.