The event began about two hours after our arrival, and it was a sight very pleasing to the eye. Ladies metamorphosed into great opulence, dressed in the purest silks and adorned with the finest jewelry. Men were no less, swathed in rich angarakha kurtas and turbans decorated with mana spheres. These men and women were complemented by the dim lighting, which allowed them to flaunt the captured colors. They had come to listen to our songs, the unraveled poetry of our hearts – a filter to our souls, wrought from a tangle.

"You can't find people more poorer than those baptized in gold." Mihai said

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Those that glitter are poorer, for they can never feel the way we do." He began. "They are slaves to their customs, which anchor them into one place and breed a thirst to spill blood into their gluttonous goblet."

He gestured at them without drawing attention. "These slaves cannot feel the heartbreak or see the mirthful tears of a loved one. So they pay us, the vagabonds, the dreamers of dreams, the wanderers of lonely sands and seas, to fill the void."

It was the first time that I saw someone pointing out lacking of the varna system. "You don't like them?" I asked

"I like their coin, but not their attitudes and the lack of respect. They see us all as whores."

"You are a whore." Samira interrupted, walking towards us. "You flirt and cheat and lie to get coin."

"Yes, I am a whore but this isn't about me" he said, rolling his eyes. "I am talking about other people seeing all the men and women of our caste as gold chasing honey traps. It's a gross generalization."

"At least you are not treated like an untouchable. Try living their life for a day and say you hate this life. Now, have you two gotten the numbers?"

"We both get to go last. What about you?"

"I am not here to play. I am here to entertain myself and get to know the new faces to watch out for."

The three of us had walked through the doors with jali work into a medium-sized auditorium. It had a high ceiling with chandeliers powered by gold-colored mana spheres.

We passed through the column, amidst rows of cushioned floor seating adorned with rich Ambar textiles. Each seat had a side table with snacks and drink to enjoy while watching the performances.

The entire first row was reserved for the special guests of Nagendra, the generous patron of the arts who sponsored this event.

We walked to that row and sat near the the blonde-haired twins who had come from the further north. History tells us that these people migrated to this continent, moving north en masse during the great cataclysm that tore apart the continents. Some of them mixed with the locals, while the others tried to preserve their racial so called racial purity by marrying amongst themselves.

The twins mirrored each other down to minute details, bearing a visage of lush golden locks over a pale heart face, kissed by sun. While they were fair skinned they did not have hue of rose on their cheeks like mihai.

The blonde lady ran her pale gaze over us and her brother seemed to have gotten lost in the intricate design of inlaid silver on veena. The way he held it with familiarity showed that he had years of practice.

"I recognize you two." She said gesturing with her finger. "Who are you?" She asked with an amused smile.

"Indra."

"Indra," she pondered, "I have never seen you before, if I did." She looked me up and down and smirked. "I would have remembered."

I cleared my throat. "Who are you?" I asked politely.

"I'm Ismene, and this is my little brother, Adonis," Noticing her brother being lost in his own world, she nudged him.. "Don't be a dolt; introduce yourself." He looked at her with annoyance, offered me a quick greeting, and then turned his attention back to the instrument.

"He is a bit shy. Shyness is such a deplorable trait in this profession, wouldn't you say?" Ismene asked.

"Indeed," Mihai agreed, answering the question in my stead.

"You are shameless that's even worse." Adonis said sharply, petulance seeping through his words.

"Shamelessness is a trait that elevates me above all you hard workers. You sing for achievements; I sing to seduce. You'll die with your achievements; I'll die surrounded by the loveliest faces."

"You rake, why are you even here?"

Mihai eyed him with bewilderment, as if he had heard the most outrageous thing. "I am here to stir the storm, obviously,"

The first ones to take the stage were a family of musicians - a light brown skinned man, his dusky wife, and a daughter who had inherited her mother's delicate features and her father's coloring.

The daughter played the tanpura, the husband played the tabla, and the wife played the rudraveena.

As they played, they took the audience's voices away, creating a meditative atmosphere. The soothing sound of the tanpura, the rhythmic beat of the tabla, and the enchanting melody of the rudraveena combined to transport everyone to a state of tranquility.

When the last notes resonated, the audience erupted into boisterous applause. The family bowed with a humble smile, elated to see the overwhelming appreciation.

The performances that followed were all great, with some being a hit or miss, but none were terrible. I was relived to see there were only a few solo performers. Having more would have made it a tough competition, and there was only one opportunity to prove my worth.

However, my elation quickly dosed by a storm. Yes, it is appropriate to call it a storm as this woman came out of nowhere with her santoor.

She was the only woman who seemed to have come close to the magnificence of my teacher. A dame from the mountainous regions of the north and of Purohitavarna descent. She had the dusk in her hair, sugar in her skin, and ether in her eyes. She wore a velvety saree, dyed in hues of the sun fruits taken from indravanam. In darkness, she would be a lady on fire, crowned in ice that never melts.

"Her jewels are made of ice. They're so beautiful! Do you know how they are made? " I asked.

"They breed these humanoid ice demons and carve their shells of ice to make these translucent ice jewels. That ice gobbles up mana to stay livid. It's disgusting and fascinating at the same time," Mihai explained.

"Shells of ice?"

"Yes, these asuras possess shells they use as armor."

"How can one wear jewels made from such bodies?"

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"It's easy. They aren't made from humans; that is a good enough reason not to care about it," he continued with a childish grin. "They do not use the shell that covers that part, though."

"What part?" I took his bait.

"The sensitive part of every man," he cackled, feeling very pleased by his joke.

"I would live without that information, but thank you anyway."

"My pleasure," he said, pressing his hand on his chest.

I turned my attention towards the woman on stage. "She is of the priestly caste, so why is she here?"

"Women of priestly caste can pick music to please their husbands. I thought this is a common knowledge."

"I know, I am just surprised to see a lady of that varna performing in public."

"Well its not forbidden in any of the sacred texts."

The woman introduced herself as Meera, putting an end our talks. She sat gracefully with the Santoor in her lap, remaining still as the hall fell into a hushed silence.

She let the anticipation fill the air, and when it reached its zenith, she struck the strings with her mezrabs, filling the air with melody.

Burning without your fire, the ache is too harsh to bear,

Mornings without you, a dreadful feeling in the air.

In hazy memories, I see you walking in the snow,

Now I sit in the rain, longing for the times of you.

She struck each string with perfection, and the sound that came carried the weight of her emotions.

You live in my memories, like a cherished melody,

You are a song in my mind, your presence still with me,

I recall our first meeting, your words sweet and true,

Soothing like a gentle breeze, they touched my soul and filled it with bliss.

She raised her voice, which grew and fell like the sea. It is understatement to say that her singing was beautiful but I can't think of better way to describe her voice. There was so much passion in that that came so effortlessly. To play a complex instrument and sing at the same time takes a special kind of talent. She was amazing.

Your smile, a radiant moonlight that lightened my heart,

Your sweetness, a sweet nectar, a work of lord's hand.

With you, life felt worthwhile, every moment I felt alive,

In every moment that passed, you have held my heart.

Her music ensnared me, weaving a spell that touched my heart with the raw emotion hidden in every note. I found myself being swept away by the waves of passion flowing smoothly from her voice and the strings of her instrument.

Now you're just a memory, a sad refrain,

Yet in this song, you forever remain,

I will sit on that spot and remember you,

because you are the one that held my heart

As the song ended, only silence and quiet weeping remained. Meera gracefully thanked them as the audience erupted into tearful applause. I was among them, and I felt inferior, but that feeling was soon replaced by a burning passion to outshine her, a desire that seemed so impossible to achieve. Soon after her performance the twins performed. Adonis played the veena while Ismene sang.

Enchanted by her song and his music, I found myself once again be momentarily lost, completely absorbed in the mesmerizing melody. In those precious moments, all else faded away, and I could do nothing but listen.

Those siblings had a flair for theatricality. Adonis was a talented instrumentalist, but his sister was phenomenal and was able to capture the melody perfectly enough to set a heart aching.

There was a ten-minute interval before they called for the next contestant: Me. I was nervous, and Samira's reassuring smile was all I needed to walk tall and stright.

When the spotlight on me brought forth the illusion of a collective glare. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and introduced myself, along with the name of the song I was going to sing. Then, I let my fingers fill the air with melancholic notes and sang with everything I got.

In the day, not a soul to be seen,

In the night, not a word to be heard,

Your smile, now a distant memory,

A star in darkness, its name softly stirred.

I looked at the audience, searching for that meera who seemed to be looking at me without much interest. I wondered why I was seeking her approval more than the the woman I loved and admired.

You are my destiny, a memory in lone night,

A smile that soothed me with its sweet light,

We were beautiful then, oh, it was a beautiful sight,

Yet I still remember tears you hid behind delight,

That memory lives on, oh, it lives over and over.

I managed to convey the bitter emotions well enough to enrapture everyone in the room except for her.

Every star that blinks, a light to guide,

Every dawn that comes, a chaser of darkness aside,

Yet I reject their air for in my heart, you linger still,

A memory cherished, against my will.

The audience were completely captivated by me, including her. Her face did not show it, but her eyes showed interest.

You are my destiny, a memory in lone night,

A smile that soothed me with its sweet light,

We were beautiful then,

we were a beautiful sight,

Yet I still remember tears you hid behind delight.

And the song came to its conclusion, the final notes lingering in the air. I gazed at the audience in silence, grappling with a surge of doubt.

I feared that my performance might not have lived up to my own expectations let alone theirs. Questions swirled in my mind, and as I sought answers, they only gave rise to more uncertainties, entwining me in their perplexing web.

Quiet whisperings and silent sobbing erupted into a roar of applause, ending the stillness. Everyone was clapping except her, the one whose performance was far better than mine. Yet, I saw something in her. Something that was fierce and, at the same time, passionate. It was the same thing I felt seeing her performance that gave birth to a passion that drove me to attempt surpassing her. It was a force that drives men into the abyss, binding their feet to a common bottom. It makes them icons in each other's eyes, igniting desires to outshine, to overcome, and to surpass. A truly dreadful thing that has existed for a long time, it was termed as rivalry.

"It's always the silent ones," Ismene said, her amused smile hinting at a secret of mine, unbeknownst to me. "You are as talented as you are lovely."

Noticing my discomfort, she quickly added, "Forgive me. Women from my part of the world are too straightforward. We are not coy about our desires."

Adonis nodded in what one could assume a sign of appreciation. Mihai took my hand and shook it.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

He looked at me puzzled and then ran his hand over his red hair, letting out a chuckle. "I am just congratulating you in the way of my people. Your performance is amazing. You are definitely taking the second prize."

He let out a sigh. "This makes me feel bad about the song I am going to sing."

"I thought it was a joke."

"I was dead serious. This is a song you will never forget."

He ascended the stairs to the stage, bearing a lute in his hands. With a dramatic flair, he introduced himself and began.

Oh lad, oh lad, a lovely posy in our land,

His skin and hair are so so nice,

They might as well be honey and night.

A Lad, A Lad, may he be a lass?

Oh here he comes, oh here he comes,

A lad so fair, it's so unfair

May he be a dame? A dame, a dame!

Such a posy, posy dame.

For him, for him,

Lads have come, far away they have come, willing to be anywhere he wants,

He wants, he wants, a lovely dame he wants,

A queer love he wants.

Oh lad, oh lad, a lovely, lovely lad

So sweet his voice, so spice his words,

A petal with a brittle, little heart,

Oh lad, oh lad, a lovely, lovely lass.

His lips, are red so very red, like a perfect glass of wine,

Oh lad, oh lad, a lovely, lovely lass.

His scent's so nice, so very nice,

Is it the scent of a rain? The rain, the rain,

A lovely river on dame, a shiny glitter on a lady fair,

Oh lad, hey lad who ignores thirsty flirts

Lads have followed, they have followed the lovely scent of your hair,

The lads, the lads who spoke with a sleazy sleezy tongue,

Their hands had gold, so very bold, to buy a moment of your life,

But they don't know you're not an easy lad,

So they sniffed and roared, like proud little lords,

For a doe-eyed lad tired of their sham,

Who don't want to be a honeyed lass

The reactions were divided. Some laughed at it, some sang along, and some even wanted to call the inquisition to take away the horrid man that sang such a horrid song. I sat along with the others as he walked over to us with a proud smile, clearly enjoying the admonishments and flattery from those around him.