Prince Aryaman and Sanjaya had reached the village late in the night, they were exhausted by their continuous travel and the inspection of the fallen border city. They found the boarding house Sanjaya used to frequent during his border patrol duty. The housemaster instantly recognised Sanjaya and warmly welcomed them. He quickly arranged their rooms and housed the horses in the stables (Himmat was finally happy to have found some respite from continuous travel and access to hay, without wasting any time, he lunged into his favourite food) and amidst conversation mentioned about the fair happening in the village and the festival that was to take place the day after. Having found nothing else of significance, Aryaman and Sanjaya retired to their rooms and rested for the night.

The next day, after taking a bath and having a good breakfast, Prince Aryaman and Sanjaya headed out into the village leaving the horses to rest for the day. The village was decked for the festival, there were leaves and flowers tied to every house entrance, rangoli adorned the ground in front of the house and the people were dressed in festive clothes and cheerfully preparing for the day’s ritual at the temple outside.

“Who would be the right person to talk to regarding the fallen city?” Prince Aryaman asked Sanjaya as they were walking through the village.

“Usually, traders would be ideal but there has been no trade since the curfew has been implemented,” said Sanjaya. “The local priest would be the next best bet. People might approach him if they witnessed anything untoward.”

Prince Aryaman nodded pleased with Sanjaya’s reasoning.

“I agree,” he said. “Let’s head towards the temple then.”

“Sveta,” said Anasuya who wore a green silk saree with a golden threaded blue border. “You look so beautiful in the saree!”

Svetavastra had worn the saree Manu had got her the previous day. She looked like a vision, divine and ethereal in the white saree, like a cosmic emissary sent to this world. Svetavastra felt uncomfortable with the compliment, she did not like getting attention for her looks (especially by men but now she felt ambivalent about it ever since her encounter with Manu and her attraction to him) and that was the main reason she chose to wear a male skin. She was stuck in her original form for a while, she still needed to recover her spiritual powers and if she indeed received cosmic powers from the pooja she would do today, they would accelerate her spiritual powers and aid in their quick regeneration.

They had come out into the foyer and Svetavastra’s eyes met Manu’s. A blush crept into her cheeks and she averted her gaze. She didn’t have to hear Manu’s compliments. His eyes said it all.

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“We’ll meet you inside the temple after we collect the lotus flowers,” said Anasuya to the two men clad in white dhotis and white shawls.

“Sure madam,” said Manu. He stood still for a while and his eyes lingered on Svetavastra as both women headed out.

Acharya Parama cleared his throat.

“Shall we also make a move?” he said.

The lotus pond was right outside the temple and was teeming with women who all wanted to get the fresh lotuses as offerings to the local deity. The sea of lotuses was surrounded by a sea of women in brightly coloured sarees. The vendors along the path to the temple had stalls with cut lotuses, coconuts, and leaves auspicious for prayer offerings such as tulsi, bael, mango leaves among others, camphor, incense and sandalwood. The air was filled with the pleasant aroma of fresh flowers such as marigolds and the whiff of lotuses fused with the scent of sandalwood paste.

“It would be nice if we could also get fresh lotuses,” said Anasuya as she eyed the crowded edge of the pond.

“Let me get us some then,” said Svetavastra, she tied up her saree to knee level and disregarding Anasuya’s protests, she nudged herself into the crowd and moved forward into the pond (the rest of the women were on the edge since they didn’t want to wet their sarees by mistake). The center of the pond was less crowded and also had more lotuses. Svetavastra smiled at the lotus blooms and gently plucked a few of them.

“What a lively sight!” said Sanjaya referring to the women surrounding the pond. They had just reached the temple.

Prince Aryaman had no interest in the women but he spotted the one in the middle of the pond, the water was shimmering golden and gave her a radiance that immediately caught his attention. She seemed ethereal, like a water fairy out to enjoy the day.

What a lovely lady, he thought to himself. Before he could take a proper look at her she had disappeared into the crowd of colour sarees. He searched for her over and over again with his eyes but he couldn’t find her anything in the temple premises.

“Are you okay, Your Highness?” Sanjaya asked in concern.

“Yes,” said the prince without looking at Sanjaya, still continuing his search.

“The priest is here,” said Sanjaya gesturing to a podium of the temple where the pooja setup was being done by Acharya Parama.

“Yes,” said the prince trying to snap out of his sudden obsession with the white saree fairy lady.

“Greetings Archakamuni,” said Prince Aryaman.

“Greetings young man,” said Acharya Parama looking up from his arrangements. “You seem new here.”

“I am Arya,” said Prince Aryaman. “My friend Sanjaya and I were passing by escaping from bandits and we ended up here.”

Acharya Parama looked at them curiously.

“Did you get in trouble with the bandits as well?” He turned to ask the young man beside him, who nodded in refusal.

“Interesting times,” said the priest. “This is Manu, he and his wife are also new to the village.”

Aryaman nodded his head in greeting looking at Manu who returned the gesture. New to the village? Thought Aryaman to himself, suspicion getting the better of him.

“Young men,” said the priest before Aryaman could proceed to ask any questions, “the pooja is about to start, let us focus on with all our hearts and minds in sync and continue the chit-chat after it’s done.”

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Archakamuni - respectful honorific to address the priest, literal translation “priest-sage”