"Have you seen all of the villagers?" asked looking at the people, "They look so strong and formidable, like warriors or soldiers."
However Anjani seemed to not have listened.
"Did you see the water in which the torch had been dipped?" she said, "It seemed so unnatural, unlike anything I've ever seen in my life. How come the mashaal didn't get wet?"
"I think these questions should be asked to Venkatesh." Gargi suggested.
Soon, the praying had stopped and dinner had begun. All the villagers gathered around for an organic meal, consisting of the most fresh cuisines and dining delicacies that Ishar had ever seen.
It terribly reminded him of his mother. He had called her that morning itself, but it seemed as if her health had no aim to improve.
Ishar's heart clenched painfully and he held back tears.
The team too, sat down with a plate in their hands, joyously listening to the exchange of tales and stories among the people.
As Ishar was about to get up, finished with his delicious food, the kind old woman, Harini, put a hand on his shoulder and tenderly said,
"I was there this morning, child. I am sorry for your pain. I can sense that you have a strong aura, and I'm sure that she is a soldier just like her son."
Ishar bitterly smiled, his mind once again entering the agony of familiar sadness. His heart painfully clenched once more. Suddenly, Ishar furrowed his eyes. A soldier? How had she known? As far as Ishar realized, no one in the village knew that they were soldiers.
He innocently lied, "I'm sorry, grandma. I think you must have mistaken my identity. I'm just a researcher working on a cultural project."
Harini smiled, with a magical twinkle in her eyes, "You can't fool me child. I know a warrior when I see one."
Saying this she ominously disappeared into the bustling crowd of villagers. Ishar stared after her with his mouth wide open, utterly stunned.