"You are under my protection now, so fear not," the king assured, nodding to the mahamantri, who signaled to a servant nearby. The servant approached, offering me a small pouch filled with gleaming gold coins that seemed to promise new beginnings.
"You have my permission to live and open your shop here," the king declared, his voice resonating with authority. "With this fortune, you can earn your livelihood anew."
Yes that was what i waiting for, thought Veer as he showed the
feeling an overwhelming rush of gratitude,
I bowed deeply once more and proclaimed, "Long live the king!" My heart swelled not only with the joy of newfound hope but also at the sight of the princess—who had unknowingly taken residence in my heart. As I looked upon her, I recognized that among all the treasures in the kingdom, she was the one I yearned for most.
One day i shall have the piece of that.
After successfully acquiring a bag of glittering gold coins, I stepped out of the grand palace, my mind swirling with possibilities. The sunlight poured down, illuminating the bustling marketplace ahead, and I felt a surge of excitement as I contemplated my next move.
Which shop would be best for my purchases? Where should I set up my own stall? How could I promote my venture in a world without the conveniences of the internet? It occurred to me that I was entirely unprepared for this time period—I hadn't brought anything from the 21st century, not even a wallet or a mobile phone, as per the strict rules of the lab. With no option left, I decided to seek out the only person I knew in this vibrant environment: Rahul. He was a whirlwind of information, always eager to share insights on anything and everything.
Turning right, I made my way to the shop where I had first met him. As I walked, I spotted a group of sadus—Hindu monks with their hair twisted into thick, matted locks, coiled high atop their heads like crowns gifted by the forest. Their long, tangled beards flowed down to their chests, gray with age and wisdom. I felt a respectful urge to bow my head and join my hands in a gesture of reverence. They noticed my greeting and raised their hands to bless me, their expressions kind and serene. It was a reminder that in this world, the power of blessings could shield one from misfortune, and showing deference to these holy figures seemed essential.
As I continued forward, I was entranced by the bazaar bustling with life; it was a vibrant tapestry of sights and sounds, a living creature that sang with energy. Vendors shouted from beneath their colorful awnings, their voices hoarse from weeks of bargaining. "Fresh dates from Multan!" one shouted, his enthusiasm infectious. "Fine muslin from Bengal—soft as moonlight!" another called, his stall bursting with vivid fabric.
"Copper pots! Stronger than a warrior's shield!" rang out from a nearby stall. The atmosphere was intoxicating; the air was thick with the alluring scents of cardamom, roasted lentils, and jasmine oil, intertwined with the earthy aroma of damp soil and animal hides. Each step I took introduced me to fresh sensations—the silk of a garment brushing against my arm, the sharp clink of coins as transactions took place, the distant cry of a camel mingling with the rhythmic clang of a blacksmith's hammer.
Passing through this vivid maze, I caught sight of Rahul standing alongside a middle-aged man, whom I presumed was his father given their strikingly similar facial features. Eager to reconnect, I approached them, intrigued by their conversation. Rahul's father, Gopinath ji, was examining a length of thick fabric. "Feel this," he instructed, passing the material to Rahul. "The weft is tight, but the drape is too heavy. The dye took well, but not on the border. What do you think caused that?"
Rahul's eyes sparkled with curiosity as he mused, "Maybe the zari thread resisted the color? Or could it be the water from the new well—it's different from the old one?"
Gopinath ji smiled faintly, a slight nod accompanying his pride. "You've been paying attention. Good. Silk is not merely cloth, my son—it's a whisper from the loom, a message carried by the woman who wears it. Every saree we sell must feel like a celebration in her hands."
"Then this one will be fit for a queen," Rahul grinned, his youthful enthusiasm spilling over.
Gopinath ji chuckled, "Perhaps. But don't forget, even a village bride deserves the elegance of royalty. Let not greed tarnish your craft, Rahul—we are not just merchants; we are custodians of tradition."
With a purposeful stride, he moved to a nearby rack, untying a delicate piece that shimmered in the light—gold interwoven with deep emerald green, adorned with borders featuring elegantly dancing peacocks.
"This one is destined for Mathura," Gopinath ji remarked proudly. "Their temple festival is approaching, and the mahant's daughter will wear it. This saree must evoke more than just beauty; it must speak volumes before she even utters a word."
"I'll pack it myself," Rahul replied softly, an unmistakable pride radiating between father and son—a legacy of artistry passed down through generations, woven into the very fabric of their existence.
Ohh, look at them just a lovely father- son conversation i bet if Rahul make any one mistake even a tiny one like that of a thread on a cloth, his father would rip his clother and make him work like a slave. Just one wrong move my friend and you will fall from the sky just to get what you deserved exclaimed Veer.
I observed the quiet exchange, a solemn expression settling on my face; it was a moment steeped in reverence. Rahul, noticing my thoughts, pointed out my contemplative demeanor. I instinctively touched my face, forcing a calmness upon my features as I approached him. "So, what do you think?" he asked brightly, holding up the silk piece he was studying. BLeeh! Thought VEER