"Namaste, Sahukaarji," Veer says, his voice carrying a hint of reverence in the air. "May I have just a moment of your time?"
Sahukaar's eyebrow arches skeptically as he sizes Veer up from head to toe. "Namaste, namaste. What is it, then? Are you here to borrow some coins, or perhaps are you peddling another goat?"
Veer, undeterred, responds quietly, "Neither, good sir. I come with a humble request regarding your shop."
This prompts an uproarious laugh from Sahukaar, a sound that echoes through the marketplace like the clattering of coins. "My shop? You? This little thing in tatters wants to buy my precious shop?"
With a faint smile, Veer replies, "Aye. Not with pride, but with purpose."
Sahukaar continues to chuckle, "And pray tell, how much does 'purpose' pay these days, hmm? A few copper coins scraped together from your alms bowl?"
Veer maintains his composure, speaking calmly, "I know how it seems. But you'd be wiser to listen than to laugh, Sahukaarji. For fortune wears many masks… and sometimes, it enters through the back door."
The Sahukaar scoffs, looking at him with a mixture of annoyance and curiosity, "Speak quickly, then. The sun has no patience, and neither do my buyers."
Veer takes a step closer, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "This street… this location… it catches the eye of someone you want to impress. The King's envoys often pass here. Just the other day, one mentioned to me that the King desires a trusted outlet in this area, a quiet front that's clean and discreet."
Sahukaar's demeanor shifts slightly, his eyes narrowing with interest. "And you think you're that man?"
"No," Veer asserts, his voice steady and assured. "I know I am. But to approach openly would be naïve. Though I wear no jewels, I carry weight far heavier. My tongue, though soft in tone, finds its way into the ears of those who wield power."
"You expect me to believe that a beggar enveloped in dust is in any way connected to the palace?" the Sahukaar says, his voice dripping with skepticism.
Unfurling a scroll from his satchel, stamped with the regal insignia of the Maharaja, Veer responds, "I do not expect belief; I offer proof. This was sealed three nights ago in the presence of the Maharaja himself. I was instructed to find a face that wouldn't draw too much attention until the moment was right… and yours is the face that appeared."
Sahukaar's intrigue grows, his posture stiffening as he contemplates this unexpected revelation. "And why would they choose me?"
Leaning in closer, Veer whispers, "Because you are greedy. And I believe greed is the most honest trait a man can possess. If I offer you silver, you will take it without hesitation. If I promise royal favor, I know you will crawl towards it. This makes you… predictable."
Now slightly offended, yet undeniably intrigued, Sahukaar huffs, "Hmph. So, what's your offer?"
Veer straightens and locks eyes with Sahukaar. "A modest bag of silver—enough to buy another stall further away from the palace's shadow. In return, I take this one. You will be the man who helped the King's whisperers find their voice, and in doing so, your name will carry weight and travel far."
"And if I refuse?" the Sahukaar inquires, an edge of challenge in his tone.
The room seems to tense as both parties weigh the stakes, and I can't help but hold my breath, captivated by the unfolding drama of wills.
Veer** (Calmly turning to leave):
"As he shifts his gaze, the King's eye flickers with interest. Perhaps it lands on your neighbor, that glimmering pearl of a man who thrives in the sun. Or, perhaps, it zeroes in on your rival, that slippery serpent who circles your market booth with snide smiles. And you? You remain steadfast, the solitary figure who stood against the crashing waves… only to find yourself overwhelmed and submerged in your own stall."
**Sahukaar** (Pausing to gather his thoughts, uncertainty creeping into his voice):
Hold on… just a moment. You truly know how to strike a formidable deal, don't you, stranger? Here I see you draped in rags, yet your words resonate with the might of thunder, all wrapped in the elegance of silk.
**Veer** (Pausing at the entrance, a knowing smile playing upon his lips):
Ah, that's the art of it, Sahukaarji. Just as gold can be hidden amidst ash and soot, that's precisely what captures the King's favor the most.
**Sahukaar** (Greedily intrigued, pride temporarily pushed aside):
Very well. The shop is yours for the taking. But remember, when you bring your silk from the shadows into the light… do not forget me.
**Veer**:
Oh, you'll undoubtedly be remembered, my dear Sahukaar. The court is never one to forget its first believer; they cling to those stories like moths to a flame.
As this captivating exchange took place, Rahul stood stunned, his eyes wide as he witnessed the remarkable turn of events unfurling before him. The boy, strikingly different from the disheartened figure he once knew, now appeared as a burgeoning legend, his potential radiating like gold catching the afternoon sun.
I had just handed over a hefty sum of thirty gold coins for the shop, not merely as an impulse but as a calculated strategy. Nestled at a prime juncture of the bustling bazaar, the Sahukaar's shop seemed to sparkle like a jeweled turban among a sea of modest cotton caps. The wooden facade, an eye-catching hue of lacquered red, bore the scars of countless summers spent under the relentless sun. Yet, in the right light, the brass plates embedded in its surface gleamed like polished stars. The letters of its name, flowing and intricate in Devanagari script, were flanked by grandly carved elephants whose trunks curled in elegant spirals, symbolizing fortunes yet to manifest.
At the entrance stood two brass lamps, their fiery glow infrequent but polished daily with the care of reverence. Just beyond those doors, rich velvet curtains of deep indigo adorned with opulent gold tassels beckoned, parting to unveil a world that felt less like a simple shop and more like a treasure vault belonging to a small kingdom.
Inside, a heady mix of sandalwood, cloves, and age-old wealth enveloped the air. Shelves climbed high, burdened beneath silks, brocades and fabrics so rare they seemed to speak of adventure—some imported from the opulent markets of Persia, while others whispered secrets from the clandestine looms of Benares. Behind glass cabinets, treasures lay tucked away: ivory-inlaid boxes, fine silver utensils, pearls strung like hope, and bangles of gold that sang soft promises of prosperity. Each item carried a tag that spoke not of prices but of a charm: "Ask the Lala."