Before departing, Kalidas informed Rahul about his contacts in the market for future dealings. Revatibala, now visibly more at ease, gave Rahul directions—her modest hut sat right on the edge of the jungle, bordering the outskirts of the city.
"As you can see, I've come from very far away," Rahul began gently. "I'll need a place to stay. Renting a room or staying at an inn sounds like an option, but I don't know who might try to stab me in my sleep. Trusting a stranger is risky... trusting you feels like a safer bet. And honestly, I need someone to help me understand this strange new land."
Revatibala listened intently. Her gaze softened as Rahul continued.
She asked about his origins. Telling her he was from the future was out of the question, so Rahul spun a tale: a former soldier turned mercenary, stranded here after a contract mission went awry, shipwrecked during a violent storm. He claimed to be the sole survivor—wandering for days before fate brought him to her.
It wasn't entirely false. But it wasn't the whole truth either.
Revatibala nodded slowly. "You saved my life, sir. You're my guest. And guests are gods. But... I must still insist you find lodging elsewhere."
Rahul was taken aback. He had expected gratitude, not rejection.
"Is it because you think I'll harm you?" he asked carefully. "You said I was your savior."
She looked away, her voice hesitant. "It's not that. If you stay at my home, people will talk. They'll say things... ugly things. I am a widow, and you're a young man."
Realization dawned on Rahul.
"It's the gossips," he muttered. "Debauchery and slander."
"No," she said, more firmly now. "It's caste."
She took a deep breath. "You're a warrior—a Kshatriya, aren't you? I'm an untouchable. My husband's tribe, the Ongas, are considered the lowest caste."
Her words hit him like a punch to the gut.
The same sickness existed in his own time—this archaic hate passed down through polished lips in modern clothes. Casteism, he realized, was a demon not buried by time.
He smiled sadly. "I don't care about caste. Let them talk. Let them shun me. I'm going to the market—I need breakfast. Join me?"
Her wide eyes reflected shock. She nodded.
Meanwhile, Kalidas sat back puffing on his hookah, thoughts swirling around the man who had come from nowhere and dismantled the landlord's guards with calculated violence. That man didn't seem like he feared anything. In fact, Kalidas suspected the stranger had let one of the men live, just to send a message.
A blood trail toward the city confirmed it.
Kalidas's men interrupted his reverie to report that the stranger—Rahul—was seen entering the city market with that untouchable widow.
Kalidas raised a brow. "With her?"
His curiosity deepened. Why would a man like that walk beside someone so low in status?
"Should I keep watch on them?" his lackey asked.
"Discreetly," Kalidas instructed. "No tailing. Just observe. Quietly."
At Haripada's restaurant, luxury was divided by affordability. Rahul walked in confidently, Revatibala trailing behind him awkwardly like she didn't belong.
A chubby man greeted him with flair. "Welcome to Haripada's, sir! Fresh food, unmatched hospitality. Breakfast is our specialty. What can I offer you?"
Rahul smiled. "I need privacy and comfort."
"Of course! The Maharaja Cabin. Two silver coins per sitting, food extra."
Rahul paid without blinking. But then, the man's gaze caught Revatibala.
"Sir… that woman… is she with you?"
"She is. Problem?"
The man hesitated. "You know how it is, sir... how they are."
If it were his old world, Rahul would've smashed his face. But here, restraint was power. He slid 40 copper coins across the table.
"That enough to help you overlook it?"
A grin stretched across the man's chubby cheeks. "More than enough, sir."
Inside the Maharaja Cabin, the waiter brought buttermilk and coconut water. As Rahul relaxed into the nostalgia of his childhood, he noticed Revatibala drink her buttermilk in one gulp. A white streak remained on her upper lip—like a silly mustache.
She voiced concern over the expense. "This is too much, sir. I could've eaten something simple. Two silver coins... and all those copper... why spend so much?"
Rahul burst into laughter. That milk mustache and her seriousness were such a contrast he couldn't contain himself.
Revatibala blushed furiously.
He took a soft cloth from the table, leaned in, and gently wiped the trace from her lips. Time froze. There was no director to yell "cut"—only the awkward cough of a waiter entering at the worst possible moment.
The two jolted back into their seats.
The waiter smirked. "What would sir like for breakfast?"
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🔜 Coming Up Next – Chapter 6: Whispers in the Market, Shadows in the Heart
As Rahul steps deeper into this strange new society, he learns that status, prejudice, and privilege are currencies of their own. With Kalidas watching and old caste scars re-emerging, the line between ally and observer blurs fast. But even in discomfort, trust begins to bloom—and the hunt brings not just meat, but a new kind of partnership.
❤️ If you're loving the journey, show your support with a vote, comment, or bookmark! Chapter 6 drops soon—don't miss the shift.