Folly of Wise Men

Chapter - 9 Rejections and Poems

After the storyteller returned the stage to the merchant, he distributed the prizes. The twins were elated to win the second prize, as another pair secured the first. As predicted by Mihai, I received the second prize, and Meera was awarded the first. When I received my prize, it was in gold—so much gold that it could solve a multitude of problems for my family. I was immensely proud of that achievement.

My talent won over the audience and charmed the uchavarnas, who were previously unreachable. I stood among them, akin to gold amid the sea of stars, masking the truth that emerged from a slumbering mind in a cold whisper.

It reminded me that the truth of my birth could overshadow my victories, extending its dark wings to obscure the sun. The truth is rational, but artists are not always so. With a quill or lute at their disposal, they chase it away to flirt with fame.

On that day, I became one of many who found no respite from the dearth of fame, and I paid the price. Fame, you see, suffocates rationality and allows its allure to smother humility, curving your lips proud.

It takes a while for you to realize that you are fighting with a master that maintains a tight grip on its slave. Soon, words of wisdom would become hushed murmurs as you toil endlessly, descending deep into a gorge piled with lost dreams.

Our group went to pay our respects to the storyteller. She was a great conversationalist — eloquent with words and entrancing with a smile that loosened a tight grip on a man's heart.

"Your voice resonates like the sweetest of minstrels." Mihai said, maintaining a respectful distance.

"And if I may be bold, can I take your hand."

"My hand?" She asked, amused. He extended his hand with the grace of a dancer. With a mixture of confusion and amusement, she offered her hand.

"These." He said, studying her long dusky fingers, and paused to let his pale stare find her fine eyes. "Are made to make minstrels weep. Have you not considered picking up an instrument?"

He let go of her hand with gentleness, and the calmness of her eyes surprised him slightly.

"Tell me, singer, do you summon these words at a moment's notice? Or have you practised with many dames?"

"Dames and gentlemen," He corrected.

"I am sure you do. It's pleasant to make your acquaintance. If you'll excuse me, I'll have to have a word with a dear friend of mine who stood as you spoke, still as a windless tree, but her expression betrays her impatience."

"He is talented in that regard. My friend, let me introduce Ismene and her brother, Adonis, would you mind excusing yourself? We intend to have a conversation strictly among women."

He didn't seem bothered by the dismissal and followed us quietly. Soon, Mihai found the girl who swooned over him and left us alone.

I tried to strike up a conversation with Adonis by asking him a variety of questions, but I only received curt answers. Sensing his growing impertinence, I decided to leave him be and made my way back to my room.

As I was on climbing the stairs, a voice stopped me. The voice belonged to a beautiful troublemaker known to give a man bouts of heartache.

"It appears that the two have moved on, with Mihai engrossed in his desires and Adonis maintaining a distant demeanour. Meanwhile, Samira and Nalaini are engrossed in a crucial conversation, and the men's creepy behaviour has further rendered it rather uneventful. Hence, I now find myself in the midst of your company.

"I've seen men look at me in a way that makes me desire to cleanse myself, to wipe away the taint. But you do not have that; when you look at me, there's this thoughtfulness. I appreciate that in a man, but I do have my doubts. I've seen men shift their colours within the blink of an eye."