Most of the salesmen looked too approachable. He walked further into the bazaar and came across a shop on his left, a little off the main road, where mats of different sizes hung from the roof. Upon entering, he saw a man sitting with sewing implements, tending to a half-finished grass-and-reed rug.

‘Thinking early, young man? Smart. Very smart.’ The trader stood up in a welcoming gesture. ‘If the cold floor bothers you now, wait until the winter months of Magha and Phalguna.’ He tugged slightly at a mat, and it came tumbling down into his hands. ‘Buy this! Protect yourself.’

‘I’m actually looking for something else,’ Aman said, and stopped to register the man’s reaction.

‘Oh . . . who told you?’ the seller said with a sly smile. He leant in to whisper, ‘I do also have a special rug. Made from the fibres of the Kalpavriksha himself. Most don’t believe me, but six years ago a dead branch fell on me when I was walking in Maidaan. I swear to Indra. No one else was there—so I picked it up. It had the hottest strands I’ve ever seen, each as thick as a stem. And the mat it made, I tell you, it is the warmest. I used it for long myself. But only now am I willing to part with it—wait, do you have enough danas?’

‘Not rugs!’ Aman said. He whispered, ‘I want information, and I have seven danas here.’ He waved the coins in the man’s face, but the mat trader didn’t seem impressed. ‘And in case these aren’t enough, I also have an extraordinary device from the plains,’ Aman lied.

‘Information?’ the vendor said. ‘You do realize that I too came here from the plains, right? Was a long time ago, though. I figure things have changed down there. What information do you seek?’

‘I need to know the way past the wall.’

The man studied Aman with a disdainful look. He had been baiting the boy—he knew very well that all items from the plains were confiscated. ‘What’s your name?!’ He inched closer to Aman and made a sudden move to grab him. Aman ducked and ran out of the hut as fast as he could. The man shouted, ‘I’M GOING TO SANAKA! THIS IS MUTINY!’

Good going. Against his better instincts, Aman had asked Yuvan about the way out of the valley but, after his spectacular failure, Yuvan was less than inclined to help anyone else. The mat trader had been a desperate attempt. And although Aman’s plan had not been successful, he was still determined to find a way back to the moss-covered bridge where the bus had left him. That’s where the cardboard box was—his father’s palm leaves probably wet now, if not stolen.

Running, as he neared the end of the bazaar, Aman thought he saw Idhika. She hadn’t attended Gurukul since the incident with the vulture. She stood facing a stall, with a basket strapped to her back. Aman approached her and tapped her shoulder.