At 6 p.m., after a much-needed rest, the students gathered in the hotel lobby. No landmark visits were scheduled for the day—just a walk through the city's markets, a taste of local life. The teachers, however, were on high alert. Headcounts were triple-checked, rules were firmer, and there were at least two staff members per group. Shankar noticed, but said nothing.
The market was alive with color and sound. Lanterns swayed above stalls selling spices, handmade crafts, jewelry, and street food. The air smelled of roasted peanuts and something sweet simmering in milk.
Shankar was walking with his gang when Amar Sir joined them, sipping from a paper cup.
"Shankar," he said with mock seriousness, "if you see any more ghosts in the woods tonight, just tell them to sign the attendance sheet first. I won't mark anyone absent without proof."
The gang froze for half a second—then erupted in laughter.
Even Shankar, who still hadn't processed half of what he saw, laughed like he needed it. His stomach ached, but it felt good.
Amar Sir smiled too, though the dark circles under his eyes told a different story. His usual calm was still there, but it was sitting on a mountain of worry. The kind of worry that doesn't go away in one night.
Still, he winked at them and said, "Alright, go on. Buy something. But don't let any spirit follow you back to the bus."
The group roamed the market freely, sticking closer than usual. They checked out handmade clothes, wooden sculptures, intricate jewelry, and tiny trinkets with mystery written all over them.
Everything looked normal. Everything felt normal.
Except for that ring—snug on Shankar's thumb, quietly pulsing, like it was waiting for the right question.
The market was buzzing—no, roaring—with life. Lights flickered from every corner like a hundred little suns trying to outshine each other. The air was a hotpot of roasted spices, perfume, sweat, and something burning somewhere that probably wasn't meant to be. Loudspeakers crackled with announcements no one was listening to, children darted through crowds like missiles, and every shopkeeper was convinced their stall held the secret to eternal happiness.
Smack in the middle of this chaos was Shankar and his group.
Shankar walked beside Savitri, who for once, wasn't scribbling in her little notebook. She was smiling faintly, occasionally stopping to admire dream-catchers, handmade earrings, or just the general madness. Shankar noticed her eyes sparkled more under the fairy lights strung above the stalls, but he wisely chose not to say anything cheesy. He was still recovering from last night's supernatural mystery, not looking to get hit by the mystery of emotions.
Meanwhile, Nikhil had completely abandoned the group to chase down every smell that entered his nostrils. By the time Shankar spotted him, the guy had a samosa in one hand, something fried and suspiciously red in the other, and his mouth stuffed like a chipmunk mid-winter prep.
"Ai Nikhil, leave some food for the locals," Aryan shouted.
Nikhil simply grunted in response, eyes locked on a jalebi stall like he was planning a heist.
Meena, Aparna, and Barsha were making every bangle-seller in Rajgir question their life choices. The three of them stood in front of a stall comparing colors, patterns, prices, and completely ignoring the fact that all bangles look exactly the same to the untrained eye.
"Oooo look at this one!" Aparna said for the fifteenth time.
"I already have this design," Meena said, "but I want the same one in a different color."
Barsha, arms already jingling with six sets of bangles, turned to them. "We need anklets too."
A shopkeeper behind them looked ready to weep from joy—or despair. It was hard to tell.
A little away, Aryan and Vikas were busy picking up handcrafted showpieces, each trying to outdo the other in their taste.
"This elephant has real gemstone eyes," Aryan claimed proudly.
"This Buddha is made of actual sandalwood," Vikas countered.
"That's probably plywood, bro."
"Sandal like wood, then."
Not far from them, Varun was walking aimlessly with a box of sweets in his hand, pretending to be interested in everything while sneakily looking around for Meena like he was on a secret mission. His face lit up every time he thought he spotted her, and then instantly deflated when it turned out to be someone else—or worse, Barsha.
Shankar chuckled to himself as he watched this moving circus.
And for a moment, everything felt strangely normal again. Like the weirdness of the past few days had folded itself into the background noise.
He turned to Savitri, "This feels like one of those 'lost in the mela scenes, but with zero drama."
Savitri smiled, "Yet."
And just as she said that, a goat ran past them, chased by a kid, chased by a woman, chased by a man who clearly wanted no part in this chaos but was somehow involved anyway.
Yep. Drama was always a heartbeat away in these streets.