Standing atop the tall tower, Veer Das couldn't decide if he wanted to be happy or sad that it was a full moon night. A part of him wanted to give in to the clear breeze and play his flute. The other part -- the one that had to pay rent and feed a family of eight -- wanted to stay alert. The gods, praise be upon them, weren't paying him to be a musician tonight.
He pulled on his bowstring once and let go of it, sending the tankaar sound ringing through the silent night. In the moments that followed, other gandharva sentries stationed at street corners and rooftops responded with their own bowstrings. They were all in the same boat, resisting the call of music, waiting for the hour of prophecy to arrive, watching the small house by the lake.