December, 1888
"God, it's been ages," George mutters under his breath. Nearly two months—a grueling odyssey from London to India—has left him weary to the bone. Traversing the waters makes him long for the softness of the greensward.
As he sets foot in Bombay, relief washes over him. Unfortunately, the journey doesn't end there. He takes a five-day train journey from Bombay to Parul. After reaching Parul railway station, he takes a ride from Parul to Tunnur in a vintage carriage. As the wheels of the carriage start its journey on the gravel road, he starts to ponder how Columbus and other navigators ever traveled without a precise destination for such long periods of time.
His journey has involved every mode of transport known to humankind.
After two months disrupted by travel-induced tremors, his only desire is to sleep peacefully, grounded and still.
But that seems impossible—as it has been nearly half an hour since the driver left. The man had excused himself from answering the call of nature and hadn't returned thenceforth. Growing restless, George steps out of the carriage to look for the driver. The sun setting behind the mountains and the cool breeze caressing his skin, made him forget all the journey he had for a moment.
It is so silent that the rustling of the leaves and hissing continues to increase —only for a sharp sting to snap him back to reality. A snakebite. His left leg burns. His vision blurs.
A tunnel of light swims before his eyes. He feels his soul rising, weightless in the air. When he manages to open his eyes a little, a hazy figure comes into focus—black hair. And then, he falls unconscious.
The next morning :
A loud caw pierces George's ears. Little by little, he struggles to open his eyes. As he attempts to get outside the room, his gaze catches a glimpse of black hair—the very hair that saved his life. The blackness of her hair reminds him of the night sky on a new moon. Her hair flows in waves, like the ocean's tides.
She seems the same height as him, with a strong, physically fit build. George attributes his survival to her strength—surely that is the reason he's still breathing. The anticipation grows; he longs to see her face. In his eagerness, he misses the clay pot in his path and stumbles. Hearing the clank of the pot, the woman turns.
George sees her face then—her black eyes meet his blue eyes and her brown skin glows like burnished gold in the dawn.