Chapter 31: The Merchant's Offer
General POV
The towering walls of Ayodhya rose before Shon and the merchant Mohan Das. Both of them approached the city gates, where the guards collected the standard entry fee. Before Shon could pull out his coin pouch, Mohan stopped him and paid for both.
Shon frowned. "That's not necessary. I can pay for myself."
Mohan shook his head. "You saved my life, and you're injured because of it. It's the least I can do."
Shon didn't argue further. They entered the bustling city, walking alongside bullock carts and vendors calling out their wares.
As they headed toward the market district, Mohan asked, "What are your plans now that we're back?"
Shon looked ahead. "I'll find some work and stay here for a while."
Mohan thought for a moment. "Why not work for me? I could use a salesperson at the shop—and you'd make an excellent bodyguard, too. I'll pay you for both roles. Twenty gold coins per month. What do you say?"
Shon paused. He wasn't sure. But it made sense. He needed work, and this would give him time to observe the city while earning. He finally nodded. "All right. I'll do it."
They walked through winding lanes and reached a spacious shop. The sign above read "Mohan's Silks and Jewels." Behind the storefront was their home.
As they entered, Mohan's wife and daughter stood at the threshold with a plate of roli and camphor. They had been waiting. They did his tilak, smiling in relief at his safe return.
Mohan then told them everything—about the attack, the bandits, and how Shon saved him. His wife's eyes welled up with gratitude. The daughter, who had remained silent, stepped forward and placed a tilak on Shon's forehead.
"Welcome to our home," she said softly.
"You should rest a few days before starting," Mohan said, placing a hand on Shon's shoulder.
Shon nodded. He was exhausted. And in pain.
Mohan assigned him a clean room and told him to take his time.
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Shon's POV
It's been seven days since I returned to Ayodhya.
My wounds have healed mostly. I've done nothing but rest, eat well, and meditate. I haven't missed a single session of chanting or breathing. Pain isn't an excuse to stop growing.
Mohan is a kind man. He lives with his wife and his seventeen-year-old daughter, Meera. She's beautiful in a gentle way—but no one can compare to Princess Vaidehi.
Speaking of the princess... I haven't seen her since that day. I wonder how she's doing.
Mohan deals in clothes and jewelry. He imports silk, gems, and embroidered fabrics from all over. He's honest, hardworking. The kind of man people trust. I've decided to start helping him now that I'm fully recovered.
This morning, over breakfast, I told them I'd begin work.
"Good," Mohan said with a smile. "You'll learn quickly, I can tell."
We walked through the shop together. It's attached to the home, and the front is lined with shelves and counters stacked with fabric and ornaments. Customers came and went all day. Mohan explained everything—the kinds of silk, the quality of stitching, the art of measuring, how to read a customer's mood, and the secret to making a good profit.
I listened. And absorbed.
In a week, I was running half the shop. My memory helped. So did my experience helping Pitashree back home with minor crafts. I added some ideas from modern sales methods—simple ones that worked wonders. Better display, polite greetings, careful upselling. Customers started asking for me.
Mohan was stunned.
"You're gifted, Shon," he said one evening. "From now on, thirty percent of the profit you bring in is yours."
I grinned. Who doesn't like extra money?
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One day,
A wealthy merchant's wife walked into the shop, dressed in silks and glittering with gold. Her eyes landed on a bolt of fine fabric dyed in shades of peacock green and gold thread. Mohan had priced it at five gold coins.
I approached her with a smile and greeted her with folded hands. "Devi ji, this cloth is not merely fabric—it is woven with stories. Look at this color—just like the neck of a dancing peacock in the rain. Feel the texture. Soft as moonlight. This design, if worn at a royal function, will surely turn heads."
"How much is it? " she asked
"12 gold coins" I replied
She raised an eyebrow. "Twelve gold coins is a lot."
I nodded, "Indeed, it is. But something like this isn't worn often. It's a statement. An emotion. A legacy. And you, Devi ji, are the kind of woman who understands value beyond numbers."
I showed her how the fabric shimmered under sunlight. I added a quick tale—"This fabric was once offered to the queen of Magadha, but she preferred red. Lucky for us, or else you wouldn't have seen it today."
She smiled.
"Fine," she said. "Ten gold coins?"
I bowed. "Ten it is."
After she left, Mohan stared at me.
"We paid three for that, and normally it sells for five," he said.
"I know," I grinned. "More than hundred percent profit."
He burst out laughing and patted my back. "You're not just a fighter, you're a born seller."
From that day, he insisted I handle all elite customers.
I have no problem in it as I quite enjoys selling the product and making profit. It brings the joy which one would feel by becoming rich from his own hardwork.
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In the second week, Mohan received a royal summons.
"The queen and princess want to see some new collections," he said, eyes wide. "We've been called to the palace."
He turned to me. "You're coming with me."
I nodded.
We loaded the bullock cart with the finest silks, the most dazzling ornaments, and the rarest brocades.
And as we rolled through the streets of Ayodhya toward the royal palace, I felt something stir inside me.
It had been six months.
I was about to enter those walls again.
I was about to see her again.
Princess Vaidehi.
I don't know if it's fate or coincidence.
But something tells me...
This story is just getting started.
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