The evening fell without knowing where he was going; the sky turning orange and purple. He wandered the streets of Agra, an unknown city full of a thousand smells, of merchants’ cries and, maybe, of thieves’. He heard laughs and moans, even though he couldn’t understand a single word; that saddened him. He was completely out of line, and so was his skin colour, his tongue’s placement when speaking, the shape of his eyes, or his straight and black hair; or so he had been led to believe. He sighed, as he had been sighing the whole afternoon. A few tears dropped from his eyes, wiped them off furiously with a dirty sleeve and continued walking, no matter how dangerous it could be, no matter if he could get lost or be assaulted; he had nothing to lose, he wished, in fact, probably someone would kidnap him so he didn’t have to go back.

His dreams had been thwarted that very afternoon; in his innocence, he believed the opportunity to go to Tiān Zhú could bring him much more. Innocent, he believed in his master’s partner interceding to help him to get a patron, one who appreciated his art, so he could leave that false merchant helper slavering life since it couldn’t even be said that he helped at all, just followed his strict orders as he could without having a life of his own. Too innocent… since that wasn’t going to happen, they made it pretty clear to him that very afternoon after an audience in the palace he wasn’t allowed to attend to; no one would want him, why would they? They’d only brought him, agreeing to leave a closed store alone at the village, as some kind of youth decoy or pack mule, or whatever he gave of himself, to carry all the trinkets they could obtain. As always, he was meant to live overshadowed; to have not a single purpose, dream, or even a romance. He was locked up and couldn’t run away, he couldn’t… or could he? They’d find him or, failing that, would he be capable of living in the streets? He couldn’t even speak the language to try to make a living himself, despite being the only one among the three of them during the travel who studied the culture, and the manners of the place they were going to. And yes, he was in love with Tiān Zhú, he didn’t want to go back to China. He didn’t want to go back to that man.

Ruminating, crying not so quietly, since who would care even if someone could understand his cries, slightly dizzy from the wonderful smell of spices and tea that ended up being annoying, plus other not-so-nice odours emanating from the alleys; he came across a plaza. Right there, colourful clouds were flying from everywhere; without a second to think, he found himself surrounded by loud and rhythmic music, joyful music! And by people too, lots of people, painted in pink, green or yellow splashes coming from everywhere. The deeper he entered the plaza; the less he understood, but in turn, less he wanted to turn away. The deeper he went, the more people he came across, the less he knew what that was all about, and at a certain moment, he bumped into a young man’s shoulder with whom he could barely apologize bowing, since he had suddenly forgotten the few words he knew, ‘Maaf kii dschiye ga!’. The young boy, curly hair tied back under a kerchief, seemed to analyze him for a second with his big green eyes just before smiling, waving his hand to tone it down and continue on his way, leaving him captivated. Then he mused about how used people around should be to seeing someone from Guangzhou. It could be, thanks to the open trade, although he hadn’t seen anyone else outside the palace.

He continued his way lazy, going deeper and deeper into a fest that both attracted him and made him want to take several steps back: he had no clue about what to do or if being him from out of town, a foreigner was even allowed breaking into the party, crossing it like that. He got lost inside a colourful mist, truly gratifying but suffocating, and guided by the people's cheerful cries, unintentionally, he even ended up smiling, dazed, intoxicated, twirling around each time someone ran past him, trying to not miss a thing. A pink cloud flew till crashing into his chest, painting his chin, making him cough, and leaving him frightened as a rabbit after hearing a loud crash, but instead of running away, he waited for the offender to pounce on him. And there he was again, the same young man, sprouting out of an ocean of faces with the same kind, joyful face. He bowed down to him again in a more apparent way; a big, well-done bow, and the boy, still laughing, acting in a familiar way, urged him to get up holding his chin.

‘Stand up, my friend, don’t be such formal’, he spoke in Urdu, ‘Did you get lost or is this your first time celebrating Holi?’ In fact, both were correct. Looking at him slightly frowning, trying to distinguish a familiar sound among all those words, he tried again, ‘Assalam o alaikum’, and waved his hand in front of his face, greeting.

‘Ah! Assalam o alaikum!’, Lu Han seemed happy to finally understand something, and answer, although he wasn’t pretty sure about being able to do so to whatever the question, despite having made earnest efforts to learn how to communicate, at least enough to order food at a stall, before reaching Tiān Zhú.

‘First time celebrating Holi?’, he insisted though slowly, pronouncing each word carefully, trying to help him catch the meaning of something. He must’ve concluded by seeing his nose scrunching with an extreme focus that it didn’t happen, so he gave up trying and was the one who surprised him this time. ‘Nǐ hǎo ma?’

‘Nǐ hǎo!’ Lu Han’s face lighted up, although he didn’t allow himself to get too excited, since the young could be just like him, nothing but curious, having no more knowledge in his language than the one he had in Urdu.

He answered with a nod, a wider smile. Then the unknown youngster answered himself, that lost face could only be expressed by one who doesn’t lie saying he’d never danced in Hindustan before, who hadn’t already known their people properly or barely soaked up their rich traditions. He thought, for an instant, that he was up to something; despite he didn’t know him already well enough to realise he was right, the other proved it to him a moment later –before he could even confirm whether they could understand each other or not, before introducing even their names or titles to each other–, when grabbed his wrist and began to drag him, to his surprise, towards the crowd, till they reached the centre of the plaza where, instead of staining his fingers, he made him dip them into a bowl full of turmeric and then did a blowing gesture at him. A bit bewildered but infected by his enthusiasm, by everybody around him indeed, he looked around and understood; that was the point: to dance, play, feel the colours while somewhere in a corner he couldn’t see due to the mist, someone was playing music unflagging. He took a deep breath and, just like throwing a playful kiss, blew towards him, tinting the air around him, the hand and sleeves of the other one, bright yellow.

That was just the beginning, but the beginning of everything. Like a pair of children, as never in Lu Han’s life, they enjoyed the fest through the streets. As the stranger insisted, he ran after him, staggering a few times, finding himself lifted by various pairs of arms whose owners didn’t stop laughing, but always finished his way holding his new friend’s hands. They walked all around the square, he showed him its corners and arcades, its fountains and sculptures, lit with candles and platters filled with colours. He hid and was found each time, as many times he caught him in return. He ended up covered in all kinds of powders, dyed by each one of their colours. His heart was filled, warm, rumbled as never in his chest. The young man, friendly as the fire at sunset, was kind enough to tell him about what all that revelry was about, discovering he indeed spoke Chinese fluently, even if never mentioned where and how he learned it. As well as a few new names to add to the limited mythology of the country –compared to how rich it was– he already knew and, naive him, realising he had no clue about it at all. He also taught him a few dance steps he couldn’t repeat pretty well at first, but plenty enjoyed the performance.

They sat together, just talking, once the sunset light began to disappear, giving away to the twinkling of the candles and moonbeams streaming through the buildings. Powder continued spreading but, on the adjacent street –though equally full of people– where they went to get a little fresh air, clouds didn’t float in the air anymore but settled over the cobblestones, being substituted by the strong smell of food coming from the stalls. Charming, the curly-haired green-eyed young offered him to share some dinner, and as nervous as he was at that moment, he didn’t accept immediately but did so when remembered his stomach was such in knots he barely had had one tea cup in the whole day and was about to faint at any moment. He brought, jumping to avoid children running, juggling various clay dishes at the same time, claiming to be unable to choose: barfi, a dense milk-based sweet with dried fruits; laddoos, fried spheres that at first remind him of máqiú, but they turned out to be sweeter and crispier; malpua, a flour and spices pancake, also very sweet; and thandai, a cold milk-based drink very spicy too that gave him all his energy back as well as made him light-headed. They polished off all of it since it was the first time Lu Han had tasted any of those dishes, so was he such excited and so he shared it right away.

It wasn’t until a long silence, the result of relaxing, that they remembered to introduce themselves. His name was Randi and he was surely going to remember it. He barely noticed that, on his part, the young man avoided talking about his own life, only listening to the other’s, comforting him in the meantime. They kept talking with laughter; they talked about how he got to Tiān Zhú, however, without openly confessing how much he wanted to stay. He could’ve suspected him at any moment, but it didn’t come at all. He was very pleasant to him, and he even mentioned that the first time he saw him, he looked so sad that ‘Bura na maano, Holi hai’, or ‘Don’t feel bad, it’s Holi’, and admitted wanting to play with him since the beginning, also maybe following him a little and that he felt happy to see him in high spirits now.

He repeated the same phrase in parting. It was sudden; shortly after the impromptu dinner, they returned to the party and danced back, though slower, less frenetic, while some fistful of powder still smashed over their heads. They laughed again, he could say they almost flirted; they got so close to each other while having fun. But in a sudden moment, Randi turned around with a beaming smile, though a bit awkward and surprised. Apparently sorry, he smashed the ‘Bura na maano, Holi hai’ between them; unexpectedly, he gave him a soft kiss, the very first of his life, and mumbled it had been a pleasure to celebrate Holi together, though he’d like to meet again, even without a festival as an excuse. Same way as he appeared, without further explanation, without having time to claim or wrap his head around the idea of a goodbye, he lost sight of him among the crowd. Among the people, the streets, he disappeared, leaving him with a sense of unease he didn’t know how to react to, specially when saw a group of what seemed to be guards, as those he’d seen at the palace, going the same direction. Now he knew he had to return, though he could’ve kept wandering around the whole night, sat in some corner to watch, to listen to the voices that probably wouldn’t cease, the music, anything but going back to his life, his sad life, and running into a reality which, after that fantasy, looked even more uneventful, even more doomed. Not feeling like crying anymore, but like fighting a bit more for what he wished.

The fact is that he didn’t even know how he was going to clean all that mess of his clothes and hair…

SUMMARY:

Barfi: dulce de leche and nuts.

Laddoos: flour, sugar, and other ingredients fried balls.

Malpua: flour, semolina, khoya, cardamom, and sugar syrup pancakes, crunchy but soft.

Thandai: milk-based drink with nuts and spices, cold served, sometimes seasoned with cannabis for a hallucinogenic touch.

Máqiú: glutinous rice and sesame balls sweet-filled, they’re served during the Lunar New Year.

Tiān Zhú: Chinese name for India during this period. 

A/N: 

Happy Holi, seamen! Hope those of you who celebrate or had the opportunity to experience the fest, had a great time with family and friends and ended up covered in lots of colours! 😊 Is well known by you how much we love illustrating different festivals around the world with our characters involved, specially when we have a Universe that matches it… But this one is even more special. This is the first illustration we made from our Mughal Empire Universe: ‘Obsidian Rhapsody’! The first one, we said? Yes, this illustration along with its short story is five years old… 🤯

It’s a bit weird to have an unreleased illustration for that long, but this poor one has been kept in the drawer for different reasons, being one our struggles trying to find the correct voice for them in writing terms. Normally at this point, we’ve improved too much to not feel happy showing them and wanting to re-do everything, but in this case… we don’t think has aged that badly! It’s still one of Aurel’s favourite illustrations, indeed. So it was finally time to post them both, illustration and short story –it’s been a long time without one!–, taking advantage of yesterday’s Holi celebrations, which is nothing less than the moment Randi –with an ‘i’ here–, and Lu Han meet for the first time in this Universe.

The second illustration, posted as part of our 2022 Calendar on Patreon and SNS, is based on the same scene. This time we found the inspiration in the Indian movie Ramleela; that moment when the main characters meet each other in the middle of the Holi festival is simply captivating. Even the pedestal resembles that of the movie around which they’re playing. Has someone caught the reference? 🥰 If so, please tell us! Can’t deny we have a crush on both actors –Ranveer Singh and Deepika Padukone–, but especially Ranveer, who we can’t help seeing as a real-life alter ego of Randy…

Happy Holi! 🌈

P.S., We know you don’t answer Assalam o alaikum to Assalam o alaikum, but Lu Han knows so little Urdu. 😅 Anyway, we’re learning a lot, but the Mughal Empire was a huge mix of cultures, so specially with languages, so sorry if we made any mistakes! 🙇🏻‍♀️