The dust from the Daawat had barely settled when a new storm arrived at the gates of the Thakur Haveli. This storm didn't come with the roar of a crowd or the beat of a dholak; it came with the sharp, rhythmic clicking of high heels on marble and a scent of expensive, imported perfume...notes of bergamot and jasmine...that clashed violently with the Haveli’s traditional incense and the smell of ancient stone.

A sleek, white luxury car pulled into the dusty courtyard, its polished surface reflecting the setting sun like a mirror.