Tolon closed his eyes and was gradually swept back in time, hundreds of years ago, in Awadh, at the court of the Nawab. It was dusk and a cool breeze filled the great halls. A sense of refined and yet langurous style reflected off the ornate pillars, the bejewelled statues, the immaculately attired gentlemen and elegantly dressed ladies who graced the gathering.
Tolon opened his eyes slowly and could only see the silhouette of a great maestro framed against the gentle rays of the setting sun. He heard him sing, the reverant air throbbing with the pathos, melody and melancholy of his voice.