Pacing back and forth in the grand hall, filled with colors of India in a perfect mash of India and the British culture, Amara kept glancing at the study on the upper floor. Amos had still not come out from her father’s study, and uncertainty crept over Amara’s skin for each minute going past. Her mother just kept giving out instructions to her servants, only letting her eyes linger disapprovingly on Amara’s clothes between the instructions.

She has been trying to get Amara to wear a sari for the past five years but Amara has just ignored her, preferring westerners’ clothes. She would have worn pants if she didn’t think her mother would get a heart attack if she did.

“Why is it taking so long, ma?”

“Show some patient, little monkey?” Milana replied, not missing a beat as she inspected the flowers, she had ordered for the living room, removing those who had wilted before arrival and then sending them in. “Patience is a virtue.”

“It shouldn’t take this long.”

“On the contrary, it should take even longer,” Milana muttered, but they both were interrupted when the door to the study swung open, revealing Amos. His eyes plastered onto documents with a rigid expression.

“Did we get it?” Amara asked, rushing up the stairs under her mother’s protests.

“We?” Amos looked up, momentarily confused before realization dawned on his face. “You are not going to the ruins.”

“Of course I will! The heavens don’t grant luck twice, we must reach the ruins before we encounter a strike of misfortune, making the temple vanish beneath water once more. Who knows if this is a permanent state or if the water will come back.”

“You just replied to your own comment. Until we are sure it is safe, no one will get close to the site,” Amos said, walking down the stairs to greet his mother. Her smile was wide, and eyes warm when she looked at him. An expression that often turned to disapproval when she looked upon Amara.

“I have ordered the servants to serve brunch in the parlor, I’ve even ordered in some of your favorite tea,” Milana chippered and grabbed onto Amos's arm which he had extended to her.

“Good, I would be honored for the beautiful lady of the house to accompany me,” Amos said, his eyes twinkling when Milana blushed.

“Old lady you mean,” muttered Amara and got a slap over the head as a reply from her mother. “Will there be nankhatai?” Amaras mouth watered at the thought of the sweet biscuit that was her favorite.

“No,” her mother replied curtly, making Amara’s hope plummet to the ground.

“ Why not?”

“Because you eat too much nankhatai. You need to think about your figure, what man would want a wife who would eat him out of the house.”

“Firstly, I just ran all over the town, I won’t get fat. Lastly, are you still on trying to arrange a wedding,” Amara grimaced, thinking about all the poor men her mother has pulled home to introduce to her. Most of them had no idea what was going on and were practically kidnapped from the street.

“Of course, I am, but you have such a bad reputation that I start to think I will have to bribe the good bachelors just to consider you,” Milana sighed like her world was filled with burdens.

“I thought we agreed that I would finish my studies first.”

“That is what you wanted, I never agreed.”

Amos patted Milana’s arm, immediately bringing a smile to her face. “I would not want Amara to marry someone she didn’t love. There are plenty of opportunities for her to meet a decent match at the university so let the young run free. The rest will fall into place on their own.”

“I still worry though, she isn’t getting any younger,” Milana said, glancing over at Amara. Her eyes inspected her like she was looking for wrinkles.

“I’m 22 years old,” Amara replied with an eye roll but was ignored, like usual.

“And good is that she was a little menace when she was a child. Remember when she dressed up as a pirate after reading Treasure Island?” Amos chuckled, eyes twinkling warmly at the memory. “She had grabbed onto the sword wall decoration and was running around singing that silly song. What was its name?”

“Yo Ho Ho And A Bottle Of Rum,” Amara chuckled, running into the parlor humming the song.

“I lost a few years of my life that day,” Milana muttered, following in with Amos by her side.

“You say so but I remember you, pulling up your sari and taking chase with a brave heart,” Amos chuckled at the memory.

“Well, someone had to defend India from the pirates, “ Milana huffed, her cheek heated but refused to apologize for the shameful sight of her rushing through the mansion, chasing her daughter.  “And if someone hadn’t bought her such an unladylike book, then maybe my daughter hadn’t turned into a little monkey.”

Both turned their eyes toward Amara who had stuffed her mouth full of scones, barely looking up at them. With a sigh of surrender, Amos pulled out the chair for Milana and only sat down beside her after she was comfortable.

Ignoring them both, she returned the conversation to what she wanted to know, ”Tell me you at least will get the site.”

Knowing what she wanted to know, Amos shook his head, “Though I have pressed that I at least wanted to be included, but the Director-General of ASI wants Mr. Sahni to handle the site.”

“Mr. Sahni? Do I know him?” asked Milana.

“No, though you might have heard of him. He was the protégé of the former Director-General Marshall and is the most likely candidate next year to become Director-General after Hargreaves,” Amos looked down into his tea, a frown spread on his forehead. “He was supervising the Indus valley site at Harappa a few years back.”

“Isn’t the election for new Director-General soon, next year right?” Amara said eagerly, getting a slap over the head for eating and talking at the same time.

Giving her a smirk, Amos knew what he was hinting at. “Yes, there is still a small chance that I can be allowed to study the temple since Mr. Sahni might be busy but…”

“But?” Amara asked, her heart sinking.

“No, Indian has ever gotten the post of Director-General,” her mother clarified like it was a matter of fact and not a strange thing for an Indian to be denied the post in India because he was from the land.

“True, but with the rising unrest and Mohandas Gandhi's march four months ago, the British government was to increase the presence of Indians in the government and choosing one as a Director-General of ASI is not impossibility, “ Amos said, leaning back with his eyes toward the ceiling adorned with Indian patterns, inspired by the Hindi temples.

“Shouldn’t you be nominated?” asked Amara, feeling like they kept overlooking him. He was an excellent historian and archeologist with studies in Sanskrit and Vedic civilization, but seem to only get teaching positions.

“No, my prominent fields lie in other parts of the world. I came in rather late to the historical sites in India and cannot compare to those who have spent 30 years here studying. Besides, I have little interest in working in an office. I prefer to be out on the field,” Amos replied, looking back at her, his eyes suddenly far away. “Though if your father was alive…”

He shook his head, “No matter, we can only be patient. There won’t be any answers until they have ensured it is safe and from what era the temple ruins are from. We can only wait until then.”