With this information, they returned to their truck and carefully brought out a portion of the marigolds. The bright golden-orange blooms were fresh, their petals full and vibrant. They had kept them neatly stored to maintain their quality—this was going to be their selling point.
They approached a known vendor, a middle-aged man named Hariram, who often bought in bulk for temple suppliers.
Hariram eyed the marigolds and nodded approvingly. "Good quality," he admitted, running his fingers through the flowers. "How much are you asking?"
Aman straightened his shoulders. "₹280 per kg."
Hariram let out a short laugh. "That's steep. The market is ₹250 today. I can take them for ₹230."
Bani's father shook his head. "These aren't just any marigolds. Look at the freshness. No wilted petals, no broken stems. You won't get this quality at ₹230."
Hariram smirked. "Quality is fine, I agree. But I'm buying in bulk. Give me a better rate."
Aman leaned in. "We both know you can sell these for at least ₹300 at the temple market. We're giving you a fair deal at ₹270."
Hariram hesitated, rubbing his chin. "Still high," he countered. "I'll take the whole 200 kg, but at ₹240."
Bani's father exchanged a glance with Aman. They had prepared for this.
"We'll do ₹242 per kg," Bani's father said firmly. "That's the best price we can offer for this quality."
Hariram sighed, pretending to hesitate, but they could see the interest in his eyes. "Fine. But next time, bring them earlier so I can get first pick."
Aman grinned. "Deal."
With the negotiation settled, they weighed the flowers on the scale Aman had brought and completed the sale. ₹242per kg for 200 kg—₹48,400 in total. A fair profit for their first market day.
As the cash exchanged hands, Bani felt a strange mix of excitement and relief. This was only the beginning, but for the first time, she felt the thrill of making her own money.
As the notification chimed on the phone, confirming the amount had been credited, a quiet sense of relief settled over them. It wasn't a fortune, but it was a start—a step forward in the midst of uncertainty. Bani watched her father and brother exchange a glance, the exhaustion in their eyes softened by a flicker of hope.
"It's done," her brother murmured, slipping the phone back into his pocket.
Without a word, they turned towards the truck. The massive vehicle stood still, its steel frame catching the first rays of sunlight. It was a silent witness to their struggles and aspirations, a vessel that would carry their hopes to market.
Beside the truck, a small tea shop was already awake, its owner busy pouring steaming cups of chai into tiny glass tumblers. The rich aroma of boiled tea leaves and spices curled into the crisp morning air, mingling with the subtle smokiness of a charcoal stove.
Her father stretched his arms, cracking his stiff joints before stepping towards the shop. "Let's have some tea before we start."
Her brother nodded, rubbing the fatigue from his eyes. They ordered two cups, the amber liquid swirling with hints of ginger and cardamom, offering warmth in the chilly morning breeze.