"I can not bid against my regent." It was the custom to mark a purchased slave with the caste of her purchaser.

Umballa, still not recognizing her, waved her aside toward the Brahmin caste markers, one of whom daubed her forehead with a yellow triangle.

Her blue eyes pierced the curious brown ones.
"The sahib at the river," she whispered in broken Hindustani.

"Many rupees.

Bring him to the house of Durga Ram." This in case Ali failed.
The Brahmin's eyes twinkled.