I’d never seen a real Maharajah before, but he looked about right: the orange turban, straggly beard of grey and white – the small, mysterious scar underneath his left eye. The audience at the county fair held it’s breath as the stranger from another world walked slowly up and down the white-hot coals.
It was a week later that the men came to fix the shingle on our barn. Through the fly-screen I watched as their boss chatted to my father. His straggly beard and scar looked familiar. The rusty van parked out front said ‘Patel’s Roof Repairs’, but heck, he sure was a spit of the Miraculous Maharajah of Murkajee.
These words form my entry into this week’s Friday Fictioneers photo prompt challenge.