Aa, oye-oye-oye, Banarasiya, haaye, Banarasiya… Aa, Banarasiya, haaye, Banarasiya… Rang mein bhang ya bhang mein rang, Banarasiya, haaye, Banarasiya… Sang mein jung ya jung mein sang, Banarasiya, haaye, Banarasiya…

The song flowed through the sleeping city as if it belonged to the morning itself. It did not interrupt the silence—it became a part of it. The melody moved softly across the unseen corners of Banaras, playful and full of life, carrying something strange within it; devotion wrapped in mischief, celebration wrapped in peace. It felt impossible to tell where it began or where it ended because somehow it seemed woven into the very air.