The ruins in question were ancient, perhaps it had been a temple, or maybe it had been an estate for someone important. There was a clear border to the area, that had once been outlined by pillars roughly every ten feet. Sadly, all but two of them were now nothing but mounds of rubble. The interior of the border was lacking much foliage at all, even before the very obvious clearing work that had been done. No trees had grown on the inside of the pillars, an oddity for this deep into the dense Kishahn jungle- that was unless one were to dig a little less than a foot into the dirt and find the stone floor this open area once housed, now buried thanks to centuries of erosion.
This area enclosed in the pillars was maybe a hundred feet long by thirty feet wide, the center of which had a cooking pit, complete with a spit, a few places to sit around the fire pit, and a stone table off to the side which seemed meticulously scrubbed, probably used for preparing meals. At one of the far ends of the clearing sat a large, smooth stone slab. The fact that the slab of stone didn't resemble any of the other stone around, and the almost entirely faded rut in the dirt, told the story that the slab had been rolled here. And was perfect for sunning on when the rain parted, though it had inadvertently become an offering table- used by natives, usually hunters, of the forest to beg protection and favor from the mythical Rakshasa of Kishahn.
They never stayed, unlike at the shrine of the Nature Spirit. The myths that circled spoke of a fearsome beast that favored his privacy, and he would surely kill any intruder on the temple he was reclaiming- but with the right gift, one might curry his favor. And fortune followed those that were graced by his demonic inspiration. Maybe two or three times a week, the slab would be covered with offerings of food, spices, alcohols, coffee, precious stones, all manner of random things.
But the thing that truly dominated the clearing, was the temple itself. The structure took up almost the entire width of the clearing, standing nearly twenty feet tall, it sat on the opposite side of clearing from the slab. The entrance to this temple was set in the center, almost half as tall as the temple itself, and wide enough to fit a horse into. Because of the way the clearing sat, the sun almost never penetrated into the temple, and to the natives, it seemed like a dark veil hung over the entrance way, as unnatural as it was demonic. It didn't help that the entrance was 'guarded' by two ancient stone cats, square jawed and mouths agape, maybe snarling, maybe roaring. The two cats were completely untouched by the erosion of time. If one built up the bravery to simple approach the entrance to the temple with a torch, they'd find that there was a short hallway, about five feet deep that ended in a simple cloth curtain.
Indra was set inside, lounging in a chair he'd made from carved wood and vines, reading a book by candlelight. He'd gotten up early, smelled the rain in the air, and decided to just have a lazy day. Eventually he'd go outside to try and coax some life into the firepit, kebab some of the wild vegetables he'd scavenged for yesterday, maybe soak some of the dried meat he'd gotten from an offering in honey for an hour or so and kebab that as well. But right now, he was getting to his favorite part in one of his favorite books. The main character was in a tiff with his second, and it was effecting the rest of their five man band, soon they'd start quipping and knacking at each other. And even though Indra had read it a hundred times, it never failed to make him chuckle in the moment, the sign of a well written novel.
He was completely unaware of the observer, she smelled like the jungle itself, if perhaps a bit cleaner, so his uncannily precise nose couldn't pick her out from the foliage like it could a human approaching his abode.