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THE QUEENS OF HASTINAPUR

Sharath Komarraju is an author of !ction and non-!ction based in Bangalore, India. His best known work is the Hastinapur series, written in the voices of the epic’s many women characters. His !rst novel, Murder in Amaravati, was longlisted for the Commonwealth Book Prize, 2013.

Once a software engineer, now he tells stories fulltime. When he is not writing or reading, he can be foundwatching cricket on television, talking to his wife, or munching on the nearest chocolate bar.

HarperCollins Publishers India

THE QUEENS OF HASTINAPUR

SHARATH KOMARRAJU

First published in India in 2017 by HarperCollins Publishers India

Copyright © Sharath Komarraju 2017

P-ISBN: 978-93-5277-313-8E-ISBN: 978-93-5277-314-5

2 4 6 8 10 9 7 5 3 1

Sharath Komarraju asserts the moral rightto be identi!ed as the author of this work.

$is is a work of !ction and all characters and incidents described in this book are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual

persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced,stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means,

electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise,without the prior permission of the publishers.

HarperCollins Publishers

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Printed and bound at$omson Press (India) Ltd

For Sarayu

!is book will probably be out of print by the time

you’re old enough to read it. But what the hell.

BOOK ONE

INTERVENTION

3

PROLOGUE

GANGA SPEAKS

The bare White Rock against which I sit, which rises up to

touch the clouds, breathes a chilling current of air down my

back. My hooded black cloak – once all that I needed to protect

me from the elements – is now damp, its coarse cotton giving

way at the seams under the arms. A gust of wind runs up the

mountain, turns Yudhisthir’s lifeless body a darker shade of blue,

and nibbles at my shrivelled white hair.

I have been speaking for long, now, yet the tale of the great war

is but at its very beginning. My body withers with each passing

moment, and soon I shall lie down next to Hastinapur’s High

King and shut my eyes. But before that, I must make certain that

the entire song passes my lips, for if the light once departs my

body, the story of the Meru people and the battle of Kurukshetra

shall forever remain untold.

Sometimes I wonder if anyone hears me here, for I see no bird

or bee or &ower or tree – just the falling snow and the endless

grey of the overhead skies. Perhaps all that I say here is in vain;

perhaps my voice speaks just to the lifeless crags among which

the Pandavas lie dead; perhaps even if I were to trick death long

enough to narrate my tale, it shall never be uncovered.

4 ✤ Sharath Komarraju

If that is so, perhaps it is best that I lie down right now, and

surrender to the weight of my eyelids …

I lean forward on my seat to feel Yudhisthir’s battle-hardened

palm; even after all those years of peace, his hands bear the marks

of war. With the sleeve of my cloak I clean the sleet o* his hand,

and to my utter surprise I sense his !ngers tremble slightly, and

then they wrap as one around mine. I watch the rest of his body

for other signs of life, but there are none. His lips had already

blackened, as though they had been dipped in the venom of hell.

His eyelashes are freckled with ice.

But his trembling touch has given me my answer. Even if my

listeners are lifeless rocks, I must go on. Even if my words are

destined to lay forever buried under carpets of snow, I must go

on. Even if they freeze in this air for a while, I must believe there

will come a time – in the far future, perhaps – when summer

arrives and melts them into life once again. Even when I see no

hope, I must !nd some, deep within me.

So I hold on to Yudhisthir’s hand and will myself to resume.

✤

$e hands of man yearn to grasp. His !ngertips are born with the

innate knowledge that they must curl around whatever they touch.

To sate his hunger he kneads the nipples of his mother. As he begins

to move about on all fours, he reaches for objects that catch his eye;

he touches, he feels, and those that he likes, he clutches to his bosom.

When he learns to walk, he holds the hand of his elder for support;

when he is old enough to love, he sends out his !ngers again, eager,

groping, into the dark in desperate hope. He makes food for himself

by guiding the path of the plough, and he makes the plough itself

by felling trees with an axe, whose blade he forges from black iron

extracted from the Earth’s breast – all by means of his hands.

THE QUEENS OF HASTINAPUR ✤ 5

$e mind of man yearns to grasp. Deep within it is a well

of unslaked thirst that drives him forever on, asking questions

of the Goddess, digging her for secrets, and when the Goddess

answers each of his queries with a thousand of her own, he

soldiers relentlessly on. He picks up each one of the puzzles at

once, turning it over in his head, certain that he shall one day

unravel them all.

$e mind of man is also besotted with lust – for power, for

wealth, for status. Its tendrils are akin to those of a ravenous spider

spinning an in!nite web. $ere is never a moment when it is still.

It is always teetering on the edge that separates instinct from

thought, clawing, feeling …

$e soul of man yearns to grasp. From the time he gains

consciousness, he is aware of two worlds that he at once inhabits:

one outer world that seems to run of its own volition, oblivious

to his whims and thoughts; and one inner world where he reigns

supreme, where his word is decree, where there are no arguments

to face, no wars to !ght, where there is peace at every corner,

where love and forgiveness bloom on every tree. But this inner

world is locked in eternal combat with the outer, and his soul

longs to shape the latter in the image of the former.

$is yearning is the reason for all of man’s most towering

achievements. Without it, would we ever have rubbed together

two stones on a cold winter’s night? Would we have written the

book of mysteries? Would we have told each other tales of wars

and triumphs and defeats, taught our children to be good, fed

the old and weak, respected the dead? Would we have made love,

passed on our memories, kindled this &ame of hope in our hearts?

And yet it is this same yearning that brings out the worst in

man. $e same hand that guides the plough also grabs at the hilt

of a sword. $e same mind that lusts for knowledge and wisdom

also yearns for revenge, for power over another. $e same soul that


acknowledges the free existence of the outside world seeks to bend

it – by waging wars, by placing curses, by enslaving kingdoms.

$e journey of a priestess is not to escape this desire to grasp

and to mould – indeed, none of us can – but to realize its futility.

$e march of creation is inexorable. $e sweep of time extends

thousands of years into the past and into the future. $e life

of one man – and the life of one race – is but a blink of the

Goddess’s eye. An age is but one heave of the Goddess’s chest. All

of the thoughts that have occurred in all human minds through

the epochs are contained within the Goddess’s one heartbeat.

$is notion, then, that we control the course of history is but

an illusion. I told the Wise Ones on the mountain this on the day

Pritha and Gandhari were betrothed in Hastinapur – that we

must stay away from Earth from now, allow the Goddess to exert

her will in her own patient, invisible manner – and they nodded.

Yes, they said. $e Lady of the River speaks well. We have

meddled enough in Earth’s a*airs. Let us now turn our gaze

inward, and bow to the will of the Goddess.

But it is the great folly of men – even the wisest of them – that

they think they know the Goddess’s will. $ey can see into her

mind, these men claim, forgetting that her mind holds the entire

known universe within it. $ey have spoken to the Goddess,

they insist, forgetting that she has no mouth with which to speak

or scream. Perhaps this is why she has so many who speak on her

behalf – these men who are but mere mites of dust by her feet.

$ey can claim to know her because she is unknowable. $ey see

her form because she is formless. $ey speak her words because

she never does.

And so it is with Meru’s Wise Ones. Not so much as a moon

had passed after the weddings in Hastinapur when I went one

morning to the Crystal Lake to pay my respects. It was a morning

like every other – until it was not.

7

CHAPTER ONE

The high metal gates opened. Ganga walked out through

them into the garden, acknowledging the bowing guards

with a swift nod. Her black cloak was draped around her

shoulders, her hair thrown open to the morning air. If there was

one thing she loved about summers, it was the dawn breeze that

came running up the slopes from the east, leaving in its wake a

trail of white roses in full bloom.

Even in the controlled environs of Meru there was summer,

winter, autumn and spring. $e hot months did not make you

sweat as they did on Earth, and the cold ones did not make

you shiver quite as much, but one could still tell one season

from another. $e Elementals strove to keep everyone on the

mountain in comfort through the year, but hardly a day went by

without Ganga hearing someone or the other complaining that it

was either too hot or too cold.

She kept her grumbling to herself. Her skin had begun to dry

up more in the last week. Twice in the last four days she had

woken up on the stone ledge of her hut in the middle of the night,

her throat parched. Evenings had become colder, it seemed, and

nights had become warmer.

$e Elementals said that nothing had changed, that they used

the same Mysteries they had in previous years. What they did not

say out loud – but thought in their minds – was that everyone


who complained about the weather on the mountain seemed to

be advancing in years. $e Crystal Water delayed ageing but did

not stop it. Sometimes, the Meru people forgot this and assumed

that, like the mountain, they would forever be unchanging.

Ganga did not know how old in years she was now. Her hair

had not yet begun to grey, but a few locks around her temples

had turned a shade of reddish brown. $e colour in her lips had

faded, and when she looked into the mirror now, the eyes looked

much like those of her mother’s had.

She pushed away these thoughts of decay and smiled into the

morning. $e eastern sky was just turning orange. $e corners of

her mouth were still wet with water from the lake. She closed her

eyes and took a deep breath. Her stomach felt cool and cleansed.

A serene sense of vitality coursed through her veins. At this

moment, she felt more alive than anything else in the world.

As Lady of the River, she had as much access to the Crystal

Lake as she desired, but she did not go beyond two mouthfuls

every morning. She went to bed every night with the hint of an

itch at the base of her throat, and by the time she woke up it would

turn into a mild burn. Only a drink from the lake soothed it.

She came to the fountain and sat by its edge, looking up at the

granite statue of Mohini, the girl with the water pitcher mounted

on her hip. A team of craftsmen was replacing the greyed-out

pearls of her necklace with new, brighter ones. Of the heap of

diamonds set in her hair, one or two had fallen o*. $e golden

inscription at her feet required polishing. $e Brightest of the

Dark Ones, it said.

Ganga looked through the rippling water of the fountain at

the snow-white marble &oor. In her own re&ection she saw the

sad eyes of Devavrata, but his lips were set in a smile. When he

had !rst left the mountain in a hu*, she had thought he would

be unable to stay away for longer than a few moons, that the lake


would pull him back. $e sages and the other Celestials had said

the same. But now, fourteen years had come and gone since that

day when Brihaspati had barked his curse at him. ‘Earth will spit

you out, Son of Ganga,’ he had said.

But Earth had not spit him out. She had clutched him to

herself. She had made him the great warrior of his age. She had

given him more than the mountain ever could.

Why would he return? Why do you still have hope?

She heard footsteps approach. Hard, gem-encrusted sandals

clacking on the dew-covered mud ground. $e man approached

her from behind and stood at a respectable distance. She knew

who it was without having to look. Only one Celestial would visit

the statue of Mohini this early in the morning.

‘Vishnu,’ she said, turning to face him, ‘I have not had an

audience with you for the longest time.’

‘Yes, my lady,’ he said, bowing. ‘It has been way too long.’

‘And even when we do meet, it has to be by accident, in this

manner.’

‘Actually, my lady, I came here today hoping to see you.’

‘It is I you have come to meet? Not her?’

‘$at is so.’

‘$en it must be rather important.’

Vishnu inclined his head. ‘It is, my lady. Yes.’

Ganga looked over at Mohini’s statue. $ree of the craftsmen

who were standing by her looked expectantly at Vishnu. ‘I think

the men over there want you to supervise their work. Return

after you !nish. I shall wait right here.’

‘Yes, my lady. I shall be no more than a few minutes.’

Vishnu circled the statue, pointing at spots the polisher

had missed. He had the slender, wiry build of most Celestials.

Something about the way he held his frame reminded Ganga

of Devavrata in his early youth. His complexion and face were


nondescript, and the only way in which he di*ered from other

Celestials was that he wore his hair short, not shoulder-length. His

ears resembled those of a baby elephant, pink and round. On his

head he wore no crown. His !ngers and ears were shorn of rings.

He carried a wooden sta* in his right hand, which people said held

untold magical powers, but Ganga had never seen him use it.

He was one of the mountain’s three most desirable men.

Before every fertility rite, the people on Meru spoke about just

two things: whether the three Wise Ones would partake in it,

and if so, with whom. Among women the Lady of the River had

once held a similar position, but ever since that spring of eight

years ago, when she had gone to the rite with Shiva and failed to

bear a son, she had heard her name being mentioned less and less

among the mountain folk.

Vishnu came to her and joined his hands. No shade of red

appeared in his hair. No dimming of the spark she had !rst seen

in his eyes. It was the will of the Goddess that age enhanced a

man’s qualities while a woman dwindled under its weight.

‘You do not come here every morning, do you, Vishnu?’

‘No, my lady.’ His voice carried an echo, like the sound of a

pebble cast into an empty well. ‘I come when Mohini calls for

me. I come at the onset of summer, because this is the month

in which we declared our love for each other, all those years ago.’

‘Ah,’ said Ganga. ‘Did she ever return to the mountain?’

‘Not to my knowledge. I have heard a few wandering shepherds

describe someone like her roaming the slopes, but they cannot be

true sightings. Many years must have passed since her death.’

‘And yet you love her to this day.’

Vishnu looked at Ganga and smiled. ‘All that we have today,

my lady, is her blessing. During those few moons, I am certain

she loved me too.’

‘Perhaps it is just as well you did not meet her before her death.’


‘Yes.’ He looked up with his grey eyes at the statue. ‘I like her

like this, as she was when she left us.’

$e sun had just cleared the horizon. It now appeared as a

solid sa*ron ball in the distance, cradled by the slopes of two

adjoining snow-clad mountains. $e !rst rays of sunlight touched

Ganga’s arms warmly and threw a long shadow of Mohini in their

direction. $e wind from the east stilled somewhat, but the smell

of full-bloom roses remained in the air.

She shrugged her cloak into position and stood up straight.

‘You said you wanted to speak about something important.’

‘My lady, yes. I did not seek your audience to speak just of

Mohini. Lord knows that everyone on the mountain has heard

enough of her.’

‘If the matter is important enough to drag you out of the

woods, Vishnu, it must concern Earth.’ And Hastinapur, she

wanted to say, but held herself.

‘It is true what they say,’ said Vishnu. ‘You see all.’

Ganga could feel herself grow uneasy, as she did whenever

someone on Meru came to her wishing to speak of Earth. Almost

always it concerned Devavrata, and almost always she needed

to do something to thwart her son. Her !rst loyalty was to the

mountain, yes, and to the Goddess who looked after them. But

the mere thought of !ghting Devavrata turned her heart to lead.

‘Speak!’ she said, bristling.

‘Our worries concern the Middle Kingdoms, my lady,’ said

Vishnu. ‘Now that we have acquired the black stones of Mathura

for ourselves, we have left the city too weak to defend itself, and

King Jarasandha of Magadha is sharpening his spears as we speak.’

‘King Jarasandha rules wisely, I am told.’

‘He does, Lady Ganga. But he also wishes to expand his rule

across the breadth of North Country, and Mathura is the !rst

kingdom in his path.’


‘What if it is? Let them !ght, and may the better king win.’

Vishnu’s face grew grim, even as the shadow of Mohini

shortened with the rising sun. ‘Between Magadha and Mathura,

my lady, there can only be one winner. Without the black stones,

Mathura’s naval &eet is but a shade of its former self. $eir ships

lumber across the Yamuna now, where once they shot through

like arrows from a well-strung bow.’

‘Let me understand this,’ said Ganga. ‘You do not wish for

Jarasandha to become more powerful than he is.’

‘No, my lady, we do not.’

‘Who is this “we”, Vishnu?’

‘$e three Wise Ones and Indra.’

‘I see.’

‘If King Jarasandha gains a hold on the Middle Kingdoms,

Lady Ganga, he shall soon challenge the power of Hastinapur,

and even the prowess of Devavrata might not be enough to quell

him.’

‘$at may not be a bad thing. A powerful kingdom breathing

down his neck will keep Devavrata honest, and he shall not think

of attacking Meru.’

‘$at is true,’ replied Vishnu. ‘But what if they battle each

other, and one of them becomes the supreme emperor? $en

they will train their sights northwards, and my lady, we do not

have the army to win a war.’

Ganga held out her arm to the fountain and rubbed a handful

of cold water on her arms to soothe her skin against the sun. $en

she entwined her !ngers together. $e polishers had !nished and

were walking around the statue, giving it their !nal appraisal.

Vishnu was correct in what he had said at the end. $e army

that Meru maintained in Indra’s archery ranges and stables could

!ght battles, win some skirmishes perhaps, but was not !t for

outright war. Meru had long moved away from courting open


violence to employing all its inhabitants to plough the Mysteries.

Knowledge was Meru’s weapon, and it did not !ght well when

faced with a lance.

She sighed. ‘I am wary of meddling in Earth’s a*airs, Vishnu,’

she said. ‘We should allow matters to take their own course. We

must all be akin to the Goddess, and merely sit by and watch.’

‘$e Goddess would have wanted us to act, my lady. High

Sage Vasishtha said so.’

‘It has been no more than two moons since we left North

Country, and you want us to return?’

‘Circumstances are such, Lady Ganga.’

Ganga got to her feet and shook her head once. She kept

her voice low. ‘We blame circumstances more than we ought to,

Vishnu. If you have come to me for advice, I shall give you some.

No amount of meddling on our part shall stop what is to come.

I know not what it is. I do not see the future. But to believe that

we shape it by our actions is folly.’

‘My lady—’

‘I know what you will say. I have heard it all before. But I have

seen more of Earth than you have, Vishnu. I have lived as an

Earthwoman. I have loved an Earthman. Let me assure you that

Meru would do best to look after its own a*airs.’

He lifted his head to speak, but Ganga pursed her lips and

shook her head again. He fell silent.

‘It is time for my morning prayers. I need to go.’ She pulled her

cloak about herself, covering her head. She took a few steps away

from the Celestial. $en she said over her shoulder, ‘We have the

whole mountain to ourselves, Vishnu. Let us live our lives and let

the people of Earth live theirs.’

Vishnu did not answer. He just bowed.

✤


While separating neem leaves from their stems that night, Ganga

thought of what Vishnu had said. It had been an idea similar to

this that had resulted in her leaving Meru for eight long years.

$en it had been Vasishtha who had convinced her it was for

the good of Meru. She had received a son in the bargain, and

about that she had no regrets, but she had also had to foster

enmity with Devavrata. In the name of loyalty to Meru, she and

Devavrata had drifted apart, and after all these years they were

still estranged.

One change gave rise to two. Two gave rise to four, four to

eight and so on. It would not end until one of the two sides –

either Meru or Earth – was ruined. How much better would it

be to retreat and watch events unfold and set aside this manic

desire to control them? How many lives could they save just by

letting Earth chart its own destiny?

She gathered all the leaves into a straw bowl and carried them

to the grinding stone in the corner. Sitting in front of it with

her left leg splayed to one side and the right folded and raised,

she rested her chin on her knee as she crushed them. Every few

seconds she stopped to add a few drops of oil into the mix. After

a few minutes of grinding, she !rst examined the colour, then

bent forward to smell it.

A few cumin seeds and a pinch of turmeric, she thought.

$e neigh and snort of a horse came in through the open

window, accompanied by a man’s soft whispers. Her lips spread

into a smile. $en the sound of the water trough being dragged

over, a splash as the horse slobbered its mouth in it thirstily. She

set aside the bowl and rubbed her !ngers clean on the corner of

her robe.

$e doorway !lled with a man’s shadow.

‘Nishanta,’ said Ganga, ‘how happy I am to see you.’

Even in the dim, &ickering light of the lamp, Nishanta’s eyes


wore a bloodshot look. His bronze frame was coated in a layer

of dusty sweat. His sword dangled in the scabbard tied to his

side. His lower garment looked yellow, but it could have been

white when he had started his journey. Its true colour would only

emerge after a wash or two. For a man who spent much of his life

on horseback, he carried a generous layer of belly fat, although

his arms looked as though they had been sculpted by a !ne chisel.

He got down on one knee and bowed. ‘I bring news of

Hastinapur, my lady.’

‘Indeed you do,’ said Ganga, beaming. ‘How does Devavrata?’

‘$e Kuru house is the happiest it has been in a long while,

my lady Ganga. $e people in the street do not sing and dance,

but they do not live in worry either.’

‘$e wedding ceremonies were grand, were they not? We have

heard tales of them here on the mountain as well.’

‘Indeed they were. Dhritarashtra’s was grander than Pandu’s,

but that is not surprising.’

‘No,’ said Ganga, ‘it is not. When are they making him king?’

A hesitant pause, then: ‘$ere appears to be some … confusion

about the matter, my lady. Some of the people I know who work

in the palace tell me that Bhishma does not think Dhritarashtra

worthy of being king.’

Ganga feigned curiosity, although she had hoped this would

happen. A blind king on the throne of Hastinapur would just

not do. It did not matter in any real way, of course; kings rarely

ventured out into the battle!eld, and the true measure of a king

(or a man) did not rest on whether or not he could see with his

eyes. But a blind king would attract from friends and foes alike a

good deal of attention, none of it desirable.

It was just not the sensible thing to do. And Devavrata, for all

his faults, could never be faulted for not being sensible.

‘So they wish for the second-born to become king, do they?’


‘It appears that way, my lady. $e third half-brother has

trained himself in the scriptures and polity. He appears set to

become a minister.’

‘His name is Vidur.’

‘$at is so.’

‘And what of the princesses? Have there been any murmurs

about how Gandhari and Pritha treat each other in the palace?’

‘Yes, Lady Ganga, and everything I have heard suggests they

are happy in each other’s company.’

‘No jealousy on Gandhari’s part that Pritha will become

queen before her?’

Again, another moment’s pause. ‘I have not heard anything of

that nature, my lady.’

‘$en it must all be good,’ she said, even though in her heart she

did not believe it. Gandhari had learned much, ruling Gandhar at

a young age, and all the pain that Devavrata had heaped on her

before her marriage to Dhritarashtra could not be forgotten in a

matter of months. If she was being amicable to Pritha at present,

she must have a larger plan in mind.

‘Enough of Hastinapur,’ she said. ‘What of Magadha and

Mathura?’

‘What of them, my lady?’

‘I heard today that the High King of Magadha is readying

some chariots to march against Mathura.’

‘It is hard to say for certain which kingdom Jarasandha is

after, my lady. But yes, weapons are being sharpened in that city.

Iron miners have been working on the double, and foundries stay

open through the night, every night.’

Ganga looked out of the open door, into the dark. It was a

sticky, moonless evening.

‘Tell me, Nishanta,’ she said, ‘what kind of a man is Jarasandha?’

‘Cunning.’


Ganga turned to look Nishanta in the eye.

‘Yes, my lady. He is a noble king, looks after his people well.

He is quite adept with a sword, they say, and in his younger days

he is rumoured to have been the best wrestler in the city. But

that head he has on his shoulders – he has vanquished many an

enemy without shedding a drop of blood.’

‘So if he is preparing to march into battle, he must think it

worth winning.’

‘$ey say he would never !ght a battle he does not think he

could win, my lady.’

$e more Ganga heard, the more troubled she grew. It seemed

now that Vishnu had been correct. What were the words he had

used? Circumstances were such. And she had sco*ed at him.

‘Is Jarasandha strong enough to win a battle against

Hastinapur, Nishanta?’

It was not Nishanta’s job to speculate about military strength.

He had his ears well trained on the common people. He heard

everything the palace maids and servants breathed to one another.

He was a deft hand with a sword too. But of statecraft he knew

next to nothing. Ganga felt she could use a word of reassurance,

though, even if it had to come from him.

‘Not now, my lady,’ said Nishanta. ‘No. Hastinapur has

Gandhar, Kunti and Shurasena as allies. Magadha stands alone.’

‘But if Magadha were to take Mathura—’

‘Even then it would not be strong enough to defeat Hastinapur,

my lady.’ Nishanta considered her with his red eyes. ‘But if

Magadha takes Mathura, it will gain control of its warships, and

it will control a signi!cant part of the Yamuna that separates

Hastinapur from Shurasena and Kunti.’

‘So after he annexes Mathura, Jarasandha will move against

Shurasena?’

‘$at seems the right thing to do. Neither Shurasena nor


Kunti is big or strong enough to stand against Magadha. If he

launches a surprise attack, the battle will be !nished before the

cry for help reaches Hastinapur.’

Ganga let out a deep breath. ‘And will taking Kunti and

Shurasena make Magadha strong enough to win against

Hastinapur?’

Nishanta’s broad shoulders rose and fell. ‘$ey will be even

in might then, I think. But as long as Bhishma !ghts under

Hastinapur’s banner, my lady, no city in North Country will

take it.’

$e words gladdened her heart. She never tired of hearing

praise of Devavrata. She lifted herself o* the ground and picking

up the bowl of crushed leaves doused in oil, went to the stove and

started a !re. ‘I am putting some rice to boil, Nishanta,’ she said,

between blowing through a black pipe at the live coals. ‘Would

you like some? I am making a pickle with neem leaves, and I

would like someone to taste it and tell me how it is.’

Nishanta bowed. ‘My lady.’

Ganga fanned the coals until they crackled. Nishanta never

said no to food.

$ey ate quickly and in silence. Out on the porch, just as

Nishanta was about to mount his horse, she asked him, ‘Did you

happen to visit Panchala this time?’

‘I stayed at an inn there, my lady, but just for a night.’

‘Has the king of Panchala taken a wife?’

‘Not in the last year. But if the meaning behind your asking

is whether he has an heir to the throne, the answer still appears

to be no.’

‘$at means Amba has not come there.’

‘Who, my lady?’

‘$ere is a priestess who lives in Parashurama’s hermitage in

Naimisha. From now on, you shall do well to keep abreast of the


goings-on in her life as well. Her name is Amba. She was once

the princess of Kasi, and was betrothed to Vichitraveerya.’

Nishanta did not respond. He sat like a black idol on the

saddle, set against the starlight, holding the reins.

‘We hope that she will have a large say in the future of North

Country.’ Ganga felt a lump grow in her throat as she said those

words. She did not know why. ‘She has a child, a girl called

Shikhandini.’

‘I shall keep my eyes and ears open, my lady.’

She nodded up at him, and with a kick at the horse’s &anks,

Nishanta broke !rst into a trot, then, as they caught the winding

road up the mountain, into a full gallop. As the sound of his

hooves disappeared into the distance and the silence of the night

gathered around her, she wondered once again if she had been

too hasty in dismissing Vishnu’s fears.

She laid out her mat in the doorway, half inside, half outside.

As she lay with her arm folded up and pillowing her head, she

crooned to herself some Sanskrit verses from memory. $e

swing-like rise and fall of her voice made her eyes heavy, and soon

her lips stopped moving and her limbs relaxed.

She dreamed of her !rst night with Shantanu, and of the

crescent moon with the star at its tip.

✤

When she woke up the next morning, just before the break of

dawn, Ganga found herself looking at the !gures of Vishnu and

Vasishtha standing in front of her hut.

She scrambled to her knees groggily, bowing to the sage and at

the same time raising an arm to receive Vishnu’s obeisance.

Vasishtha was leaning on his stick, caressing his &owing grey

beard. $e pockmarks on his cheeks seemed to have opened up


since Ganga had seen him last. She knew that the sage partook

of the Crystal Water, but he was a human, who had spent much

of his life on Earth. Soon there would be a younger Vasishtha

on the mountain; she had heard from Kubera that the sage had

taken a disciple from the court of Indra.

‘We beg your pardon for waking you up in so unseemly a

fashion, Lady Ganga,’ he said in his stringy voice. ‘But Lord

Vishnu here wished me to accompany him, so that we may

be more successful in convincing you than he was by himself

yesterday.’

She waved them to the ledge on the porch, and they both sat

down, cross-legged, facing her. ‘I received tidings from Nishanta

last night,’ she said. ‘He indicated to me that you were perhaps

right, Vishnu.’ She omitted the ‘lord’ on purpose. No man on the

mountain was ‘lord’ to the Lady of the River. ‘But I do not yet see

how I can help in the matter. Even if it is decided that we must

act in some way to thwart the rise of Magadha, what am I to do?’

Vishnu inclined his head. ‘You do yourself a great disservice,

Lady Ganga. When Sage Vasishtha’s curse had to be carried out,

it was you who spent eight years on Earth as queen to a human

king. When Hastinapur had to be strengthened by marriage

alliances to Gandhar and Kunti, it was you who planned it. It

was you who advised us on how to proceed.’

‘And see where it has led us,’ said Ganga. ‘We !nd ourselves

more and more involved in matters of Earth, where once we

lived as two separate rivers, &owing on our own paths. Now we

cannot function without daily messages from Hastinapur. We sit

together on quiet summer mornings and speak of things such

as war and weapons, where once we used to converse about the

Mysteries.’ She looked at Vasishtha. ‘Do you not remember those

days, High Sage?’

Vasishtha began to nod, but Vishnu said, ‘$is will be the


last of our changes, my lady. Hastinapur is now on the cusp of

greatness, with both its princes married and their queens ready

to bear children. $e sons they have shall be heroic, and in a few

years there will be no kingdom in North Country that will match

Hastinapur in valour.’

‘Or so we think,’ she said.

Vishnu took no notice. ‘So we just need to keep Magadha from

growing for a few years, and then all will be well. Hastinapur

needs our support for just a few more years, and then we can sit

back and watch it crumble under its own weight.’

‘I wonder if it is ever that simple.’

Vasishtha shook his head. ‘No. It never is.’

‘Regardless,’ said Ganga, ‘you have not told me what it is that

I must do.’

‘$e Wise Ones met in council yesterday,’ said Vishnu. ‘We

think the best way is to send a maiden from Meru down to Earth,

as you went to Shantanu’s court all those years back.’

Ganga smiled. ‘I am much too aged to repeat what I did when

I was a girl of fourteen, Vishnu.’

‘We accept that. I was not suggesting you should be the one to

go. We have chosen a maiden for this task.’

‘$en what is it that you want from me?’

‘We wish you to train her, so that she would know the ways

of Earthmen. You know much that we do not, because you have

lived among them for years, and you have a son who now calls

Earth home.’

‘What my son chooses is none of my concern,’ said Ganga

calmly. ‘About the maiden: I sense that she is being sent to

Magadha.’

Vishnu shook his head. ‘No, my lady. We think it is better that

she be sent to Mathura instead.’

‘Mathura? Whatever will she do in Mathura?’


‘We have gained much success in the past by aligning ourselves

with the weak kingdoms and o*ering them help against the

stronger ones. With Mathura, we shall do the same. We have no

army to give them, but we can give them some of our Mysteries –

the less secretive ones – and make them powerful enough to

withstand the might of Magadha.’

Ganga said, puzzled, ‘But, Vishnu, Mathura is the kingdom

from which we just stole the black stones. Do you plan to return

them?’

‘No, my lady. $e black stones will make Mathura stronger

than we would like them to be. We want them to be just strong

enough to withstand Magadha’s attacks. No more.’

Control, she thought. Life on Meru thrived on control.

Control over the elements. Control over ageing. Control over self.

Control over thoughts, actions, words. $ese people could not

digest the fact that life on Earth was di*erent, that the Goddess

held sway in a di*erent manner over there. Vishnu seemed to

think that changing things on Earth was like chanting a Mystery

up here on the mountain.

But arguing with him would be futile. $e Wise Ones had

already met. $ey had already made their decision. Even if

she disagreed with them now, they would not debate with her.

$ey would still go ahead with their strategy, and relationships

between her and them would sour.

So she asked, ‘Who is the maiden?’

23

CHAPTER TWO

$e girl who arrived at her hermitage that evening looked like

Shiva.

For a moment, Ganga went back to the night of the spring

rite, where she and the Wise One had shared a &oral bed. She

remembered the &ickering yellow torches. $e salt-white

curtains. $e air thick with the smell of camphor, the sheets

soaked with their sweat. After their passion had been exhausted,

he had fallen asleep with his arm thrown over her breasts. She

had run her !ngers over his ash-smeared muscles, certain she

would bear his child. She had been certain, too, that it would

be a daughter, and that she would grow up to be the Lady of the

River after her.

People on the mountain expected it as well. Sage Vasishtha

would smile at her in his sly manner every time she went down

to his hut to collect some coriander leaves. Once or twice she had

run into Kubera, who told her that the Wise Ones awaited the

good news. $e maidens at the water well giggled and blushed

whenever she passed.

But a month later, she had woken up one morning with blood

between her legs. Not even the Wise One could quicken her

stomach. It was on that morning that she had understood the

Goddess did not wish her to become a mother again. She had not

been to the fertility rite since. And no one asked why.


$is girl – who stood before her now with her head bent –

wore her hair like Shiva did, rolled into two bundles, one

mounted on top of the other. Two fresh lilies stuck out from the

back. She was shorter than Ganga, about as tall as the average

Meru woman, but her breasts and hips had acquired the curves

one would not expect to see in a maiden of her age. Her hands

had the shape of virgin lotus leaves. $in, sinewy orange patterns

were painted on her palms and !ngers.

She had Shiva’s nose, thin enough to be covered by one !nger’s

breadth. And her complexion was a &owing, frothy white.

‘Whose daughter are you?’ asked Ganga.

‘$ey call me Saraswati,’ said the maiden, her voice low. ‘I am

being fostered at the hermitage of Sage Brihaspati. He trains me

in the Mysteries.’

‘You do not know whose daughter you are?’

‘No, my lady. Some people have said that I resemble one of

the Wise Ones, but I have not seen any of them, so I know not

if it is true.’

‘And your mother?’

‘She is said to have given up her life when giving birth to me.

Sage Brihaspati has said she was once a consort to Indra, and in

later years she had come to keep the Earth Mysteries.’

‘Do they train you in the Earth Mysteries, then?’

$e girl nodded. ‘Among other things, my lady, yes.’

‘Well, do you know the nature of the task the Wise Ones have

given you?’

‘I do, my lady. Sage Brihaspati has told me all that I need to

know.’

‘You will stay here for a moon. I shall teach you all that I know

of the ways of Earth. Remember, though, that I cannot teach you

everything.’

‘Naturally.’


‘Life on Earth is not as structured as on Meru. You will have

to think on your feet, learn as you go.’

‘I will, my lady.’

‘It is fortunate that you have the Earth Mysteries to call on.

$ey work better on Earth than they do here on the mountain.’

‘I have been told that, yes.’

‘I shall teach you some of the Water Mysteries too, ones I

think you shall have need of.’

‘I am blessed, Lady Ganga.’

Ganga tried to force some feelings of tenderness toward the girl.

But all she could feel was a cold, hard spot in the corner of her

heart. Her mother would have frowned if she could see her now.

She would say that the Lady of the River must rise above feelings

of envy and greed, that she must serve the Goddess with her whole

mind, stripped of desire and emotion. If a maiden was sent to you

for training, you treated her like she was your own daughter. You

fostered her with love. $at was the way of the mountain.

And yet …

She murmured a prayer of apology to the Goddess, deep

within her mind. She promised her she would take a dip in

the chilled water of the river at daybreak the next morning.

She would forsake her two mouthfuls of the Crystal Water to

atone.

Out loud, she said, ‘It will be dark soon. Bring some !rewood

from the barn and light up the stove. We shall begin your training

tomorrow.’

‘My lady.’

✤

$ey stood at the base of the White Rock, in ankle-deep

water. A colourless ball &oated in the air, inches above Ganga’s


outstretched left palm. ‘$e trick here is to think of the water as

part of you. Your mind tells you that water cannot be held, so you

must !ght that and let your !ngers feel its shape. Pretend that

you are holding a !sh.’

Saraswati nodded, then bent down to pick up two handfuls

of water. Her lips moved with the prayer she had learned that

morning. Carefully, she separated her hands. $e water took on

a strange, ghoulish shape, swirling this way and that. ‘Oh,’ said

Saraswati, grabbing with her !ngers. ‘Oh!’ $e more she clawed

at it, the more it slipped from her grip, and then it broke into a

thousand droplets and fell into the river.

Ganga nodded. ‘$at was not bad. Now let us try again. $is

time, do not let your mind wander.’

✤

$ey sat at the fountain in the shadow of Mohini’s statue. Ganga

was tying two bunches of jasmine together for Saraswati’s hair.

‘Is it true what they say of you, my lady? You married an

Earthman and bore him eight children.’

‘I did not just marry him. I loved him too.’

‘Did he love you as well?’

Ganga paused. ‘I think he did.’

‘$ey say you brought back your son here, to rear him as a

Celestial. Sage Brihaspati still speaks fondly of him, says he was

the !rst Earthman to add to the Book of Mysteries.’

‘$at is so.’

‘And today he is the foremost warrior in North Country. $ey

say he can outrun a horse and can shoot a hundred arrows in the

blink of an eye.’

‘Yes.’

‘Ah, I wish I could have sons like him.’


Ganga wanted to tell her she should wish for daughters, not

sons, but she did not wish to colour a mind so young. She picked

up one of the garlands and motioned for Saraswati to turn.

‘You will get all the children you deserve,’ she said, as she tied

the &owers to the girl’s hair. ‘You have not yet gone to the fertility

rite by the oak, have you?’

Saraswati shook her head.

‘How old are you, child?’

‘I will enter my !fteenth year this spring. One more year, and

I can partake in the rite.’

‘Indeed.’

‘I cannot wait, I just cannot wait.’

Ganga smiled sadly at the jasmines.

✤

On the porch, in the silver light of the gibbous moon.

‘What is Kamsa like, my lady?’

‘You shall !nd that men on Earth are more ruthless,’ said

Ganga. ‘But Kamsa is ruthless even for an Earthman. His lust for

his throne is so deep that he has imprisoned his own father. His

fear of a successor is so strong that he has imprisoned his sister

and her husband. He has killed their !rstborn.’

Saraswati listened to this without grimacing. ‘Does he not

have children of his own?’

‘He does not wish to have children, for he thinks his sons

will treat him the same way he treated his father. So you cannot

hope to seduce him the way I did with Shantanu. You must !nd

a di*erent way to win his favour.’

‘He wishes for power, does he not? And for fame, and for

valour?’


‘Yes. But then that is what all men wish for. And all women

too, in their own way.’

✤

On the open grasslands by Brihaspati’s hut.

‘$is is where I implored Devavrata to stay.’

‘Why did he leave us, my lady? Certainly life on Earth cannot

be as comfortable or enriching as life here?’

‘It is not as comfortable, yes. But enriching – who can say?’

‘You speak in riddles, Lady Ganga.’

‘$at is because life itself is a riddle, child. You are still

fourteen, and it must feel as though you have all the answers. I

was like you when my mother sent me down to Earth. I thought

I knew everything.’

‘$ey say that about you now. $e Lady of the River has the

gift of the sight, they say. She sees everybody, she hears every

word they speak.’

Ganga laughed. ‘If that were true, life would be stale indeed.’

✤

On the bank of the Great River.

Looking up at the full moon on the zenith, her head resting

on Ganga’s lap, Saraswati said, ‘Tell me a story.’

‘$ere was once a !sher girl who lived on the banks of the

Yamuna, on the southern edge of Hastinapur.’

‘What was her name?’

‘Satyavati.’

‘It sounds like mine.’

Ganga smoothed the girl’s hair. ‘She was not as beautiful as


you are. But her body carried the scent of musk, and you could

smell her from leagues away, so she was called Yojanagandhi.’

‘I wish I smelled of musk.’

‘It was a trick she learned from a sage she rowed across a ferry

once, on a mist-!lled summer morning.’

‘Are summers on Earth as hot as they are here, Lady Ganga?’

‘$ey are hotter, my dear. Much hotter.’

‘Oh my.’

‘So, as I was saying, Satyavati lived with her father in a !shing

settlement on the Yamuna …’

✤

In the shade of the White Rock, on a warm afternoon.

Saraswati had a blob of water suspended between her two

hands and turned it around without touching it. Her tongue was

wedged in between her teeth. Her blue eyes had turned almost

black as she gazed at the colourless ball swirling in response to

her !ngers’ movements. Out of the corner of her eye she looked

up at Ganga and grinned.

‘Yes,’ said Ganga. ‘Still your mind. Do you feel that you can

speak?’

Saraswati shook her head.

‘$en do not do so. Hold it between your hands for as long

as you can.’

Ganga felt a pang in her heart. She had been well past her

twentieth year by the time she was able to bend water like this.

Saraswati had learned in less than a month what she had taken

a whole year to master. Would she have felt the same way if

Saraswati had been her own daughter? Had Mother ever felt

jealous of her?


She looked up at the sky, as if expecting to hear her mother’s

whispery voice. But all she heard was the rustle of the leaves and

the gurgle of water as it &owed down the smooth surface of the

rock.

✤

$at night, Saraswati did not ask her for a story. As soon as they

had their dinner, she laid out her mat on the porch and went

to sleep. Ganga sat leaning back against the pillar, watching the

young girl curl up on her side. $e sound of a man’s step came to

her ears from the bushes, and out came Nishanta, sta* in hand.

‘You summoned me, my lady,’ he said.

‘Yes, Nishanta. I have an assignment for you.’

‘Anything you command.’

‘You have come home for the summer, have you not?’

‘Yes, my lady.’

‘You do not go back to Earth until autumn, I hear.’

‘$at is so. I go back to Hastinapur for a few months, then on

to Panchala.’

‘I am afraid you may have to go to Earth before that, Nishanta.

On the morrow, in fact.’

‘Tomorrow, my lady?’

‘Yes, this maiden starts at dawn to Mathura, and the journey

is a long and tortuous one. Not something a girl of her age should

endure alone.’

Nishanta bowed. ‘I agree, my lady.’

‘It is my wish that you accompany her on her mission, and

help her in whatever way you can.’

‘How long is she expected to be away, my lady?’

Ganga smiled at the messenger. ‘Nobody can tell. She is to

enter the court of Mathura and win the favour of Kamsa.’


‘For what reason?’

‘She will tell you all during your long boat ride down the river.

I only ask you for one thing. Protect her with all that you have,

and help her with your knowledge of Earth.’

‘Is this the maiden’s !rst visit to Earth?’

‘It is, yes.’

‘$en I shall go with her, as you wish.’

‘I hope your wife will understand.’

‘Wives never understand, my lady,’ said Nishanta, chuckling

in the dark. ‘But if a job has to be done, it has to be done.’

‘$ank you, Nishanta. I shall expect to see you here at dawn,

then, with your travelling sack.’

‘Yes, my lady.’

After he had disappeared into the bushes, after the sound

of his steed had receded, for a long time Ganga sat gazing at

Saraswati. Now, with one arm folded under her cheek and

the other stretched along her side, she bore the appearance of

a priestess. She would make a !ne Lady of the River, thought

Ganga, but even as the words escaped her mind, she reminded

herself that Saraswati would be taking her place, and the cold

spot in her chest returned. Giving up one’s station for one’s child

was one thing, but to give it away to an outsider – well, there was

still time to think of that.

If Saraswati succeeded in this task, the Wise Ones would

be in a hurry to reward her, and what better reward was there

than the position of the foremost lady on the mountain? Already

Meru was abuzz with murmurs about Ganga’s barrenness; she

knew the people would like nothing better than to have a young,

fertile maiden to keep the Water Mysteries.

She brought out her own mat and stretched herself out on

it. She lay on her back so that she could see a portion of the

sky and a few blinking stars. She thought of the Goddess and


immediately felt a warm touch on her cheek. What do you

want from me, Mother, she asked. What do you have in store

for me?

✤

$ey walked hand in hand down the long &ight of mossy steps

to the river. At the base of the White Rock stood a narrow barge,

gleaming wet and black in the morning light. $e oarsman who

stood with his legs spread apart on the edge of the hull appeared

to be straddling the boat, pinning it down against the water.

‘You shall not be nervous,’ said Ganga, squeezing the girl’s

palm. ‘Remember that Earthmen are as human as you and I.’

‘But they think of us as gods, do they not?’ said Saraswati

brightly. Ganga reminded herself that she must not put fear

into the hearts of the young. How nervous had her mother been

that day when she had bade her goodbye? And how happy and

light her own mind had been. Much of Saraswati’s happiness

sprang from ignorance, true, but children must be allowed their

ignorance.

‘$ey do,’ she said. ‘And they do not believe us when we tell

them we are as human as they.’

‘So must I or must I not tell them?’

‘Do what your heart tells you is right. $is is your task.

Neither I nor Vishnu can foresee what awaits you on Earth. $e

choices you make will be yours alone, and they will be neither

right nor wrong.’

Vishnu was waiting for them at the base of the steps. Ganga

saw the dark !gure of Nishanta hovering near the barge. He

stood like a soldier, his hand clutching the hilt of his sword, his

bare shoulders and upper arms already dotted with glistening


beads of sweat. He stared into the distance where the river bent

away, his head cocked, eyes unwavering.

‘I have asked Kubera to accompany you, my dear,’ said Vishnu,

looking at them both. ‘He should be arriving here any moment.’

‘I have two escorts, then, my lord,’ said Saraswati. Ganga

thought she detected a note of sarcasm in her voice, as though

she resented being treated like a child.

‘Kubera has lived for a signi!cant number of months on

Earth, in Gandhar, the city of gold,’ said Vishnu. ‘I trust Lady

Ganga here has told you that tale.’

‘She has, sir, yes.’

‘He will be of much use to you, not only because he knows the

ways of Earth, but also because he will give you all the gold you

need for your task.’

Kubera appeared at the head of the main mountain path, and

as he walked down to the river, he bowed in Ganga’s direction.

He had cut his hair short since the last time she had seen him,

and the gold bands he had then worn around his arms were

now missing. In truth, save for the solitary ring on his left hand,

he wore no jewellery. Quite unbecoming, she thought, for the

treasury keeper of Meru.

$e oarsman heaved all three sacks on board and untied the

ropes anchoring the boat to the bank. Nishanta sprang on !rst

and sat by the hull. Kubera also took his place, near the back.

Saraswati turned one last time to Ganga. ‘My lady, I shall do

my very best.’

‘I know you will, child. $e Goddess will guide your barge

away from troubled waters.’

‘I … I was thinking of something last night. I had half a mind

to ask you this morning.’

‘Yes?’


‘I was wondering if I could use the name of Jahnavi for myself

when I am on Earth.’

Ganga smiled at her. ‘Of course, my dear.’

✤

Apple trees.

For hours they rowed along the narrow stream that led away

from the White Rock, and on both sides of her, sturdy and green

with &aming red fruit, Jahnavi saw nothing but apple trees.

Preceptor Brihaspati had told her that apples were one of Meru’s

staple trade items, but she had had no idea just how many trees

had been planted on the mountain to harvest this one fruit. $ey

did not occur in clumps as they would in a jungle, she noticed.

$ey stood in rows, each one just far enough from those next to

it to have enough space to grow freely.

$e barge proceeded with caution. With each thrust of the

oar the boatman let out a groan of e*ort. Jahnavi had imagined

that travelling downstream in the Great River would feel like

being swept away by a rapid gust of wind, but this felt more like

a restful passage through a still lake. $e overhanging branches

protected them from the sun, and sometimes the apples hung so

close that Jahnavi had to summon all her powers of restraint to

keep from reaching out and plucking a few.

‘We will reach the Cave of Ice in a few moments,’ said

Nishanta. Since the rest of them had made this journey before,

she assumed he was addressing her. She did not know what the

Cave of Ice was, and she did not want to ask.

‘I see,’ she said, gathering some verve in her voice.

‘$e current will pick up a little after we leave the cave,’ said

Nishanta. ‘Our journey will quicken a little after that.’

She was sitting at the back of the boat, next to Kubera. All she


could see was Nishanta’s bare back as he sat at the hull, right by

the oarsman’s feet. She said to Kubera, ‘Lady Ganga has told me

of what you did in Gandhar, my lord.’

Kubera turned to her, as if in surprise, then bowed. ‘$ank

you, my lady.’

‘How do you think we should enter the court of Mathura? I

have heard that Kamsa is an impatient man, and that he does not

have time for strange visitors to his lands.’

‘Yes, my lady. $e last strange visitor to enter Mathura was

Surya, and he &ed with the black stones. So Kamsa’s wariness for

outsiders is understandable.’

$e boat made a sharp turn, and all three of them leaned to

one side.

‘Just so,’ said Jahnavi. ‘$en do we enter bearing gifts, proclaim

ourselves emissaries from Hastinapur or some other land?’

$ey eased into a wider section of the river now, shaped like

the eye of a sewing needle. $e green and red of the apple trees

gave way to a brilliant, blinding white on all sides. Only when

she looked up did she see the blue of the sky. Everything else

– the tops of the conifer trees, the trunks of the banyans and

the peepals, even the whiskers of scampering squirrels – seemed

to be dusted with snow. Water dripped into the river o* half-

melted icicles that hung o* branches.

$e barge slid ahead, cutting across the circular section of the

river. $e presence of all the white puzzled Jahnavi, because she

did not feel the nip in the air. In fact, she had felt colder up at

the White Rock, with all the greenery around her, than she did

here. $e path ahead of them was covered in a light mist, and

as it cleared, she saw that they were approaching a large, sheer

rock, the top of which she could not see. $e boat rowed right

up alongside it, close enough to allow her to touch the mossy wet

surface. She noticed that there were no icicles on this rock and


that it felt warm on her !ngertips, as though she were holding

out her hand to the burning !rewood in Lady Ganga’s hut.

Every few feet or so the oarsman stopped and tapped the rock.

$en he listened for something. $en he moved on.

‘Is this the Cave of Ice?’ she whispered to Kubera. He nodded.

She looked back at the stretch on which they had come

and saw nothing but a blanket of grey fog. $e air seemed to

be thicker here, seemingly making it harder to draw breath.

$e metal frame of the barge was covered in a thousand water

droplets, and yet when she ran her hand over them, they were not

as cold as she expected them to be.

$e oarsman stood straight, with the oar held above his head

in both hands. In a hoarse voice he called out to the rock, in a

tongue she did not understand. He paused and cocked his head,

as if listening for a response. $en he raised his arms again, and

this time knocked at the crags while repeating his chant.

$is time, the rock shook.

$e veil of mist dissolved for a short distance ahead of them

and a tunnel appeared. As Nishanta had promised, the current

picked up, and the boat sped toward it, as if a great mouth was

sucking them in. Jahnavi felt her pulse quicken, but the stoic

masks the men wore on their faces comforted her.

For a few minutes, they rowed inside the tunnel, in absolute

darkness. Jahnavi did not ask how the boatman knew where he

was going. She just clutched her sack tight in her arms and sat

with her chin sunk over her chest. She heard bats shu@e against

one another on the roof, lizards and rats slither into and out of

holes in the walls. $e smell of dead !sh hit her nose, and she

had to grip the edge of the boat to stop herself from throwing up.

$ankfully, a point of light appeared ahead, and it grew larger

and larger until it became wide enough for them to pass through.


$e air had become lighter now, and once again she was able to

smell &owers and rain, but the mist did not leave.

‘Where are we?’ she said.

$e edge of the boat rasped against hard land, and they

anchored it. Kubera got up and gave her his hand. Nishanta

placed two gold coins in the oarsman’s grubby hands, and after

they had all dismounted with their sacks, the black barge turned

and re-entered the Cave of Ice.

‘We shall wait here until the mist clears,’ said Nishanta. ‘We

will take a boat to Hastinapur, and from there, yet another to

Mathura.’

38

CHAPTER THREE

Three days after they had left from the White Rock, they

alighted at Mathura, just as the sun was about to disappear

into the western sky. Jahnavi had wanted to stay in Hastinapur

for longer than the few hours Nishanta had allowed; she had

hoped to perhaps catch a glimpse of Bhishma on horseback,

riding among his people, enquiring after their well-being.

‘$e Kuru kings do not ride on the streets any longer,’

Nishanta had said. ‘It used to happen when Hastinapur was a

small kingdom, a mere vassal of Panchala. Now it is one of the

Great Kingdoms, perhaps the strongest in North Country. Its

High Kings need to be protected, for there are spies and enemies

lurking in every corner.’

Jahnavi had wished to point out that Bhishma was scarcely

a High King. He was a mere regent. But the tone of Nishanta’s

voice stopped her. It was plain from his words that no matter who

sat on Hastinapur’s throne, it was Bhishma who mattered more

than anyone else. Even she had not wished to see Dhritarashtra,

the blind crown prince, or the pale Pandu. She had had no

designs of meeting the princesses either – not the blindfolded

Gandhari or the determined Pritha. But Bhishma, Devavrata –

the man who became a Celestial, the Celestial who again became

a man – he !lled her with intrigue...

$ey had taken a larger boat from Hastinapur along the


Yamuna, with forty other travellers. When they passed the

!shing settlement, Nishanta pointed out the former dwellings of

Queen Satyavati and her people. Here, too, Jahnavi had wanted

to disembark for a look, but Nishanta had said they had no time.

When they passed the island of mist where Satyavati was said to

have given birth to her !rstborn, Jahnavi had shut her eyes and

inhaled deeply, and she had thought she could sense the &avour

of musk in the breeze that came &oating up the river from the

southeast.

$e boat let them o* at the western end of Mathura. $e air

here was thinner than it had been in Hastinapur, and Nishanta

told her that Mathura sat atop a small hillock, which gave it a

fortress-like appearance when seen from a distance. $e land was

rocky and hard as well, she thought, tapping it with the tip of

her foot.

‘Come,’ said Nishanta, leading them along the mud path that

went into a clump of bushes. ‘We shall take a horse cart to the

northern gate, and we shall spend the night there.’

Jahnavi craned her neck downriver, where the boat had just

disappeared. In the gathering shadows of the evening she saw a

few &ickering spots of orange light. $ey moved in quick, quiet

lines across the water, to and fro. A strange anger awoke within

her mind when she thought of Kamsa claiming this section of

the Yamuna as his own. How small was one man’s life when it

stood against an element of nature! How pompous of one man

to claim a river belonged to him!

Kubera walked alongside her as she followed Nishanta.

Even land was the same, was it not? Men erected walls between

them and their neighbours. $ey mounted &ags and claimed

ownership. $is is mine, they said, and that is yours. But not for

long, for I shall come and !ght you, and take all that you own and

annex it to mine.


And yet, what was land? It had existed long before men

had come and kingdoms had arisen. It would exist long after

Hastinapur and Mathura became mere memories. Lady Ganga

would say that all things in the world belonged to the Goddess,

that it was mere folly to think that in our short lives, men could

own anything.

Her slippers were made of the softest leather found on Meru.

$ey cushioned her feet well, but her heels had begun to ache.

On the mountain the land was covered with either snow or grass

or leaves. Even untilled land had a cottony texture to it. One

never needed to protect one’s feet.

$ey came to an opening in the road, where one stone path

branched o* to the east, and the mud road on which they were

walking continued on toward the west. $ree horse-drawn carts

stood along the stone road. One of the riders sat up, collected his

whip and whistled in their direction as they approached.

‘Yes, sir,’ he said. ‘Come and take a ride in our cart. My Chameli

runs as smoothly as the wind. $e dainty lady shall not feel a

thing.’

‘We wish to go to the northern gate of the city,’ said Nishanta.

‘$e northern gate, sir?’ $e rider hesitated. ‘$ey say there is

!ghting going on over there. It will not be a suitable place for a

young lady.’

‘We are emissaries of the king. We wish to speak to the raiding

party from Magadha, and we hope they shall leave us in peace.

Long live King Kamsa.’

$e rider snickered. ‘Indeed. But not too long!’ He waved

them into the cart and pulled on the reins, making the beast

neigh in protest. ‘$ere, Chameli. You have had enough of a nap

since evening. You have become lazy, I tell you.’

Kubera helped Jahnavi into the cart, and the two men sat


facing each other, while she stretched her legs behind the rider.

$e rider looked over his shoulder, and on getting a nod from

Nishanta, cracked the whip on the timber frame of the cart. $e

sound frightened the horse into motion.

‘O* we go,’ said the rider. ‘It will be two gold coins, sir, to the

northern gate.’

‘It was only one two months ago,’ said Nishanta.

$e rider shrugged. ‘Just for you, sir, and the lovely lady, I shall

make it one gold and three silver.’

It was dark by the time they reached the northern gate.

Jahnavi had imagined it to be a grand structure, forti!ed by walls

and armed towers. But it was just a stone arch, not even as big as

the one they had passed through at the Cave of Ice. Two guards

stood by each pillar, spears in hands.

‘$e western gate is better guarded,’ said Nishanta, looking at

her. $ey had asked the cart to leave them a good distance away

from the gate, and after grudgingly paying the rider the extra

silver coin he begged for – I will buy some fresh green grass for

my Chameli, my lady, he said – Nishanta had led them o* the

road, away from the gate, into the woods.

Now they stood covered by bushes and low-hanging branches.

$e spot a*orded a good view of the gate. ‘We shall camp here

for the night,’ said Nishanta.

For the !rst time that evening, it seemed, Kubera spoke up.

‘Where are you taking us, messenger? I thought we were meant

to enter the court of Mathura.’

‘My lord.’ Nishanta bowed elaborately. ‘I request some

patience. May I suggest that we gather some !rewood for the

night, so that we may be able to cook something for the lady? I

have arranged for a tent to be erected not far from here. She can

spend the night there.’


‘First, tell us what it is we are doing here in the woods, and why

we need to spend the night here. Does Mathura not have inns?’

‘It has many inns, my lord. But we wish to enter the court of

the High King, and this is the easiest way I could think of.’

Kubera looked at Jahnavi and bowed. ‘I beg your pardon, my

lady, Jahnavi. I did not know that the messenger would bring us

all the way here. I was under the impression he knew what he

was doing.’

Nishanta smiled, but his eyes glowed red like burning coals. ‘I

shall tell you everything, sir, if only you would sit and slake your

thirst with some water while I gather some !rewood.’

He gestured them to a tree, and reaching into his sack,

brought out a large white cloth he spread on the ground for them

to sit. He placed a sheepskin water tumbler in the corner. Kubera

reluctantly sat down on it, and Jahnavi followed suit.

‘I shall be back in a moment,’ said Nishanta. ‘I am famished,

and I do not like to speak much when my stomach is empty.’

He took longer than a moment. He disappeared into the

woods and returned with his arms full of dried twigs and

branches. He laid them in a heap in the middle of the clearing,

and dropping to his haunches, pulled out from the folds of his

garment two !restones, which he rubbed together until a spark

caught the end of a stick and threw out a line of smoke into the

air. He blew at it gently, moving around it and pleading with it

in murmurs.

‘Do not go away,’ he said. ‘No, no, do not go away.’

He held some dried leaves to the smoke and scattered them

around the heap to spread the !re. Soon a &ame appeared,

hesitant and small. Nishanta took out from his sack a bottle of

oil and sprinkled it over the wood. $e !re became steadier now

and began to lick at the leaves to crumple them into black char.

Jahnavi and Kubera stayed away from the !re; the night was


warm enough. Apart from the occasional sound of squirrels

scurrying by, the forest stood silent. $e trees did not sway.

$e leaves did not move. A layer of sweat had collected under

Jahnavi’s robe, and she longed for the cool bracing breeze of the

mountain.

‘Do we need a !re, Nishanta?’ she asked. ‘It is quite warm here

already.’

‘Forests of Earth are full of wild beasts, my lady,’ said Nishanta,

throwing another log into the !re and emptying the oil container

over it. $en he walked over to where they sat and dropped to his

knees. ‘I have not seen them myself, but these woods are said to

house a great number of tigers.’

‘All the more reason for us to have entered the city and looked

for an inn,’ Kubera said acidly.

Nishanta said to Jahnavi, ‘Remember what the cart rider

said, my lady? $ere is !ghting going on at this gate. For a few

weeks now, Magadha’s horses and Mathura’s archers have been

skirmishing not far from here. I have some eyes and ears in

Mathura, and they too have told me this is true.’

‘How is that any of our concern?’ asked Jahnavi.

‘Normally, it would not be. But now we wish to enter the court

of Mathura and win the favour of the king. Kamsa is distrustful

of all strangers now, and he would have us watched by guards,

even if he did grant us an audience. So we must begin by winning

his trust.’

Kubera sat up. ‘$e Meru people do not use weapons until

they have to.’

‘$is may be one of those times, my lord.’ Nishanta’s voice was

patient, but Jahnavi could see annoyance in his eyes. ‘If we help

Mathura’s archers, if we are able to drive away Jarasandha’s horses

in the next battle, they may just present us to the king.’

‘$ere is an issue here,’ said Kubera. ‘How do we know when


the next skirmish is? Surely we cannot wait here for days on end

for the clash.’

‘My men tell me that !ghting has occurred every morning for

the last four days. $e horses are fresh at daybreak, and it is hard

for archers to see in the gloom of dawn. So Jarasandha’s men will

strike again in the morning. I am almost certain.’

‘Almost certain. What if you are wrong?’

Nishanta bowed. ‘My lord, then we shall go into the city and

look for an inn.’

Jahnavi suppressed a smile.

Kubera was persistent. ‘But there is danger. It is not safe to

place our lives in the hands of these barbarians just to seek an

entry into the king’s court. I can summon as much gold as you

wish in a matter of hours, and we can make a gift of it to Kamsa.

He will not refuse.’

‘High King Kamsa is extremely suspicious of strangers bearing

gifts, my lord. You are right, he will not refuse our presents. He

will take them all, and put us in prison.’

‘You exaggerate.’

‘Besides, Lady Jahnavi here will stay away from sight, hidden

inside the tent. It is just you and I who will go to !ght, and as you

say, they are barbarians. $eir weapons are not sharp enough,

surely, to pierce your armour?’

Jahnavi said to Kubera, ‘Come now, my lord. $is does seem

to be the easiest way to gain entrance into Kamsa’s palace. I know

you have led cavalry units before in the battle of Gandhar, so you

must know their weaknesses. Your knowledge of battle will be of

utmost use to us tomorrow. Will you not help us?’

Kubera removed his crown and placed it on the ground in

front of him. ‘I am just wary, my lady. I have seen many battles

that did not have to be fought. $e Wise Ones have instructed

me not to !ght unless absolutely necessary.’


‘But the Wise Ones do not know matters of Earth as well as

Nishanta does, my lord.’

Kubera tightened his lips and nodded. ‘If it is the lady’s wish

that we !ght tomorrow, of course I shall do whatever I can to

ful!l it.’

Jahnavi clapped her hands in glee. ‘$ere. $at is settled. Now,

Nishanta, you mentioned that you were famished and that we

should eat.’

‘Yes, my lady.’ Nishanta got hurriedly to his feet. ‘Give me a

moment and I shall return with all that we need.’

Again he was gone for more than a moment. But he returned

with a large brass vessel !lled with food. Jahnavi smelled pears

and grapes. A few shiny raisins fell out at Nishanta’s feet as he

approached the !re. ‘Not the kind of fare you will !nd on Meru,

my lady,’ he said, ‘but it is the best I could muster.’

‘And I am certain it will be a feast,’ said Jahnavi, getting up.

Later, their hunger sated, they sat in the clearing and talked.

Nishanta sang in a low voice – must not alert the guards, he

said – about a !sh that carried the seven great sages through a

&ood. It was in an ancient form of Sanskrit, one Jahnavi did not

understand well, so he stopped after each verse to narrate the

story in prose. Even Kubera became more voluble as the night

wore on, telling them about the slaughter of Gandhar’s army by

Hastinapur, and how he had stood by and watched it all happen

by the light of the moon.

Around midnight, Nishanta got up and bowed to Jahnavi.

‘I shall take you to the tent, my lady. We must wake up early

tomorrow, so I suggest you get some sleep.’

$ey walked together into the woods for a few minutes, into

another clearing, this one darker and better hidden. A brown

tent had been erected at its centre. Nishanta raised the &ap in

front and gestured her in.


‘I shall come for you in the morning, after it is all over and safe.’

She nodded at him. ‘Sleep well, Nishanta.’

✤

Jahnavi woke up before daybreak and dressed in her riding

clothes. She had not thought they would need to !ght during

this task, otherwise she would have brought along her sword and

combat knife. She rummaged in her sack and found a sturdy teak

sta* about the length of her forearm that could serve as a weapon

against unsuspecting soldiers. She dove in one more time and

brought out a paring knife, not suited for much else besides

peeling fruit. But she tucked it into her cummerbund.

Tying her hair over her head in two knots, she went out to

meet the men.

Nishanta and Kubera stood facing one another in the clearing.

When she approached, both of them looked up, perplexed.

‘My lady,’ said Kubera, ‘it is not safe for you to witness the

battle. A stray arrow is all it takes for a fatal wound.’

‘I know how to protect myself from stray arrows, Lord

Kubera,’ said Jahnavi. ‘I have trained at Indra’s archery ranges, so

I know my way around a bow.’

She smiled at Nishanta, whose eyes seemed to glow with

admiration. ‘I do not know of many other women of the mountain

who can !ght, my lady.’

‘$ere are many, but not enough. Will you lead us to the place,

Nishanta?’

‘With pleasure, my lady.’

Both men wore light armour. Nishanta carried a shield in one

hand and a machete in the other. Kubera held a sword, but his

arms and head were bare. Only his upper body was covered with

a brown breastplate, which seemed to be made of bull hide. Not


as good as the polished iron armour the lord was used to, but it

would have to do.

$ey huddled together and slid eastward, keeping to the

bushes where possible. Every now and then Nishanta craned his

neck and eyed the arid expanse of land that sloped down from

the northern gate. $e sky had just turned the faintest shade of

poison blue, and if one stared hard enough at the horizon, one

could make out the !rst stirrings of dawn.

When they had reached halfway down the slope, Nishanta led

them o* to the side into the trees. He ducked behind a thicket

and motioned them down to their knees. He placed his palms on

the ground and listened. $en he touched his ear down to the

earth. ‘$ey are coming,’ he said.

On the count of four after the words had escaped his lips,

Jahnavi heard the approaching sound of hooves pounding the

hard land.

In the distance, twenty horsemen came into view, each with

a lance, a shield and a helmet. At about the same time, twelve

archers jogged out of the northern gate behind them and stood

in position, with their arrows set, waiting for the enemy to come

within striking range.

‘We !ght them on foot?’ said Kubera.

‘I tried to get horses, my lord.’ Nishanta’s gaze was !xed on the

cavalry units. He licked his lips. ‘We have the element of surprise.

$ey will not expect us to attack them from the &ank.’

‘I hope we do not surprise the archers as well. I do not think

this armour can keep away the shaft of an arrow.’

‘It is too late now for second thoughts, Lord Kubera,’ said

Nishanta, drawing himself up. ‘Lady Jahnavi will protect us, I am

certain.’

$ey looked at one another for a moment, then at Jahnavi.

$en the three of them ran out into the open, Kubera and


Nishanta moving across the dust toward the onrushing horses

and Jahnavi up the slope toward the archers. When she came

within earshot of the men, she waved her arms. ‘We come to

help!’ she cried out, and the din of the horses !lled her ears.

$e archers relaxed their positions, confused as to whether to

stay focused on their original target or to shoot at her. None of

them had, perhaps, ever seen a woman on a battle!eld, and it had

frozen them into inaction. $ank the Goddess for small mercies.

$e !rst thing she did on reaching the top of the hillock was

to pull out the youngest soldier. ‘You are too young to !ght,’ she

told him. ‘Give me your bow and your quiver.’

$e boy seemed relieved, but he looked at some of his

comrades. None of them seemed to know what to say. ‘Do you

want the armour as well?’

‘No, just the bow and your quiver. $en run back into the city

and bring with you a few more archers.’

Picking up her weapon, she descended on one knee. She set

an arrow to the string, and pulled it back all the way to its head.

Twice for certainty. For a moment the sounds of the world died

down. She picked out the horse she wanted to nail in the !rst

row; fourth from the right. With a whizz the shaft tore through

the air, traversed the length of the land between them in a silent

arc, and drove into the neck of the beast. It neighed and careened

to the ground, taking its rider down with it.

Both Nishanta and Kubera, from the distance, turned to look.

Jahnavi smiled at them.

‘Aim for the horses,’ she told the men. ‘Four of you, cover the

two footmen, and the other six, aim for one horse at a time.’

$ey did not reply, so for a moment she did not know if they

understood her words. Nishanta had just dodged the swipe of a

lance and had leaped into the air to land a stroke at the back of

the rider’s uncovered neck. Jahnavi pulled out two arrows and


sent them one after the other into the horse’s throat. $en a

third one – not hers – &ew into the arm of the rider and threw

him down.

She turned to grin at the archer by her side. He nodded.

$ey inched backward with each volley of arrows, both to

gain elevation and to stay within &eeing distance of the gate.

Now sixteen horsemen galloped at them at full tilt, with two

staying behind to engage with Kubera and Nishanta. Jahnavi

felt something cold touch her spine. In !ve seconds, the horses

would be on them. $ey had time for two, perhaps three draws

of the quiver.

‘Aim for the horses!’ she barked. ‘Aim for any horse you can

hit!’

All eight of them shot into the dust cloud now, leaving

Nishanta and Kubera to fend for themselves, hoping at least

some of their arrows hit their mark. She pulled the string back

to her chest until she heard the stretch in the bow, and when

the arrows left her the string snapped against her wrist and left

bruises. All around her she heard twangs, whizzes, neighs and

cries of the enemy.

‘Move back!’ she yelled, as the cloud of dust covered them.

‘Spread out!’

With three other archers behind her, she ran toward the

woods again, away from the dust, and when they got far enough,

they shot three times each, at least three of them hitting their

mark. But now she heard the sound of lances piercing human

&esh, and the cries of death that rent the air paralysed her arms,

and the arrow slipped from her grip to fall to the ground.

Back in Indra’s barracks, she had heard of battle cries, of the

sound of people dying, of weapons digging into bodies. But that

!rst cry of a soul on its way out …

She staggered back as she saw three horsemen gallop in her


direction, their weapons hoisted. She looked around her, to see

that the archers by her side had already &ed.

Frantically, she drew an arrow and shot at the horse to the

right. $e horseman bore it on his shield. She sent another, this

one aiming at the horse’s neck, sending it crashing to the ground.

$ere were two others. $e riders brandished their swords above

their heads. Even in the glum light of the morning the blade

gleamed.

Her hand wavered. Her throat dried up. Which one should

she shoot !rst?

‘Ah! Ya!’ Two horses pounded in from the left, and in two

blinding swipes, one of a machete and one of a sword, Nishanta

and Kubera sent the two enemy horsemen rolling to the ground.

$en they rode toward the gate, where the other archers were

!ghting.

Jahnavi found herself &anked by men again. $ey ran behind

the horses, and wherever they saw a Magadhan horseman on

foot, they shot him through the arm. By the time they reached

the northern gate, the dust had settled, and Jahnavi saw three

Mathuran men, bruised and battered, huddled around the

mounted Kubera and Nishanta.

Out on the slope, bodies of horses lay strewn. Some of the

horsemen were hobbling back on foot. Some of them lay dead.

Jahnavi tried to swallow, but found that she could not. Her eyes

bulged and her mouth stayed open. Her lungs would not stop

heaving.

Nishanta jumped o* his horse and came to her. ‘My lady, are

you all right?’

She did not reply. He put his arm around her and held her to

his chest. ‘It has gone well. You have done well. You have done well.’

$e oldest of the archers took o* his helmet and stepped

forward. ‘Who are you men? And where do you come from?’


‘We are friends,’ said Kubera. ‘We have come from afar, and

we seek an audience with High King Kamsa.’

$e old man stared blankly for a second. $en he said,

‘Friends. Yes. You saved our lives. $ese skirmishes – they always

end with our archers dying, and they laugh and return to hide

behind their walls.’

‘Well, not today.’

‘Yes. Not today. $anks to you!’

All the archers raised their bows. ‘Yes! $anks to you!’

Jahnavi felt her breath return to normal. She pressed her

cheek to Nishanta’s rough chest and closed her eyes.

‘Take us to High King Kamsa,’ she heard Kubera say. ‘We

have something of grave importance to tell him.’

And the old archer said, ‘Sire, it shall be an honour to present

you to the king. Guards, open the gate!’

✤

Kamsa’s court was smaller than Jahnavi had expected. She was

used to small gatherings – Indra’s court often had no more than

ten attendees – but she had always imagined the courts of Earth

to be teeming with people. So when the old soldier took them

to a room that contained only !ve people besides the king, she

traded glances with Kubera. He seemed to !nd nothing strange

in it. $ey stood by the door because the king had not summoned

them in yet.

She took a long, deep look at Kamsa.

He had a face that reminded her of the grinding stone in Lady

Ganga’s hut, round and hard, with smooth edges. $e ears were

so small that they were covered by the crown, and only tufts of

black hair sprung out from under it. He wore white cotton robes

and his garments were edged with golden silk. $e sandals were


encrusted with gems, as were the rings that adorned each !nger

of each hand.

Jahnavi found herself drawn to his eyes, though. At !rst

glance they had a common look about them, black, not too small,

not too large; but whenever he asked someone a question and

listened for their answer, they turned into sharp daggers and

bore through their subject. His mouth, full and large, was set in

an eternal pout, the corners dragged down by two ridges that

travelled all the way down to his chin.

Kamsa was not the kind of man who would smile a lot,

thought Jahnavi.

Two of the noblemen around him got up from their seats,

bowed to him, and left. Kamsa looked over at the door, and his

eyes met Jahnavi’s for a moment. It took her a second to realize he

had caught her staring at him, and she quickly averted her gaze.

‘Yes, Siddhanta,’ said the High King. ‘You have come to report

another loss to the horsemen of Magadha.’

$e old man who had accompanied them hurried to the

centre of the court. Only an archer could be so rotund and still be

deemed !t to !ght in the king’s army. $e three of them followed

him.

‘My lord, king,’ he said, ‘I !nally – !nally – have some good

news about the battle today.’

Kamsa smiled, a harsh, grim smile that deepened the lines

around his mouth. ‘You had the good sense to &ee with some of

your archers before they all got killed?’ He looked around and the

three courtiers laughed on cue.

‘No, Your Majesty. We won the battle. Six of our archers have

returned alive. We lost only two, and we drove them back to their

gates, my lord. Drove them back!’

Kamsa frowned, but leaned forward in interest. ‘Siddhanta,

did you stop at the arrack shed on your way here?’


‘No, my lord,’ said Siddhanta, and remembered to chuckle. ‘I

am sober as they come. We beat the horsemen from Magadha,

and I daresay we shall beat them tomorrow as well, if they return.’

Kamsa rubbed his chin, the frown not leaving his brow. ‘Who

are these men?’

‘$ese – yes, my lord – these are the kind strangers who

helped us defeat the horsemen. $ey saved our lives, my king.’

‘Indeed?’ His gaze turned, full and curious, upon Jahnavi. ‘$e

lady !ghts too?’

‘Yes, Your Majesty. I have never seen an archer quite like her.

Single-handedly she fought them o*. It was as if, as if ’ – he waved

his hands – ‘arrows were raining from her bow.’

Jahnavi stepped forward. ‘Your chief archer exaggerates, Your

Majesty. We did come to your soldiers’ aid, but it was nowhere

near as heroic as he makes it sound.’

‘And the two men with you? I get the sense I have seen one of

them before, the dark one. Is he from Mathura?’

Nishanta bowed. ‘My brother is a trader in your city, my lord.

We look quite like each other.’

‘Where are you people from? And why did you risk your lives

to save those of my soldiers?’

Kubera, falling in step with the others, said, ‘We come from

the kingdom of Pundra, my lord, a western city that once

&ourished on the banks of the Saraswati.’

‘And what brings you to Mathura? It is a long way from your

city to ours.’

‘$ere is not enough water to keep us alive, sire,’ said Kubera.

‘We have heard of the great irrigation canals of Mathura, and we

have come to see how they are built, so that we can take some

of your knowledge back and build some water reservoirs of our

own. We get two months of rain every monsoon, my lord, and

the rest of the year is a hard toil.’


Kamsa said, ‘And what do you have to o*er in return?’

‘Pundra lies on a vast expanse of arid land, Your Majesty. And

we are descended from wandering tribes who had to !ght for

every meal, sometimes against other men, at other times against

beasts.’ Kubera eyed the noblemen, who, Jahnavi saw, were now

paying attention. ‘We !ght better than most in North Country

on open land. We are experts with the bow and arrow. We have

noticed that while Mathura stands on a hill, the land surrounding

it is &at and uncovered. We think we can teach your armies how

to !ght better when in plain sight.’

‘We have no horses,’ said Kamsa. ‘If we had horses, we would

never lose a battle.’

‘Horses are expensive, Your Highness,’ said Kubera. ‘As

you heard today, skilled warriors on foot can bring down any

horseman.’

One of the noblemen got to his feet, held the ends of his silk

robe, and bowed to the king. He said, ‘We have not ascertained

whence these men have come, my lord. It is my view that we must

not trust them until they show us they have our good at heart.’

‘$ey won a battle for us, Akrura,’ said Kamsa, ‘at great risk to

their own lives. What more need one do to display one’s loyalty?’

‘But, sire, certainly you remember what happened with the

black stones—’

‘Enough! We have spoken about the black stones enough.

We must move on from the things we have lost, Akrura. $ese

travellers – I think it is our duty to honour them, !rst as guests,

then as saviours. For they shall strengthen us in our enmity

against Magadha.’

He looked over at Kubera, who bowed low but said nothing.

Nishanta and Jahnavi did the same.

Kamsa clapped his hands, and two maids appeared from

the side door. ‘Show our guests to our best rooms. Arrange


for their baths. Have the fattest hen from the farm cooked for

lunch.’ He stood up and bowed in their direction. ‘You have had a

dangerous morning, my lady, my lords. Rest awhile, and partake

of Mathura’s famed hospitality. I shall come by your chambers

before sundown, and we shall speak at greater length.’

Jahnavi’s eye met Nishanta’s. A smile appeared at the corners

of his black mouth.

‘Your Majesty is very kind,’ Kubera said, and bent to pick up

his sack.

As they moved to the side of the room, toward where the maids

were standing, Kamsa tossed a golden earring at Siddhanta.

$e old man scrambled after it on the polished &oor. When he

secured a grip on it he tucked it under his waistband and then

joined his dirty hands.

‘God bless Your Majesty,’ he said. ‘God bless Mathura.’

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