‘That isn’t soup. That’s saktu, a powder mixed in water. It’s an accompaniment to a meal.’ He added, ‘The mortals misheard and now they call it “sattu”.’

Laughter rang out among the gathering. Even the solemn-looking rishi on Aman’s left let out a snicker, his protruding belly shaking, but the young girl laughed the loudest. Aman saw her eyes for the first time—a familiar green.

The conversations and banter continued. Gifts were presented to the deity with four arms—both verbal and ornamental. This went on for a while. Aman wondered how long he would be here. His thoughts began drifting away as he seemed to have no place in the gathering. Where is my mother? Why did she let me be taken away like this? But he had to snap out of this self-pity when he noticed a palpable shift in the atmosphere. Everyone had fallen silent as the deity stood up. ‘Let us satisfy Agni and pray from the Rigveda before we eat,’ he said, holding out his two arms that contained the fire.

Everyone got up, carrying their bowls, and sang along as he recited a hymn:

This is the hidden name of butter:

‘Tongue of the gods’, ‘navel of immortality’.

We will proclaim its name;

Sustain it in this sacrifice by bowing low . . .

The deity locked eyes with each member of the hut one by one as if bestowing his appreciation. But he skipped past Aman as if he didn’t exist. Even though he had no idea of the significance of this act, Aman was aware of the sense of deep neglect he felt.

These waves of Butter flow like gazelles before the hunter;

Streams of Butter caress the burning wood.

Agni, the fire, loves it and is satisfied.

With the final strains of the song, a strong draft burst into the hut and extinguished all the flames in the bowls. Silence swept over the gathering, and tense faces turned towards the four-armed deity. But his smile remained, and the flame in his hands burnt strong, licking the air.

Within moments, all the bowls slowly found fire again and relit themselves. Everyone cheered. The feast commenced and the accolades resumed. The deity sat down and served the little girl some apupa. One of the sages turned to him and said, ‘Oh, Lord Indra. We are so grateful to you for fire.’

‘The mortals have long deserved it,’ Indra said. ‘They will be able to keep themselves safe from the dark, and it’ll allow them to cook.’

Another rishi spoke. ‘The true gift that you have bestowed upon us mountain dwellers is the deceased body of the snake-demon, Vritra, which will provide unparalleled protection through its large lifeless body. The valley will need it.’

‘The snake will indeed do you good and keep this land secluded,’ the deity said in a gentle voice.

‘Oh, King of the Gods, my people thank you for the grass of kusha, for now we have something to feed our land. The soil will not erode, and we can consider settling down,’ one of the clan chiefs showed his gratitude. ‘And of course, the earliest of the sacred texts, the Rigveda. Its importance shines above all.’