It was only after Acharya Ashwini intervened, pulling Sanaka back—telling him of Aman’s courage when fighting the kirtimukha—that he stopped. But Sanaka continued to swear under his breath.

Sanaka noticed Aman wrinkling his nose at the smell. ‘Oh! Is it bothering you, Servant of Samsara? But don’t you see, nothing should bother you right now or you might find that both the councils of the Sabha and Samiti learn of your escape from the Seven Hills.’ Sanaka spat out the words. He took another drag of his chillum and blew smoke in Aman’s face. ‘What have you really taught them, Pratham Sadhu? These recruits are so far from accepting our ways. This,’ he said, shaking his chillum vigorously, ‘is a staple to us who have taken saffron.’

There was no saffron on him—just the dull beige of his belly above the white of his dhoti. Sanaka continued in an imperious tone, ‘Now, explain yourself.’

Acharya Ashwini started to narrate to Sanaka the events that led up to the cremation of the kirtimukha, from the moment the students had arrived at his boat-hut to the log that allowed them passage past the Varunasmati.

Sanaka was silent at first. His rage was palpable, just simmering below the surface as he heard what they had done. What followed was a moment of profound silence—strong enough to hush the patter of the bazaar, the trill of the birds, the rustle of the hay. The village seemed to have fallen quiet.

He gave them individual chilling looks, conveying each and every sinew of his fury, and thundered. ‘I see no God-fearing eyes. Oh, Father, how shall they pay? Some of them don’t even belong here.’ He stole a glance at Fayza. ‘LISTEN TO YOUR PUNISHMENTS: Utensil cleaning at Aahaar, raking leaves by Pandayam Tal, collection of cow dung and timber, and one of you—divide these tasks among yourselves—collect these for me every day,’ he shook his bowl of woodsorrel leaves in their faces, ‘FOR THE ENTIRE WINTER!’

Aman steadied himself. Prithvi looked down. Before Sanaka could add anything, Acharya Ashwini untied the parchment from his waist and handed the animal skin to the short man. ‘It was beyond me too, Sanaka. All of it, the kirtimukha, the poor child snatched by the eagle’—he put his hand on Prithvi’s shoulder—‘until these Souls here salvaged this.’

Sanaka’s expression was full of scepticism as he started to read the letter. But as he continued, it was evident it contained words of significant import. Eventually realizing he had an audience, he brusquely turned around with the parchment and went past the curtain of wooden beads. He shouted from the small room, ‘How this abduction was contrived, we cannot tell. But your safety here relies on the thin stick that is self-control. I urge you, Souls, the lot of you, to consider the consequences if you think of overstepping the ring again, for the wild will have you alone this time without help. The Dronagiri woods are fraught with danger and infested by those you have only heard of in stories. Keep that in mind—Now off you go . . . Ashwini, you stay back.’