‘No one knows. He’s an exotic and unpredictable mix. Your Ammamma had an enormous Great Dane for a long time, but he died just after you were born.’

‘Carlo, I know.’

‘Yes, Carlo. Nandan mama named this one after a famous cricketer, of course. I’ve made you some lunch—it’s your favourite,’ she said, showing Smrithi the plate of boiled rice, dhal and ghee.

‘Feed me,’ the girl commanded.

‘I would love to.’ She began mixing the food together with her right hand. The ghee melted quickly and pooled in the valleys of rice. She blew quickly on the first steaming ball which she put into her daughter’s mouth.

‘Ah—ah—ah—hot!’ Smrithi whimpered, opening her mouth wide. Dhara reached over and blew hard into her mouth, cooling the rice.

‘Better? I’m so sorry, mahal, let’s wait a few minutes. Shall I tell you a story in the meantime?’

‘Yes please, mami. From the mabara please. Amma tells me those stories at night.’ The little girl leaned back onto Clive’s prone body and made herself comfortable. He beat his tail once and then conceded.

‘The mabara? The Ma-ha-bhara-ta.’ Dhara laughed. ‘Perfect. Has Amma told you her favourite story from the Mahabharata yet?’

Smrithi shook her head against the dog.

‘Her favourite story is about the marriage of Draupadi. She was a beautiful princess from a very wealthy and important kingdom. Her father, the king, held a competition to find her a husband.’

‘A competition? You mean like a spelling bee? Vivek won his. He can spell anas—the doctor that makes people sleep,’ Smrithi sat up and opened her mouth for a rice ball.

‘He can spell anaesthetist? That’s impressive. This competition was a little different to a spelling bee. Princes from all across India came to the competition.

‘To win Draupadi, the princes had to be able to use Lord Shiva’s divine bow, and hit the eye of a fish that was hanging from a string and spinning around. And they were not allowed to look at the fish.’

Smrithi’s eyes widened. ‘How could they shoot the fish if they couldn’t look at it? That’s unfair!’

Dhara licked her finger and wiped a smudge of parappu from the side of Smrithi’s mouth. ‘Hold still. The king was trying to make it very difficult, so that only the greatest, most worthy of princes would win his daughter. The princes were only allowed to look at the reflection of the fish in a bowl—they had to work out how to shoot it from that.’

Smrithi shrieked, waking up Clive who stumbled to his feet and immediately collapsed again, exhausted from the effort.

‘That is impossible!’ she shouted.

Dhara laughed. ‘Not impossible—just very, very difficult. Now which prince in the Mahabharata was such a skilled archer that he could do that?

‘Arjuna, of course!’ the little girl replied, triumphantly. ‘He was the best.’