The Pandavas and the Kauravas: cousins who should have loved each other like brothers. Instead, both sides of the family were destroyed and all that was left were mothers and widows. There was nothing, no glorious kingdom to rule over for the Pandavas. They won the war, but every single one of their sons was killed. A whole generation of their young lost to them. There was only grief and emptiness for the victors.

For the losers, there was no punishment. Of the hundred Kaurava brothers that were brought into the world, not one remained. All of them lay dead on the battlefield, in a pool of the clan blood and their mother’s bitter tears. The losers had been punished enough.

In the final chapters of the Mahabharata, the Pandavas gave up the kingdom that so many had died for. They wanted to leave the Earth and all of its sadness behind. They journeyed together through the Himalayas to find Heaven, where their dead waited for them—forgiven for their sins and recognised for their virtues.

The Mahabharata had helped her understand. Any human endeavour, whether it be a civil war or a fight for freedom, would be flawed. It was the nature of the species. Each would have their moments, their days and years in which they would either redeem or repudiate themselves.

‘Smrithi will love it,’ she said, touching the first page of the book.

‘She will,’ Vani agreed, serving more coconut sambal onto her daughter’s plate. ‘You can give it to her soon. You must be so excited.’ She sat down next to her daughter. ‘Mahal, are you going to tell her?’ she asked quietly.

‘No, Amma—I just want to see her. That’s all—that’s enough.’

She would be meeting Smrithi and the family in south India in two months. It was the first time since Rajiv Gandhi’s assassination. Dhara had finally agreed it was safe for all of them to return there.

She felt sick with excitement. She watched the news every day on their small set, expecting—fearing—another bomb blast or assassination that would stop her from travelling. She went to bed each night, anxious but relieved that another day had passed innocuously for her; but then stricken with guilt when she remembered the fighting that continued in the north.

Her days and her nights, her breath and her heartbeat were focused on one thing, and one thing only. Smrithi. In two months she would see her daughter.

And she would see her sister. She craved her child, more and more each day—more than she thought possible—and yet she loved her sister just as much. She could not gain anything by taking anything away from her. They were the Pandavas, blessed and burdened to share equally. It had always been that way between them.

Vani touched her gently on the shoulder, bringing her back to their apartment.