Nala was not as well-practised as Ayah. She combed Dhara’s thick, black hair slowly, taking care not to hurt the nine-year-old. Segment by segment, she untangled her niece’s curls and scraped the small colonies of eggs away, wiping the comb on a white rag that was now speckled with the brown roe. As she pulled the comb down from the hair root, she could see the tiny insects disturbed from their homes, fleeing. Some landed on Dhara’s slender neck. She bent down and blew, tickling the child and making her laugh. Dhara leaned back into Nala’s chest, and she embraced her, closing her arms and legs around the child for a moment.

‘Nala mami, tell us a story, please—from the Mahabharata,’ Dhara asked, straightening up and returning to the proper de-lousing position.

Nala smiled. Dhara and Priya loved stories from the Mahabharata. Children were fascinated by the epic war between cousins who fought each other for a kingdom they refused to share.

‘Of course, which one, mahal?’ she asked. There were thousands of stories to choose from. Hindus talked a lot.

‘The one about Arjuna and how he won his wife! It’s so romantic,’ Priya chimed in, freeing herself from Ayah and her powerful thumbnails.

‘No, no, Arjuna is such a goody-goody. He’s boring,’ Dhara shook her head. ‘Tell us the one about Karna, mami. He’s my favourite character.’

‘I know he is, Dhara. He’s mine too. Where shall I begin?’ Nala gave up the combing. Ayah handed her the bottle of margosa oil, which she trickled carefully into Dhara’s curls. The pungent green liquid ran down the canals of hair she had created, and she massaged the child’s head.

Dhara sighed and relaxed into Nala again. ‘Start at the beginning, when he was born, mami. Start with his mother and the Sun God.’

Nala began the story. ‘Karna’s mother, Kunti, was a Pandava princess. Many years before he was born, Kunti had been given an ancient prayer by a sage. It gave her the power to call any god she chose and conceive a child.’

‘Conceive?’ Priya asked. Ayah had trapped her once again between her legs and was smothering her hair in oil.

‘Conceive means to have a baby. We talked about that last time Priya, pay attention please,’ Nala gently reprimanded her scowling daughter. She leaned over and wiped the oil from Priya’s eyebrow before it could drip into her eyes.

‘Before Kunti married her husband, she called on Surya, the Sun God. Poor Kunti hadn’t realised the power of the prayer; she didn’t know it would give her a baby with Surya.’

‘Maybe Kunti should have paid attention too,’ Priya whispered to Dhara. The girls giggled as Nala continued.