‘There,’ she said. Priya moved over to receive her shadow of a pottu. Nala rubbed noses with her daughter. ‘I love Karna and I love you,’ she said, looking at both the lustrous little girls. The children ran off to admire her handiwork in the mirror.

•

Ayah ran from the main house into the surgery and burst into Rajan’s office. Her words tumbled out as disjointed as her body, in a mix of Sinhalese and English, falling all over the room. She kept repeating, ‘Nandan Baby, Nandan Baby.’

Rajan was too stunned to reprimand her for disrupting his consultation. It took him a few moments to realise that there was danger in the house and her Nandan Baby was its target.

He nodded and stood up silently, his mouth suddenly dry. Ayah ran the length of the path faster than he thought her bowed legs could carry her. Following her, Rajan entered their shrine room to see his wife frozen by the doorway, the words caught in her throat and her arm outstretched towards their little son, Nandan.

‘Nobody move,’ he whispered.

Breathe, breathe, he told himself.

Breathe. Now slowly, quietly breathe. In and out.

‘Nobody move,’ he said again.

What was that noise? Why was there so much noise in the room?

Breathe.

He realised the noise was his heavy, frightened breathing. The room was silent, both women paralysed with terror.

Little Nandan sat at the altar of their shrine room. He was sitting on his bottom with his chubby legs bent in front of him, his belly hanging over his nappy and rolling into the space between his thighs. There was a king cobra standing over him. Rajan couldn’t think. The cobra’s hood was splayed out, casting a shadow on the baby’s smooth belly. He could see the markings on its majestic head shimmering in the afternoon light. He couldn’t tell if the snake’s mouth was open. It was standing between him and his son.

Nandan’s body was covered in holy ash. He looked like a contented little Buddha in a loin-cloth nappy. He had loaded the offering of jasmines into the container that previously contained the holy ash and, judging by the mango debris strewn around his body, had eaten the fruit that was intended for Lord Shiva.

Nobody move, Rajan prayed.

Nobody.

The cobra moved.

He started calculating—he had polyvalent anti-venom in his fridge, he had a tourniquet and a scalpel, he would need 20ml for the first dose, administered at a rate of 1ml per minute.

Where were his needles? Where were his needles?

Breathe.

His needles were where they always were: the cupboard on the left, second shelf. He could run, load, and inject within minutes. He could do this. He could do this.