Krishna did not favour the term ‘Dictator’, for that had been his rallying cry when he had brought down Kans. Also, because he never told anyone what to do. He didn’t have to. Most of Krishna’s efforts had been directed towards arranging set-pieces so that the state of affairs most conducive to him, continued. Of course, there were groups who wanted him brought down, who hated him, but that was a healthy thing, necessary for a well-functioning society. After all, he’d founded most of those groups himself, using his pawns. The same pawns he used to keep these groups bickering with each other over grit and weevils while he ate the rice. Humans, he mused, were beautiful things. Once one understood how to pull the strings. He hoped Dvarka would be more of the same.

Near the Third Sister, a skeletal group of soldiers were practicing drills. The Republican Army was on one side, with a section of the City Guard behind them. The Silver Wolves were on the other side. There was a commotion underway and Krishna asked Dahanu to slow the chariot as they rounded the bend to the gates of the Third Sister.

Balram, who was observing the commotion with a jaundiced eye, walked up to a Silver Wolf who held her sword in one hand but did not possess another to hold the shield. ‘What’s your name, soldier?’

‘Misery, Lord Commander!’ she replied.

The Republican Army men sniggered in the background. Balram looked up at the Third Sister behind him. Krishna followed his eye-trail to see the distant figure of Satyabhama lounging on the ramparts, both legs hanging dangerously. ‘I understand enlisting women, but this one is disabled, Lady Satyabhama!’ he shouted through his horn. ‘Her shield hand is missing. How will she defend herself? How will she be part of a phalanx? How will she…’

Balram was silenced as Misery’s fist lashed out and caught him on the bridge of his nose. Balram’s head snapped back but his feet did not budge so much as a whisker. Misery screamed and wheeled around, her one hand pressed between her legs, as if she’d just hit a stone wall. A healer immediately rushed to her. A fractured wrist.

Deathly silence fell, till the faint sound of Satyabhama’s mocking laughter echoed from above. Even Storm, beside Krishna, couldn’t help chuckling. The sound sent a chill down his spine. This could get ugly. The Republican Army, which served under Balram, raised their spears. The Silver Wolves gripped whatever weapons were handy.

Then Balram smiled. His nose wasn’t even bruised. ‘Very well, Misery.’ He bowed. ‘Accept my thanks for correcting me. You can be part of the squad, but not the phalanx. We will find you duty more suited to your punching skills. But before that…ten rounds of the Iron Curfew before the sun sets and no milk in your rations for two days.’