Masha was crestfallen. She didn’t have much time before the deadline ran out. Burned Matron had told her she needed to know about the Sun before she studied the Panchalan Wedding. ‘What do I do now?’ she wondered. Her naming ceremony wasn’t due till the next blood moon. Tears welled in her eyes.

The woman raised her head to look at Masha. She peered at her and coughed. In the House, a cough was equivalent to a slap on the back of the head.

‘Yes, yes, I’m going. There’s no rule to say I cannot sit here.’

There was a pregnant silence, then the woman said, ‘What if…’ she stroked her left tusk, ‘I help you out?’

Masha looked up. ‘Why would you do that?’

‘I used to have visions of him, you know. Of course, I came to know of it only after I was pulled out of oracle-hood. Uhm…’ she cleared her throat. ‘Matronhood didn’t suit me so I chose to be an Archivist, a Keeper of the Scrolls instead. I could help you out. My memory is not what it used to be, so you’ll just have to take whatever I give you.’

Masha felt her heart flutter like the wings of a bird. ‘I would be very much obliged.’

‘Now foundling, what do you know of our dear Karna?’

‘Not much. He was born a Resht. A bad thing in itself, no? To add to the cauldron of calamity, he was born with a rather strange condition.’ Burned Matron’s journal had described how Karna was born with a golden breastplate attached to his skin. Not with divine powers, not with an extra limb, not with multi-coloured eyes, but an extremely inconvenient golden breastplate that made strutting round shirtless impossible.

‘All true.’ The Archivist leaned back in her chair. ‘But biological deformities aside, he had a malady of the mind as well, growing up. He wanted to be something more than he was. As cancerous a disease as any for Reshts were not permitted to be something more.’

Masha nodded. It was not as if career choices for a Resht were limited. They could be sweepers, cleaners, gutter diggers, charioteers, stable boys, animal tamers and so on, but Karna wanted to be a warrior. This was blasphemy, even to the most liberal-minded Ksharja. If he liked weapons so much, Masha thought, why had he not apprenticed with a blacksmith, and made his living at a forge? No, Karna had been stupid enough to want to wield the weapons.

‘Karna entered the Tournament of Heroes in Hastina, to ‘shake things up’ as you foundlings say. The Tournament was touted as a forum for the young Princes of the Kaurava House, the ruling family of the Hastina Union, to show off their skills. But one Prince stood out even before the contest had begun.’

‘Arjun,’ Masha chirped.

‘Are you telling the tale, or am I?’ the Archivist snapped.

‘My apologies.’