III

The Kaurava Mansion was a humble house tucked between two towering spires of wind sculpted rock carved into a high peak. At the door of the Mansion, they were rudely pushed around by the guards, who sneered at them with contempt till a word from their sergeant had them escorted inside. Nala felt embarrassed. For some reason he had thought Prince Bheem’s invitation to dinner was to be private, not a mass charity feeding of the indigent. Matre was just happy the Prince had invited Nala personally, while his brothers were excited to see royalty. It had taken an hour of persuasion, but Caani had promised to behave, which meant not challenging anyone to a death-duel.

Amidst the jostling crowd, Nala found himself pushed away from his family. A glance at the queue behind him and he abandoned the idea of leaving his spot to find them. The queue wound through many turns of the stairs before a hall could be discerned. Nala observed that most unusually, there were no demarcations between the castes. They all stood clogged together, their bodies pushed against each other as they waited their turn to sit in the dining area. Here they were all defined in a single common category: Poor.

Nala spotted one or two odd Namins, who had dared to be present in the same queue as members of other castes. Must have been really hungry. There was a Namin right in front of him, completely draped in ragged saffron robes. Judging by the colour of his matted hair, he was ancient enough for Nala to take a step back to avoid stumbling into him and risking a shrap.

After what seemed an eternity of moving glacially up the stairs, they reached the eating halls. Banners of black eagles in a sky of red hung on the walls. Hmm…this isn’t the Kaurava sigil. Has it changed? Nala shrugged. What did it matter to him? In the dining area he could see rows of men and women gorging on what smelled like heavenly food. Over the throng, chandeliers swayed in the mountain breeze that wafted in through the long windows. The aroma of rice and fish permeated the air.

But above all, the musky smell of lac pervaded the Mansion. Nala looked up to see where it was coming from, just as a beam in the ceiling gave way, threatening to drop like a sword on the neck of the condemned. Acharya Craw’s training pulsed through his mind as he yelled a warning and crashed against the Namin, barely able to take him down with him. There were shrieks and cries as the beam fell behind them. Nala felt a sharp pain and raised his hand to his collar bone. He had hurt it crashing down with the Namin.

‘My apologies for touching you, Reverend One. I am a Valka,’ he quickly confessed.

‘Quite so.’ The Namin rose, a queer look on his face. ‘It seems you saved my life.’