Karna had heard of Kalyavan. The Greek was a sleek, smiling boy whose fame with the sword, along with his flamboyance, was a byword on both sides of the Saraswathi river. He had been kind to Karna and Sudama at the feasts last week. But no matter how kind, the other suitors always called him Mlecchá the moment he left the room. Karna reckoned he had it better, for people never had to speak behind his back. Reshts didn’t deserve such decencies.

‘I don’t see the Emperor anywhere,’ Sudama said, standing on tiptoe and craning his neck to look around.

‘You will not miss him when he does arrive,’ Shakuni assured him wryly.

Shakuni pointed to many more representatives of the different glittering kingdoms of Aryavrat: Shishupal, Claw of the Imperial Army, dressed defiantly in Magadhan fatigues. The young Lady Chitrangada of Manipur, a foxy lady who wore a sharp red coat over thigh-high boots of deerskin. Karna had heard of the fierce women warriors of Manipur, where daughters and not sons carried on the family name. The grey-skinned Bhagadatt, the last Rakshasa of the East, stood still as a frozen shadow. Karna knew of this Eastern King, whose father had been slain by Lady Satyabhama, but this was the first time he had seen him. He seemed uninterested in whatever Kalyavan was saying to him. His hair was sharply combed over his grey skin, and his red eyes glittered like rubies in the night.

Karna still could not believe he was seeing a real Rakshasa. It was often said that Man had conquered this realm by fighting against the Nagas, the Vanaras and the Rakshasas – the stronger, larger and faster races – by virtue of being blessed with sharper minds. Nothing could have been further from the truth. Men had achieved the feat by their sheer appetite for brutality. Man had conquered the new world in order to rule over all the other races, yet forgot to leave any space for them.

‘I can see a man churning kulfi!’ Sudama cried gleefully, pulling at Karna’s hand and dragging him relentlessly through the throng of Kings and Queens.

As they threaded their way through the tables, they came upon the crowning glory of the Fourth Order – an edible sculpture of the realm of Aryavrat. The rivers ran deep with some blue liquid that was being poured in by an Acharya standing beside the sculpture. Each major kingdom was represented by a crystallized gulab jamun with a sigil on its soft brown surface. The deserts to the West were adorned with brown jalebis, while the forestlands were packed with green sweetmeats made of pistachios and clarified butter. Yellow ladoos decorated the plains of the South, while dark green kalakand4 made up the forested Eastern Kingdom.

‘Uncle,’ Sudama said cautiously, ‘I think we should find another sweet table. There is no way we can eat from there without…’

‘Destroying the whole thing? Yes, I agree,’ Karna responded without hesitation. ‘I fear it is not for eating.’