Nala hunched over the pot and did not answer. She heard Parshuram grunt behind her. Swallowing, she slowly turned. ‘Master, today is my Matre’s Day of Morning, when the shaman unearthed her from the soil after our ritual; the day we Valkas celebrate as our Name-day. I cannot stop thinking about them, Master. Their burnt bodies must have been gorged upon by vultures.’ She sniffed again. ‘And here I am, learning how to cook, how to speak in languages no one gives a shit about, talking to people with whom I want to have nothing to do; pathetic vermin who complain about trivialities of life when they have no inkling what true sorrow feels like!’

‘Are you done?’ Parshuram wrestled the pot out of her hand. ‘Would you like some tea?’

Suddenly, the dam within her broke, and her thoughts flooded her tongue. ‘No! I have taken a Vachan to never disobey you, for I know I will burn if I do,’ Nala sobbed. ‘But sometimes I feel like breaking it just to be released from the countless hours of learning things that will get me nowhere close to achieving vengeance!’ Nala was panting, her chest heaving with effort. She was afraid to even look up into her Master’s eyes.

‘I need to harm someone! I want release from my pain. I sometimes feel my anger fade away, and that makes me angrier. My brothers were burned alive and here I am, playing with children! I desperately clasp the memories of the wrong done to me with an iron will, but I cannot hold onto them when I am fixated on how much cinnamon to add to your lunch! I don’t want to stop being angry. I have held back grief with the walls of anger, Master. So fucking well tell me whether you intend to help me wreak vengeance or help my spirits, else I will slit my own throat and curse you with my dying breath!’

‘Well, I don’t have any sweet vengeance to offer you today, so it is either tea or nothing.’

Aghast, Nala stormed out of the hermitage. A lifeless wasteland of weathered rock stretched out beneath her. Stars gleamed sadly overhead, their light wavering, as if brimming with tears themselves. She sank to her knees. After what felt like an aeon of despair, she heard Parshuram walk to the door and step out of the hermitage.

‘The languages you learnt were so that you could decipher any letters you grab. They can lead you to the location of your enemy, or confuse your foe into going where you want him to go.’

Nala turned, staring up into his iron grey eyes, speechless.

‘The food you learnt to cook… Did you ever think you could kill Bheem by smuggling yourself into the Palace as a cook and poison his food? Do you think they allow just anyone to be a Palace cook?’

Nala rose and walked towards the Acharya.