And so it was that the citizens of Mathura carried on their mundane lives as if a caravan of street magicians and cracker-makers had appeared at their gates, rather than the army of the greatest Empire in the realm. They knew this attack was not the end but a blazing, fiery interlude. The bombardment and harassment would go on for another few weeks, till the enemy ran out of supplies or the monsoon set in, whichever was earlier.

But turns out this day was to be different.

‘Krishna, look!’ Satyabhama’s voice was urgent enough for him to obey without a quirky retort. He turned cautiously, following her pointing finger towards the Third Sister, where the Magadhans were climbing the ramps. But there was no fire to welcome them. Instead, more Magadhan rocks sailed over the Third Sister to land inside the city.

‘What the...’ he exclaimed, nonplussed. Had they invented a new catapult? Or were there traitors in their midst? He lifted his eye-glass again. ‘Why aren’t the soldiers lighting up the ramps?’

As if in answer, the clouds of smoke from the hutments shifted to reveal that the rocks sailing over the Third Sister were made of flesh, not stone. The Magadhans were tossing bodies over the Third Sister in a rain of cadavers. And Krishna was sure these bodies were alive when they were loaded onto the Magadhan catapults.

Only one person had the stomach to even think of something so barbaric and dishonourable. The Yaksha of Goverdhun had come to visit.

II

Mathura’s wealth, in comparison to its size, wasn’t the only thing that fazed its neighbours. The realm of Aryavrat followed the traditional hierarchy of humans set out by the First Empire, classifying them into four distinct castes – the Namins or priestly class, the Ksharjas or warrior class, the Drachmas or coin men, and the Resht, the lowborn – all struggling against each other in a murky mess of malice and might. But the struggle was especially pronounced in Mathura, for when the Republic was formed, men in pursuit of equality, scratched off their caste marks. Some said it had been Krishna’s masterful vision because they suspected Krishna was a lowborn himself, but such rumours had never been proven.

What was proven, however, was that nothing creates more chaos than equality. It was a useful illusion of course, but it carried its own share of troubles, for suddenly every man began to believe the throne and power could be his for the taking. Unfortunately for them, Krishna revelled in chaos. He had managed to frustrate and infuriate the nobility across caste lines, to the extent that they had long since abandoned their attempts to assassinate him. They now contented themselves with jockeying for positions under him instead. Everyone except his elder brother.

Balram paced outside the Senate, his heavy armour clanking with every step. His hulking, seven-foot figure cast ghastly shifting shadows on Krishna, who lounged languidly on the Senate steps.

‘Will you stop your frantic pacing, Balram? It is giving me a headache.’ His brother was many things – a man of straight lines, clean uniform and a lack of caution that afflicted most men of his age. A military commander and warrior like none other. But he had no understanding of the virtues of moderation. He had the kind of generous nature that reckoned panic was not something you hoarded for yourself; you shared it with family.