Princess Draupadi, however, had not graced any of the feasts. Many of the suitors had grumbled at such insolence but Karna scarcely cared. Sudama and Karna had reclined on the couches in ancient fashion, as half-naked servants served them. Sudama had used the elaborate long spoons to taste the sherbets, kept frozen in the cellars by snow brought down from the Mai Layas, while Karna had sipped cool sweet wines.

Karna was not of course, invited to take part in the discussions between the royal suitors that followed every meal, but he did not mind that. It gave him time to explore Kampilya with Sudama. It was the least he could do for his nephew, having promised him a holiday. For a short while Karna forgot the horrors of his past. If not for himself, then for Sudama.

Kampilya, capital of Panchal, was a very different place from Hastinapur. A world of gardens with flowerbeds and splashing fountains. At every corner some musician played otherworldly music under tall, haphazard trees that rustled in the breeze, offering shelter from the sun. They had passed through a bazaar where the stalls were separated by cages that were home to a thousand gaily-coloured birds. Flowers and trees even grew and bloomed on the terraced walls above the stalls. And in the bazaar, it seemed that everything the Gods had so generously endowed on the Riverlands, was for sale.

The air smelled of almonds and lemons. The streets were filled with faces that smiled at the foreigners streaming through their city; one of whom would wed their beloved Princess. Beyond the city, pavilions dotted the riverside, with the shield of one kingdom or the other hanging before each. Sunlight gleamed on gilded spurs and bright steel. Low rows of silken pennants waved in the wind.

Perhaps this is what living in the Crowns feels like, Karna mused. Even the tent allocated to him was enormous, big enough to house an entire Resht family. It was adorned with many-coloured cushions, colourful rugs, and silk hangings that depicted the Panchalan Stag. He had dispatched a raven to his father mentioning all the wonders they had enjoyed, but Karna knew Adirath wouldn’t believe him.

Karna did wish, however, that he could have shared his awe with Duryodhan. But the Prince had not spared him a friendly word ever since the day he had taken the decision to vie for Draupadi’s hand. Duryodhan had written to Mati, promising her his love, but explaining what his duty required of him. Mati had not bothered to respond, and her silence had wounded Duryodhan more deeply than any sword could have done. This only proved to Karna that she had never really cared for Duryodhan. Men were afterall just playthings to her. One went, another came. But he could not tell Duryodhan that.