Krishna’s gaze met Jarasandh’s, like two swords clashing in battle. His heart beat like that of a trapeze artist. The Emperor halted, red rage blazing a trail across his face, the veins stretched taut on his neck. King Drupad quickly came up to Jarasandh, signalling his guards to be ready.

‘Your Grace,’ Krishna bowed. He could feel the eyes of everyone on the terrace stabbing into his back.

‘Evening, Usurper,’ Jarasandh ground out, releasing a hot gust of air. ‘How strange to find you here, walking in the open, without a climbing rope. The Princess isn’t to your taste?’ Only the Emperor could have made such a statement about the Panchalan King’s daughter in front of the King.

‘I have retired from that profession, Your Grace,’ Krishna said, unoffended. ‘Seems that one needs a strong back to abduct Princesses, and frankly I have grown old.’

‘I do enjoy your japes, Krishna. I hope you will still have that smile on your face when I roast you alive and sell your wives as whores to the three corners of the world.’ Jarasandh walked away without another glance.

It seemed the entire terrace let out a collective sigh. Krishna knew it would have taken little for the Emperor to wring his neck right then and there. But Jarasandh was too much of a traditionalist fool to break custom. As Jarasandh walked over to join the motley group of Kalyavan, Shalya, Bhagadatt and Shishupal, all in clashing colours, Krishna felt unease crawling up his back. I still have a lot time before the Armistice ends, he reminded himself. We will be gone to Dvarka in six moons. It will all happen as planned.

‘So, the rumours were true. The Emperor is vying for the Princess’ hand,’ Karna said, rather bemused, breaking into Krishna’s reverie.

‘No, no…’ Krishna replied absently, not looking at Karna. What Jarasandh had said had unnerved him more than he cared to admit. ‘Magadh is represented by Lord Shishupal. He is the one in blue, following the Emperor like a lost dog. I have to go now, Lord Karna. Plenty of things to enjoy and so little time. I am too big on weddings to miss its delights.’

SHISHUPAL was not big on weddings, having been left at the altar at one, and married a monster at another. But seeing the festivities and the feast lifted his spirits. That was the charm of opulence. He had not counted on it, having been forced to watch Bhagadatt’s fighting airavats but an hour ago. Gentle beasts, resembling elephants, only much larger, with four tusks instead of two, pitted against one another within high earthen barricades, fighting until their grey hides were lacerated, their tusks dripping with blood. It had ruined Shishupal’s appetite.