KRISHNA had already wasted the better part of an hour inside Draupadi’s chamber. The Queen had left long before. Through the door, Calm heard the soft sound of Krishna’s flute, mingled with the occasional carolling of a song. Krishna’s voice was muffled by the thick walls but the verse was known to all: When you need shelter from the rain, I will be there for you time and again. Inside the room, Draupadi lay reclining on a pile of cushions. Her black hair was tousled, her robe of orange-gold samite, caught the light of the lanterns and shimmered as she shook with laughter at Krishna’s farm jokes.

‘I have another one,’ Krishna said. ‘What do you call an angry sheep and an angry cow?’

Draupadi laughed, shaking her head. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Baaa...aaad moooo...ooood.’

Draupadi giggled in amusement and poked Krishna. ‘Stop it, you! That was terrible!’ She rose and went over to the table to admire herself in the mirror. As she turned and twisted, considering her reflection, the candlelight bounced strangely around her, throwing Krishna’s face alternatively into light and shadow.

‘Farm life was tough. Jokes were all we had growing up. By the way, your face has seen better days, my child,’ he said dryly, knowing that sometimes the best medicine for pain was indifference.

‘I didn’t know he was…’

‘I know you did not, but I bet you enjoyed it. He is quite handsome, the Resht. But life is not a fairytale, my sweet friend. Some day you will learn that to your tragedy.’

‘Why is it always a tragedy with me, Krishna?’

‘You are a grown woman now, as beautiful as a song. In our realm there is nothing but sorrow for such curses.’

‘I can never tell whether you are complimenting me or insulting me.’

‘Be a glass-half-full person,’ Krishna winked, putting the flute aside to pick up the pot of salve near the mirror. He gently dabbed some of it onto her cheek where the imprint of a palm remained clear, even in the shadowy light. He blew softly on the cheek and saw Draupadi flush. I still got it, he thought mischievously pleased.

‘How go the preparations for my auction?’ Draupadi asked distractedly.

‘Now, now... auction means someone has to pay to get you. Here, your father is paying someone to take you away. Surely you must be quite the troublemaker, Draupadi.’

She nudged him playfully again. ‘Krishna, I have a query.’ He could see she was trying to find the words, or perhaps the courage. ‘Why are Reshts considered inferior?’

Krishna’s eyes suddenly focussed intently on Draupadi, and his lips moved sideways in a smile. ‘Before I answer, what has fuelled this…query?’

‘Intellectual curiosity.’

‘That’s very good.’ Krishna sat down and began fiddling absently with a peacock feather. Without looking at her, he said, ‘And here I presumed it was a consequence of your steamy performance.’