‘I see the tyke here knows everything.’ Shishupal tickled Sudama in the ribs and the boy’s innocent laughter filled the gallery, doing more good to Shakuni’s spirits than the goblet in his hand.

A hundred conch shells sounded, and the entertainers stopped performing in their suspended cages. A blanket of silence fell over the arena. Drupad rose.

‘And so it begins,’ Shishupal whispered morosely.

‘Kings and Lords, Paladins and Princes,’ Drupad spread his arms wide, ‘I welcome you all to the noble city of Kampilya. I thank you for honouring us with your gracious presence this week. The moment of reckoning, however, is now upon us. I therefore declare the swayamvar of Draupadi, Princess of Panchal, open to all. May the best man win!’

A hundred tiny mirrors installed on the ceiling, turned together to reflect the light of the rising sun onto Draupadi. It was apparent none had thought to inform her of the arrangement. She blinked her eyes, trying to focus through the blinding brightness. The loud cheers from the stands were drowned in the beating of the big drums, their wide rims covered with hide, stretched taut.

Prince Satrajit rose and lifted a hand. The arena shuddered as if an earthquake had struck. The tremors sloshed some of the wine from Shakuni’s goblet onto his thighs. Perfect. Unseen hands pulled a dozen ropes and the centre of the arena split apart to reveal a small lower level under the bronze archway. There stood a large brass container, filled with water, on the surface of which could be seen the reflection of the rotating wheel and fish above.

‘What in the name of Vayu is that?’ Bhurishravas asked.

All those assembled had the same question on their lips as they craned their necks to see, brows furrowed in surprise.

‘He means for the contestant’s arrow to hit the fish on the revolving wheel,’ said Bahlika, who had been an archer of renown in his younger days, though seeing him now it was impossible to imagine he had ever been young. He had more wrinkles that a sack of prunes, and looked like he had been born that way.

‘It’s a modification of the Isle of Mirrors,’ Karna said, thinking aloud. ‘The archer has to look at the reflection of an object and hit the target. Only here, the target involves a fish on a revolving wheel at a height of more than two hundred hands, where the air current more than the arrow itself, will determine the hit. And the fish is not reflected in clear glass but in the murky waters below.’

Bahlika nodded. ‘Made trickier as the archer must stand on the artificial surface, and not next to the water.’

‘Why would that be an issue?’ Shishupal asked.