Going out of the Iron Curfew was not an option. But they were hungry. They walked to a nearby tavern that was still doing business. On the far wall of the tavern was a mural. Shishupal studied it with narrowed eyes. Krishna sat in the centre, with an assortment of Senators on either side. The citizens were drawn below the table, their hands flung in thankfulness to the sky, enjoying the benefits of the Republic’s good governance. Under this mural, the words For the People. By the People were etched in golden letters. Some crusader for truth had managed to climb up and daub over For and By in streaky black to say: Fuck the People. Loot the People.

The tavern was filled with an echoing quiet made of absent sounds. No drunken brawls, no sizzling overcooked meat, no clanking of goblets, no chatter of voices. Men huddled together, drinking with quiet determination, in silence. The blackstone hearth in the corner held the heat of a long dead fire. The barkeep stood behind a rickety table, ready to dive behind it at the first hint of trouble.

Into this desperate quiet walked Eklavvya, the God of Noise. ‘Lads!’ he shouted. ‘Is this a tavern or a mourning house? You men act as if there was a siege going on outside.’

‘Bugger off!’ one of the men growled.

‘Now they will not stare at us for the fear that we might walk to their tables and strike up a conversation,’ Eklavvya whispered to Shishupal. ‘And our cover will remain intact.’

Shishupal sat down wearily at the first empty table he found. They’d been holed up for two days in Lady Rasha’s servants’ quarters. Nothing came in. No messages, no food, no water, nothing. Eklavvya and Shishupal were down to their last coins, and the siege was just picking up. Shishupal raised a hand and called for two hot meals. He sat morose, pretending to listen to Eklavvya’s monologue. So far, they’d managed to confirm that it was only the Greeks at the gates. No Lion or Airavat banners flew in their ranks. Kalyavan had acted on his own. That idiot! But he did hope Kalyavan won, for if he was defeated, it would weaken Jarasandh’s unified front, and the Yamuna Wars would drag on for another ten years.

‘Hoy!’ Eklavvya knocked heavily on the table, startling Shishupal. ‘You got some hungry men in here!’

The barkeep finally appeared with two bowls of stew and some flatbreads. ‘Nine marks,’ he said.

‘What!’ Shishupal was aghast. ‘These cost no more than one mark.’

‘War time prices.’ The man nudged him in the direction of the door. ‘See the sign there?’ There was indeed a sign that read: Praices defferent in War Taime.

‘Quite the motivational quote,’ said Eklavvya.

The barkeep was not amused. Grudgingly, Shishupal tossed him all the coins they had. Before the man could leave however, Eklavvya caught him by the collar. ‘Now that you’ve robbed the both of us, Eklavvya feels you owe us some generosities too.’ He slid his knife up and down the man’s thigh.