‘He….just….cleared the city.’ Akrur voiced the obvious as they stood on the Iron Curfew, watching the carnage of their city in disbelief.

‘We have a moat around the Curfew,’ Kritavarman said. ‘The beasts may be tall but the Walls are still taller. Airavats don’t wear armour. Our arrows will find them.’

‘Can’t take that chance,’ Krishna said, his face grim. ‘Rain, now!’

Orders went out. Wheels creaked and men groaned as they pushed the catapults up the sloping path to the parapets of the Iron Curfew.

‘Krishna!’ Kritavarman said, aghast. ‘Are you planning to bomb your own city? Our Army is still there.’

‘And if you are,’ Akrur remarked laconically, ‘these catapults are too small.’

Krishna said nothing as he studied the small catapults carefully lined on top of the Curfew’s ramparts. ‘Kritavarman, get word out: let the evacuation through the tunnel in the Curfew begin. We cannot wait any longer. Divide them into groups, each group with an armed escort. Do not foolishly send out entire families. Each family leaves behind a man and a woman. Do not let any able-bodied man leave, especially masons, bricklayers, smiths, carpenters; retain them for repairwork. If their families want to wait with them, put them to work as well. Use children to ransack the cupboards for any linen clothes they can find. Since we don’t have any spare iron, get the women to glue linen into strips to make armour for the civilian volunteers. Get the men to strip down buildings and haul the nails they find in barrels to the smiths for arrowheads and spearblades. Understood?’

Kritavarman could only nod in awe, but the sound of grunting pigs distracted him. All the soldiers on the ramparts turned in surprise as a squad of Silver Wolves marched to take position before the catapults, holding the ropes that noosed the filthy oinking beasts. The pigs shone with oil and resin, the same substances Krishna had once smuggled to Yudhistir to coat the Mansion of Lac at Varnavrat. The Wolves positioned themselves in a line and began hauling the pigs onto the spoons of the catapults. The pigs struggled, squealing in alarm, as if sensing danger but unable to do anything for their legs were tied. Kalyavan has his pets. I have mine.

‘What is the meaning of this?’ Akrur asked.

Krishna merely smiled. As the airavats came within shooting range of the catapults, he yelled, ‘Release!’

The resin was lit. The pigs were set on fire. If the squealing had been loud before, it now reached a desperate crescendo. He could barely hear the slam of the catapult arm against the frame over their cries.

The airavats might as well have seen Yama swooping down on them. Their entire frontline was in disarray as flaming, squealing pigs descended from the sky. The airavats ran helter-skelter, trampling their own men. Their bladed-tusks gored each other in their panic. Beasts bellowed; men screamed. The orderly march vanished in moments, replaced by a righteous run for survival.