Storm spat. ‘Damn prophecies. They are nothing but conspiracies by Namins to stay relevant. I remember one around my birth as well. Sure got my mother riled enough to hang herself.’

Rain sighed. ‘Calm, you might want to pass that ale around. We’re about to go into a tunnel, and we will need our nerves about us. Especially if Storm keeps talking.’

‘Aye Captain, right you are. Listen, you ungrateful wenches, two mouthfuls each, then I get the rest. More than two swallows and I cut you down where you stand.’

‘Aren’t you such a doll, Calm,’ Storm chuckled.

Draupadi was taking measure of the women around her. All strong. All worried. She was sure the sentiments inside the Hall were much the same as in all the tents along the Curfew. Some could not hold their bowels. Some could not stop drinking. Some prayed. War was an ugly business. But Draupadi was secure in the knowledge that she was too important a hostage to be harmed. While Satyabhama’s words that flesh interested battle-drunk soldiers more than gold, had worried her, she now knew she would be among the first to escape through the tunnel, guarded by these brave women. She felt safe.

‘Rain! Storm took more than three sips!’

‘Storm,’ Rain said, ‘one more sip and I promote you.’

Storm hastily gave the jug back to Calm. ‘Apologies, Captain. I promise-no more!’

They heard a low whistle and a sudden stirring outside. ‘War Mistress is back. It’s time. Cutters to me. My Lady, Piety will escort you to the Keep.’

‘I will pray for you all.’

‘Pray that Rain gets some stamina,’ Storm quipped.

‘Oh, shut up, Storm.’

I

Krishna wiped the grime from his face as he walked away from the smithy where men were pouring metal into moulds for arrowheads. They needed thousands more if the Greeks came calling in full strength. He passed the makeshift cages and pens by the Walls, where goats and hens huddled together, their numbers severely depleted. Sighing, he craned his neck up to see the archers resting on the Walls, untroubled by the commotion below.

While they had lost many of their airavats, the Greeks had not lost their spirit. Last he looked, they were squatting in houses, the ones not levelled by the airavats, making themselves comfortable. He did not know what they were waiting for, nightfall, beasts or something new. In any event, Mathura seemed to have earned a respite