Shishupal noticed the dark circles that ringed Visharada’s eyes. He was under the influence of opium. Coatings of moongrain dotted his nostrils. A surge of sympathy flooded Shishupal’s soul for this defeated King who had lost a lot more than a kingdom. My Emperor, what have they done to you? What has pushed you to…this?

A messenger came up to Shishupal and saluted. ‘His Grace commands that you see him before you journey North.’

The invisible chains that bound his soul tightened, suffocating Shishupal in their angry embrace. But he merely nodded, making his peace with his fate.

‘Mayasur, go home and pack.’ Hearing no response, he turned towards the squire, but he had fainted, his body held upright only by the railing on which he leaned limply. Shishupal sighed. ‘Have someone bring some water,’ he said, but the messenger barely heard him over the collective gasp of fifteen arrows that finally sent the children to sleep.

I

The wind in the tunnels shrieked to a fierce chorus. Like hungry worms in old wood, the Mathuran miners had ravaged the belly of Mathura to create its twin tunnels. Krishna and Satyaki were winding their way through the twisting path of one of these. Their footfalls sounded hollow in the gloom. Satyaki looked around at the entombing rocks in fear. Tunnels terrified him. To Krishna, this was completely irrational. Yes, tunnels did collapse and people were often buried alive. But so did bridges, walls and roofs.

Krishna shook his head, nudged his fearful companion forward. ‘My spies have not reported any suspicions among our neighbours. They think Mathurans are merely enjoying the Armistice with vacations.’

‘I hear Akrur is doing a splendid job with the moving operation,’ Satyaki said, his voice reedy, breaking on the edge of manhood. ‘Slowly and steadily, small batches of nobles are being led through multiple routes to the island.’

Krishna nodded. It was a good thing the clandestine Operation-Dvarka was being carried on the able shoulders of trustworthy thieves.

The tunnel continued to angle upward, the warm bedrock turning slippery first, and then wet, bleeding from fissures, perhaps from the Great Baths. Will have to fix this, Krishna thought as they slithered along. He was good with tunnels. ‘What of essential services?’ he asked.

‘Yes, that too. In fact, cartloads of farmers, fishermen, and boat-makers are being sent in advance to prepare the island for the others. As instructed, a few of them have been administered the real Vachan. Still a long way to go.’

‘A month before the Armistice is over, I wish to see Mathura deserted.’

‘Aye,’ Satyaki chuckled. ‘Akrur says that will be difficult, but he performs well under deadlines. When do we move?’

‘Two full moons before the end of the Armistice. If we move now, the vultures will immediately take note. We have to be the last ones to leave. Ah, we are here.’