Jambavan’s face had turned ashen. Using his daughter to intimidate him had been cruel, Krishna admitted, but Jambavan had brought it upon himself. The Rikshas, being hirsute, could not survive a Vedan summer. So, they either went into hibernation or took a trek to the Mai Layas when the days grew longer. With Jambavati in Mathura, however, she did not have that luxury. It was either the myriad cooling devices he had installed, or a pyre.

‘You play a dangerous game, Krishna.’ Jambavan’s voice hid none of his fury. ‘Do not forget that in our race, widows can remarry. And she has only witnessed eighty five turns of the world. A very young girl, all things considered.’ Krishna however did not break eye contact with Jambavan. There was the hint of a sly smile on Krishna’s face as he sensed the father in Jambavan overpowering the Riksha in him. ‘But I will see what I can do about the gold,’ Jambavan said at last. ‘It won’t be much, however. I do not claim to perform miracles. Come to me in three weeks.’

Krishna smiled. ‘I knew we could come to an understanding. We are family, after all. As for closing down this place, you have a few months till the Armistice ends, to pack whatever you need, to take to the ice caves, and eventually Dvarka. We burn the rest. Of course, Mathura will arrange the manpower and foot the bill.’

‘With the gold I give you?’

‘Mere formalities, you know.’

‘You promise to take care of my daughter, Krishna? You promise! I will play your dirty games for her sake.’

‘Well then, now is as good a time as any to announce that Jambavati is pregnant.’

Jambavan’s eyes widened, then filled with tears. He hugged Krishna, taking him by surprise. Jambavan’s embrace was gentle, but Krishna was nevertheless relieved to get out of it in one piece. He had knowingly saved this news for last, to sweeten the wounds Krishna had inflicted on the old man. There was nothing like the prospect of being a grandfather to make one forget one had just been blackmailed into giving up on life’s greatest quest.

Fathers, Krishna sighed, can be so predictable.

1 Residential schools operated by Acharyas who have completed their training at the Citadel of Meru or another Meru-approved gurukul.

I

The roots were thick underfoot. They spread out to bridge the gaps between the trees. Even when the trees themselves thinned out beyond the camps, the knotted roots remained thickly woven on the ground. Stepping over them carefully, Shishupal tracked the nine-fingered boy. There was still no sign of Dantavakra. Nothing else moved. The only sound was his breathing, the tread of his feet on the endless carpet of tree roots, and the soft slapping of his sword.