The butterflies fled as one, and now the bulb’s harsh white glow exposed a lilac flag fluttering in the breeze. The fabric stilled, revealing a disembodied brown thumb juxtaposed against a bow and arrow. Blood as dark as garnets dripped from the thumb’s ragged base in eerie contrast to the neon blue OPEN sign flashing on the door below.

“Customers!” a voice sang out, drifting toward them as unhurriedly as the fluff from a dandelion. An apsara joined them from the recesses of the tent, and the entire space lit up with colored lights. “Welcome to Eklavya’s Thumb.”

“About time, Urvashi,” Grishmabai barked. “I was starting to think I might actually have to help these interlopers!” She vanished into the back of the bar that should never have fit into the tent. Shelves of bottles filled with fantastical beverages blinked into view.

But everything dimmed in comparison to the bizarre conversation piece perched on a high table: a hacked-off brown thumb bleeding in a jar.

“You put his thumb in a jar?” Venkat squeaked.

Even Asha looked taken aback.

The jar jolted a memory loose in Tanvi, and the resulting burst of pain made her gag. Eklavya, she recalled between pulses of nausea. In the Mahabharata, he’d wanted to study with the sought-after Guru Dronacharya, who’d shaped Prince Arjun into the finest archer in all the land. But Drona had refused.

Instead of giving up, Eklavya had sculpted Drona’s likeness in clay and sat at the statue’s feet until he gleaned the knowledge to master archery. Word of his incredible abilities spread fast. Jealous Arjun hadn’t taken that well, and Drona had reminded Eklavya that students must pay their teachers for their tutelage. He’d then forced Eklavya to cut off his own right thumb as payment, effectively ending his archery career.

Some guru dakshina. Not that that made this particular memorial any less grotesque. Mythical beings were, Tanvi decided, seriously weird.

“Indeed.” Urvashi ran a finger over the shelves of jewel-colored liquors. “Someone must remember his sacrifice. Now, what will it be? Fluid flame? A sip of the sea? Rainbow in a bottle? Or chandini, the elixir of illumination?”

She gestured to a crystal decanter. The incandescent orange brew it held spat and crackled like fire. No, it was fire. The bottle beside it barely contained the blue-green waves crashing within.

Where was the rainbow in a bottle? Tanvi could already taste it. She needed it. Would each color have its own flavor?

But that would have to wait for another day. She was here to remember. “Chandini.”

Urvashi reappeared a minute later with a glowing bottle and a single tumbler.

No matter how many times Tanvi blinked, the bottle still brimmed with something frosted and luminous, like the moon on the Lake of Lovers’ Tears. The color of mercury, it was translucent but not liquid, and it shone softly. Distilled moonlight. Silver wine.