Venkat listened, amused, as an unseen narrator recited, “Due to an accident of birth, our blessed first ones had the grave misfortune to be kin to the first of the unscrupulous beasts known as the garudas.”

Two human women appeared on the stage, their similar features making it clear they were sisters. They perched on either side of a bearded man in a dhoti, watching him with identical smitten expressions.

“Sage Kashyapa’s two wives had everything—everything except children to complete their happiness. To right this grievous wrong, Vinata and Kadru both performed great devotions, and at last Kashyapa granted them this boon.”

Blue-white sparkles showered the stage, and then Vinata stood between two children, human Arun and nightmarish avian Garuda. Beside her, a thousand gilt-flecked eggs hatched into nagas in a ring about Kadru.

“They were fulfilled for a time. But ambition and rivalry poison all peace.” A seven-headed horse the exact white of drifting snow appeared, wings aloft. “When mighty Uchchaihshravas, King of Horses, surfaced from the Ocean of Milk, Kadru and Vinata entered into a wager, the loser of which would become enslaved to the winner. Kadru bet that his tail would be black, while Vinata guessed white.”

People in the old days sure got bored easily, Venkat thought. Who did that?

He tried to envision his mother and any of his aunties betting their freedom away just for something to do. The bittersweet image of their faces made his eyes well up, but the idea was so ridiculous he had to laugh, too. His quiet mother would have picked up her sewing or tended to her garden or gone for a walk, while his far more outspoken aunties would have given anyone who suggested a bet like that the tongue-lashing of the decade.

“Determined to win,” intoned the narrator, “Kadru commanded her naga children to cover the equine’s majestic tail so that it appeared black. Though initially reluctant, they in due course understood the need to respect one’s elders, and they obeyed.”

Venkat groaned. Why did so many adults feel compelled to ruin a good story by preaching?

The nagas onstage streamed over the horse’s voluminous tail. Kadru grinned in triumph, while Vinata hung her head. The sisters’ expressions contorted in hatred as they turned to each other, and Garuda glared out at the audience. “This would not stand,” the narrator added, and the audience drew in an audible collective breath.

Asha, though, huffed. “Today is hardly the occasion for a dismal history lesson.” She linked arms with Venkat. “Everyone is awaiting us for the opening ceremonies. No more of your dawdling!”