Kali was at the river gate of the eastern palace of the Kashi king Athithigva. The palace had been built on the eastern banks of the Ganga, which was considered inauspicious for any permanent construction. The kings of Kashi had bought this land to ensure that no Kashi citizen lived on that side. It was in this palace that Athithigva had housed his Naga sister, Maya. Ganesh and Kali’s open presence had given Athithigva the courage to let his sister come out of hiding.

‘Your medicines have helped, Your Highness,’ said Athithigva. ‘At least she’s not in terrible pain anymore. The Parmatma has sent you as an angel to help my sister.’

Kali smiled sadly. She knew it was a matter of time before Maya, a singular name for conjoined twins who were fused into one body from the chest down, would die. It was a miracle that Maya had lived for so long. On discovering her presence, Kali had immediately supplied Naga medicines to lessen her suffering. Since she was to leave with the Western Army the next day, she had come over to leave the rest of her medicines with Maya.

‘I’m no angel,’ said Kali. ‘If the Parmatma had any sense of justice, he wouldn’t make an innocent person like Maya suffer so much. I’m doing all I can to set right his injustices.’

Athithigva shrugged in resignation but was too pious to curse God.

Kali’s gaze turned towards the Ganga where the fifty ships of the Branga armada had dropped anchor just the previous day. The mighty fleet covered the width of the river, stretching to the opposite bank. A nervous excitement was palpable throughout Kashi. The smell of war was in the air.

The flotilla’s initial progress would be slow for they would first sail west against the current and then southwards up the Chambal. After disembarking, the soldiers would then march towards the Narmada. The second voyage would take them along the course of the Narmada out to the Western Sea and then north towards Meluha.

‘Let’s go in,’ said Kali. ‘I’d like to see Maya before I leave.’

‘Your Highness!’ said Kanakhala, running into Daksha’s private office.

Daksha looked up at his prime minister as he slipped the papyrus he was reading back into the drawer of his desk. ‘Where’s the fire, Kanakhala?’

‘Your Highness,’ said a frantic Kanakhala, obviously carrying something within the folds of her angvastram, ‘you need to see this.’

Kanakhala placed a thin stone tablet on her emperor’s desk.

‘What’s this?’ asked Daksha.

‘You need to read it, Your Highness.’

Daksha bent over to read.

To all of you who consider yourselves the children of Manu and followers of the Sanatan Dharma, this is a message from me, Shiva, your Neelkanth.