Bali and The Ocean Of Milk

By Nilanjan P. Choudhury

Something is rotten in the state of Amravati A mysterious ailment afflicts Indrah, reducing the  omnipotent king of the gods to, well, not quite the man he used to be. To add to his woes, the Holy Trinity threaten to fire him for dereliction of duty. But Indrah's troubles wilt in comparison to those of his asura counterpart, Bali, ruler of Tripura. Even as Indrah's its fretting over his delicate health, an assassination attempt on Bali leaves the asura on the brink of death. There is only one thing that can save both these men from certain doom: amrit, the mythical nectar. But to secure it, the gods and the asuras will have to cooperate and churn the Ocean of Milk together... Will Indrah and Bali be able to put aside their ancient enmity, or will old rivalries keep them from pulling off this epic feat? Bali and the Ocean of Milk reimagines the eternal conflict between the gods and the asuras in a  whacky thriller littered with bad jokes and corpses. EXTRACT   The story of 'Bali and the Ocean of Milk' has been derived from an old myth of the now lost Hurrian civilization, which traces its origins to the banks of the Euphrates in northern Mesopotamia. The novel reimagines the eternal conflict between the Hurrian gods and their sworn enemies, the asuras, in a wacky thriller littered with bad jokes and corpses. Here's an extract from the book:   Chapter 1: An Evening in Amravati The rays of the setting sun streamed through the tall crystal windows and lit up Urvashi's pretty oval face. Waves of silken hair dyed blonde in deference to the latest fashion, cascaded over her pale, shapely shoulders. Slender arms, diamond-encrusted bracelets on either wrist, were crossed over her full breasts. She was perched upon a blue velvet couch, her long bare legs dangling over its edge. As she swung them to and fro, toes brushing against the tiger skin carpet below, her golden anklets tinkled out a perky melody. She was a sight worthy of the gods - except that the god sitting opposite her did not seem to know this. She mooned at him with her large, blue eyes, fluttered her eyelashes, pouted, preened and sighed - elementary techniques that every apsara was taught during induction training.  But her efforts had little effect on the god for whom they were intended. He continued to sit listlessly on his bed, a glum expression on his puffed face. Urvashis pout grew deeper. 'I' sorry, Indy, but this is just not happening.'Indrah did not reply. 're you even listening to me?'Urvashi sniffed. 'hings can' go on like this, you know. It' about time you did something about it.''es, yes, I know,'Indrah muttered. I just need a little more time...am trying hard.'Tying hard!'Urvashi exclaimed. You have to get hard, darling -not try.'Indrah winced while Urvashi chattered away in her sweet, girlish voice. I mean do you even remember the last time when that happened? That was like two hundred years ago. The day you killed that asura ... what was his name now     umm...Vira Vita''ritra,'Indrah said under his breath.  'Vitra -right! That's the one. I knew it was something starting with a V. I still remember the day. You had gone out for the final battle and there I was sitting all by myself, worried stiff, when I heard the apsaras going -Vritra is dead! Victory to Lord Indrah!" Indrah grunted. We had such a wonderful time that night after the victory party. Urvashi sighed. You remember, love? Indrah grunted again. Urvashi stood up scowling and hurled an ivory comb to the ground. It shattered into pieces as her voice rose to a shrill pitch. Do you realize that we haven't made love one single time since that night? Do you? It's been two hundred years for heaven's sake and it's driving me up the wall. Come on, Indy darling -what's wrong with you?' Indrah sighed. There was no denying that she was right -he was in bad shape. Rolls of fat swaddled his hips. The taut muscles of his arms had turned into flaccid bags and the chiselled jaw-line, along which Sachi used to

• Language: English
• Publisher: HarperCollins
• Release date: Dec 30, 2011
• ISBN: 9789351160960

Nilanjan P. Choudhury

Nilanjan P. Choudhury spent several years peddling highly overrated software to gullible corporates, until a mid-life crisis saw him joining an NGO that works in education. He studied at IIM Ahmedabad and IIT Kanpur and often wonders why he went through all that jazz. He lives in Bangalore with his wife, a daughter and a home loan.

Book preview

An Evening in Amravati

The rays of the setting sun streamed through the tall crystal windows and lit up Urvashi’s pretty oval face. Waves of silken hair dyed blonde in deference to the latest fashion, cascaded over her pale, shapely shoulders. Slender arms, diamond-encrusted bracelets on either wrist, were crossed over her full breasts. She was perched upon a blue velvet couch, her long bare legs dangling over its edge. As she swung them to and fro, toes brushing against the tiger skin carpet below, her golden anklets tinkled out a perky melody.

She was a sight worthy of the gods. except that the god sitting opposite her did not seem to realize this.

She mooned at him with her large blue eyes, fluttered her eyelashes, pouted, preened and sighed – elementary techniques that every apsara is taught during induction training. But her efforts had little effect on the god. He continued to sit listlessly on his bed, a glum expression on his puffed face.

Urvashi’s pout grew deeper. ‘I’m sorry, Indy, but this is just not happening.’

Indrah did not reply.

‘Are you even listening to me?’ Urvashi sniffed. ‘Things can’t go on like this, you know. It’s about time you did something about it.’

‘Yes, yes, I know,’ Indrah muttered. ‘I just need a little more time … I am trying hard.’

‘Trying hard!’ Urvashi exclaimed. ‘You have to get hard, darling – not try.’

Indrah winced while Urvashi chattered away in her sweet, girlish voice. ‘I mean do you even remember the last time that happened? That was like … two hundred years ago. The day you killed that asura … what was his name now… Vira… Vita…’

‘Vritra,’ Indrah said under his breath.

‘Vritra, right! That’s the one. I knew it was something starting with a V. I still remember the day. You had gone out for the final battle and there I was sitting all by myself worried stiff, when I heard the apsaras going Vritra is dead! Victory to Lord Indrah!’

Indrah grunted.

‘We had such a wonderful time that night after the victory party.’ Urvashi sighed. ‘You remember, love?’

Indrah grunted again. Urvashi stood up scowling and hurled an ivory comb to the ground. It shattered into pieces as her voice rose to a shrill pitch. ‘Do you realize that we haven’t made love one single time since that night? Do you? It’s been two hundred years for heaven’s sake and it’s driving me up the wall. Come on, Indy darling. what’s wrong with you?’

Indrah sighed. There was no denying that she was right. he was in bad shape. Rolls of fat swaddled his hips. The taut muscles of his arms had turned into flaccid bags and the chiselled jawline which Sachi used to love running her fingers along during their courtship days had disappeared into a pair of pulpy chins.

A lock of hair fell over his forehead. He brushed it back, wincing when his fingers touched the bald patch on top. It had surreptitiously replaced his once luxuriant mane and was now clearly visible unless he switched on his halo, the light dazzling anyone who looked him in the face. But these days, he realized that even this simple act drained him of energy rather quickly.

In short, Indrah looked and felt more like an elderly uncle than like the Almighty King of the Devas, Lord of Amravati, Scourge of the Asuras, Shatterer of Citadels.

What was worse was that people had started noticing it. his spies had informed him that the corridors of the palace were abuzz with whisperings of the king’s decrepit condition. Many of the lesser gods had even begun to talk openly about it.

To top it all of, the army of healers who had poked and prodded every conceivable part of his anatomy could find nothing wrong with him. ‘Your majesty is perfectly well,’ they assured him. ‘it’s all in the mind. a clean, healthy life for a few days and everything will be fine.’

And so Indrah embarked upon an unpleasant regime of self-improvement. He gave up red meat and took to green vegetables, went for long morning walks and took cold showers three times a day. Every night, when Urvashi was asleep, he would tiptoe over to her dressing table and furtively apply liberal gobs of a pinkish cream called ‘My Fair Lady’ on his cheeks hoping that she wouldn’t notice it rapidly diminishing.

But neither creams nor cucumbers seemed to be working. After a while, even the healers threw up their hands, pleading helplessness. And every morning, the mirror showed him that things were getting worse and the whispers in the corridors grew louder and sharper.

Soon he started cutting down on public appearances conducting most of his work from his inner chambers. He still retained the confidence of the Council of Gods, most of whom were his close friends. But it didn’t take much for friends to turn into foes in Amravati. It wouldn’t be long before someone started asking uncomfortable questions on why the king spent most of his time inside his bedroom instead of the court.

He sighed once again cupped his sagging face in his hands, and contemplated the intricate embroidery on the carpet.

‘Don’t just sit there and look at it, for heaven’s sake,’ Urvashi exclaimed. ‘It won’t help.’

Indrah looked even more crestfallen.

Urvashi sidled up to him and placed herself on his lap. ‘Listen, Indy,’ she said, ‘I know you love me and all, but I have my needs too, you know. I’m a proper blue-blooded apsara, not one of those sad women from Earth who can go on for days without … TLC.’

‘TLC? What’s that?’ Indrah asked.

‘Tender Loving Care, for heaven’s sake,’ she giggled. ‘Indy, you are becoming such a boring old fuddy-duddy,’ she pushed him onto the bed and stretched out her tall, slim body over his, ‘here, let me show you how it’s done.’

She began stroking his chest with her slender fingers. ‘Let’s try it one more time, darling,’ she whispered into his ear.

Indrah squirmed as he returned her passionate kiss with a dutiful peck. He knew that he would fail to satisfy her yet again. And quite frankly, he was getting a little tired of her insatiable appetite these days.

There were times when all a man needed was a large drink and some small talk. Of course, it would be too much to expect Urvashi to possess such refined sensibilities. she always had been a coarse little fool. But then, when someone was such a stunner and the best dancer in the Universe to boot, such minor deficiencies had to be overlooked. After all, she kept his court in good humour with her outrageous flirting and that was a useful service in these troubled times. But all the same, he did wish that she wouldn’t twist him around her little finger quite so easily. He would like it better if she was a little more scared of him as befitted his stature.

Someone knocked on the door. Indrah extracted his face from Urvashi’s luscious breasts grateful for the unexpected interruption. ‘Yes, what is it?’ he asked.

‘A thousand pardons, your majesty,’ a deferential voice replied. ‘But Lord Viru is here and demands an audience with you at once.’

‘Oh no … not now,’ Urvashi groaned.

A sliver of anxiety sliced through Indrah’s bowels. why had Viru come to Amravati now and that too without any prior notice …

He brushed aside the silken hair strewn across his face. ‘Ask him to be seated in the Rang Mahal,’ he said. ‘I will be there in a moment.’

‘Very well, my lord,’ the messenger said and departed.

‘Can’t you meet him in the morning?’ Urvashi moaned. ‘Say you have a headache or something. Please? Just for me?’ Her fingers began to explore the region around his navel.

‘I’m sorry, Urvi, but I have to go now,’ Indrah replied.

He gripped her by the shoulders and pushed her away, grunting from the effort. Just a few decades ago, he could have lifted her as if she were no heavier than a feather. But this strange fatigue that hung over him like a constant miasma made everything feel like an epic struggle.

‘I’ll see you later tonight,’ he said, heaving himself off the bed ‘with luck, Viru won’t take too much time.’

‘Fine king you are,’ she sulked. ‘The moment that Viru fellow calls you, you go running to him like you are his pet owl or something.’

‘Watch your mouth, Urvashi,’ Indrah snapped, draping his robes about him. ‘don’t fool around with Viru’s name. He is the Preserver of the universe.’

‘Oh yeah, really? And what does he preserve apart from himself? I don’t see the dude doing much besides mooning over that Vasanti woman.’

‘Shut up! Just shut up, you silly girl!’ Indrah hissed. ‘Are you out of your mind? You’ll get me killed. Vasanti Devi is Lord Viru’s consort and Head of treasury, in case you’ve forgotten. Do you have any idea what could happen if this reaches her ears? As it is that woman is so paranoid, always on the lookout for imagined insults and who’s been saying what about her.’

‘Come on, Indy. she’s just another goddess. You are the king. Assert yourself for once, will you? What the hell can she do to you?’

‘Do you mind not swearing like some filthy asura all the time? As for what Vasanti can do, how about cutting off the supplies to the treasury for a start? And then where will you be, my dear dumb darling, without all your finery that makes every deva go gaga over you? Which is exactly what she will do if she gets the faintest idea that my favourite courtesan insulted her and wasn’t beheaded instantly.’

Urvashi rolled her almond eyes. ‘Poor little rich boy. Just an overpaid manager for the three guys who really run this show.’ she pinched him on the cheek. ‘Never mind, I’ll be off now. Your boss is waiting to talk to you about all those big, important things that a silly little girl like me can’t understand. Not that I want to anyway. Bores me out of my mind.’

She slipped on her blouse, adjusting the folds until she was satisfied with the extent of cleavage on display. A shimmering red sari went around her hips, slung tight and low. She added a dash of kohl around her eyes and knotted her hair into a pony tail.

‘Bye,’ she trilled. ‘You take care of yourself now. I’m off to my dance classes. Ta-ta! see you later, terminator.’ She blew him a kiss and glided out of the room.

Indrah blinked at her receding figure, shook his head twice and tried to focus his mind on the meeting ahead. He was sure that it wouldn’t be anything routine. Viru wouldn’t have bothered coming all the way to Amravati by himself if that were the case.

No point speculating, he thought, let it be over and done with. He smoothed back his thinning hair, switched on the halo with a snap of his fingers and headed for the Rang Mahal.

The Palace of Tripura

Tripura lay shrouded in the darkness of the new moon. The bars and dance clubs had closed for the night and the streets were deserted apart from stray groups of drunken youngsters staggering back home after a late-night party. A veil of black stretched over the city, pierced only by the flickering light of the stars above and the feeble lamps of the sentries who guarded the royal palace.

The men belonged to the Akshaya Vahini, a crack unit comprising of three hundred of Tripura’s best soldiers. King Bali had hand-picked each member of this elite team after rigourous tests of courage, loyalty and skill. Each one had sworn his allegiance to the king and obeyed no other man or woman.

The night was cold. the men stamped their feet and paced about to stay warm. But watchful as they were, not one of them noticed a black, worm-like creature wriggle below the tall iron gates and crawl into the palace grounds.

It was about the size of a man’s thumb but as it glided swiftly across the grounds it began to grow larger. By the time it had reached the wide stone staircase that led into the palace, it was almost half-a-hand long and thick as a fist. Black diamond-shaped scales were now visible along the length of its body.

From behind a thicket of jasmine bushes, the snake surveyed the staircase through her lidless eyes. Her forked tongue flickered out and she sniffed the air as she considered her next move. Presently, she appeared to have made up her mind. She crawled onto the stone balustrade of the staircase and hugging its sides, slithered up the incline. Blending into the black granite, she glided past the pair of soldiers guarding the head of the staircase.

The snake now found herself at one end of a long narrow corridor with a series of identical doors on either side. The doors were made of polished teak and each bore a silver insignia of a lion holding a dove in one paw and a mace in the other. The snake counted the doors – there were one hundred of them, fifty on either side.

She paused now, unsure of what to do. finally, with an almost human shake of her head, she headed towards the twenty-fifth door on the left side of the corridor.

The faint yellow light of an oil lamp spilled through the slight gap between the door and the marble floor. The snake shrank in size until she was small enough to squeeze herself through the tiny gap into the room beyond.

A square silver bed, twenty hands either way, stood in the centre of the room. Upon it, amidst red silken coverlets and white clouds of pillows, lay an asura, his chest rising and falling rhythmically with his breath. The snake inched towards the bed, forked tongue sniffing the air ahead for any early warning of danger.

The smell of the sleeping asura was strong and familiar. For months she had been trained to recognize it, to isolate it from a hundred other odours and attack its source. Failure to do so had always resulted in pain while success had been richly rewarded.

The snake felt hungry. A fierce desire to bite – always strong and barely restrained – now erupted inside her. Oblivious to the intruder, the asura slept on.

His heavy breathing filled the room, inflaming her further. The shrivelled black body began to lengthen and swell. Soon it was long enough to encircle the bed. She coiled around the four corners of the bed until her head was positioned directly below the asura’s. Pea-green eyes converged near the vertex of the hood and sharp fangs appeared on either side of the forked tongue.

The hood rose and swayed above the asura’s chest. She gazed at his face, her fangs bared, poised to plunge downwards. A faint hiss of anticipation escaped through her open jaws.

The asura stirred and opened his eyes. His pupils dilated when he saw her and he opened his mouth to call for help. But the snake was too quick for him. her fangs sank into his chest and the scream ended in a squelch.

In a flash, the snake wound herself around the asura’s neck, crushing it in a vice-like grip. His arms scrabbled uselessly at the smooth body of his assailant. The stale air trapped inside his lungs joined the poison running through his veins. a few heartbeats later all movement stopped.

Asura and snake lay entwined for a moment and then she wriggled off his cooling body. His dead heart continued to pump the poisoned blood out through the punctured chest, onto the spotless, white sheets.

Something was wrong with the blood … something about it was different …

A mistake … this wasn’t the asura that she had been trained to kill. the taste was wrong. She had spent every night before this, hunting for the one jar of water containing a single drop of the right blood from amongst a hundred identical jars.

She had got the wrong asura. but how was that possible? everything else about him had matched perfectly except the taste. The thought of how her master would react to her failure flashed through her mind … she shivered.

Shrinking once again to the size of a worm, she crawled out of the room. She was back in the long corridor. ninety-nine identical doors faced her.

The smell she was hunting for came out of each one of them.

The Troubles of Indrah

The Rang Mahal was the toast of Indrah’s palace. Vishwakarma had built the palace with his own hands when he was an ambitious young engineer eager to prove himself. It stood in the middle of a forest, thick with tall trees of mango, amlaka and palm, their branches bent low by the weight of fruits. Prithvi had blessed the land so the trees were always green and blossoming with brilliant-hued flowers, that changed colours every hour and filled the air with fragrance.

The golden spires of the palace soared into Amravati’s eternally blue skies, piercing through the clouds like lances of light. Its foundation was made of white granite mined from the mountains of Mainak and from its centre sprang the Rang Mahal, a vast hall girdled by pillars carved in the shapes of kinnaras, apsaras, yallis and other fantastic birds and beasts of the three worlds.

A large square pool occupied the centre of the hall. Inside it cavorted shoals of green tortoises, blue dolphins and fish of every conceivable colour, that swam so fast that it looked as if a liquid rainbow had been stirred into its clear, bottomless waters.

Serried along the sides of the pool were one thousand golden thrones. One of them, bigger and grander than the rest stood upon a raised platform at the head of the pool. Countless precious stones – diamonds, emeralds, pearls, sapphires – were embedded in its golden frame. They formed complex, floral patterns and the ruby hearts of the flowers were arranged in such a way that they spelt out the word Indrah.

Upon this bejewelled tribute to bad taste sprawled Lord Viru, legs stretched out, three limp arms dangling by the side. The fourth held an arrow with which he was stabbing away at the waters of the pool. A few pokes later, he pulled it out with a casual flick of his wrist. A discoloured immobile fish was impaled on the arrowhead.

A scowl appeared on Viru’s dark blue face. He rotated the shaft of the arrow examining his catch from all angles. The lines on his forehead deepened. He puckered his lips into a narrow circle and blew hard.

The dead fish shot off the arrowhead, flew across the pool and hit Indrah smack in the face, just as he was waddling into the hall.

‘My apologies, dear Indrah,’ Viru drawled, without moving a muscle ‘I didn’t see you come in. I hope you aren’t hurt.’

‘Not at all, my lord, not at all,’ Indrah gasped, gingerly rubbing his nose which was turning pink from the blow. ‘I … I am perfectly all right.’

‘Good, good. So how have you been?’

‘Quite well. never better I should say,’ Indrah replied, puffing as he hurried down the hall.

‘I am glad to hear that because you look like death, you know. Almost as bad as that fish out there. Speaking of which, can you have it removed? The smell is getting to me.’

‘Yes, yes, of course,’ Indrah said and clapped his hands. ‘Someone come here and clean up this mess at once.’

A young man ran into the hall. He picked up the offending object by its tail holding it away from himself and hurried out leaving the men to their confabulations.

‘Ah, that’s much better. I can finally smell the sweet fragrance of your magnificent flowers.’ Viru said. ‘So how are things in Amravati these days? It has been a while since I last came here. Over a hundred years, I should think.’

Indrah sat down on a throne next to Viru. ‘Quite well, my lord, I should say very well, even … under the circumstances.’

‘As far as I can see, the circumstances seem to have deteriorated quite a bit. Dead fishes floating in the Lotus Pond, pillars crumbling down at the slightest touch, rubble all around … you see that yaksha?’ Viru pointed towards the entrance of the hall. The headless statue of a superb yaksha warrior clad in golden armour stood there. Its head was lying on the ground, grinning skywards, a crack running across its face.

‘Just happened to touch it with my third hand and boom. It came crashing down.’

‘Maintenance problems, my lord. I try my best but it isn’t easy to look after a place like this with the funds I have at my disposal.’

‘Ah. So you don’t have enough money, Indrah?’

‘You are aware of the problem, my lord. I have written to you several times about it. Expenses are mounting – labour, land, gold, everything. Our man Vishwakarma doesn’t even get out of bed for anything less than ten thousand mudras. Can you believe it?’

‘Yes … I think I know what you mean.’

‘And after the recent budget cuts, things are becoming very difficult here, as you can see for yourself. Now perhaps if Vasanti Devi would reconsider my revised budgetary estimates … ’

His voice petered out for Viru’s face had turned grim.

‘Vasanti is in no position to fund your frivolity any more, Indrah,’ he said. ‘Before my visit here, I asked her to prepare a statement of Amravati’s accounts. A plain and simple statement, without the financial jugglery that your accountants seem to have mastered of late. Perhaps you would care to look at it?’

He snapped his fingers. A puff of smoke, a flash of blue light and a scroll appeared mid-air just above Indrah. It hovered there for a moment before landing on his head with a thump. Indrah grabbed the scroll and unfurled it.

It was covered from top to bottom in neat black letters, which Indrah recognized as Vasanti’s handwriting. He began to read the parchment.

AMRAVATI

STATEMENT OF ACCOUNTS

FOR THE Era 10,211 to 10,212: SATYA YUGA

‘In other words, dear Indrah,’ Viru said, twirling the lotus in his fourth hand, ‘ever since the Holy Trinity appointed you king of the devas, you have been looting Amravati with far greater efficiency than all the asuras put together.’

‘My lord,’ Indrah stammered. ‘I can explain everything … ’

But Viru was in no mood to listen. His lips were pressed in a thin line and his eyes blazed in anger. His brilliant ochre robes streamed behind him like a sunbeam rippling in the wind as he advanced upon Indrah and grabbed the cowering god by his neck.

‘Did you think you would get away with this, you prize idiot?’ he snarled. ‘Did you really think that I would abdicate my responsibility as Preserver of the Three Worlds and let you bring Amravati down on its knees?’

Viru’s gaze seemed to penetrate into the depths of Indrah’s soul, stripping him of any camouflage.

‘I am sorely disappointed in you!’ he continued. ‘Where is the virile, young warrior who was the scourge of the asuras, the slayer of Vritra? Look at what you have become! A fat old slob, slavering in the pursuit of pleasure!’

Indrah lowered his eyes in shame. Viru thrust him away and Indrah fell back on his throne. He lay there curdled as Viru began to stride around the hall, twin pairs of arms swinging in fierce half arcs like a malfunctioning windmill.

‘And what in heaven’s name is this garbage that you have spent countless mudras on? Firebird eggs! Yalli whiskers!’ Viru thundered.

‘Medicines, Lord Viru, medicines!’ Indrah squeaked. ‘I have been extremely unwell of late.’

‘Clearly your ill health does not seem to have affected your hectic social life.’

‘I assure you, my lord I have been suffering greatly. The healers spent days diagnosing my illness and then prescribed all those medicines. I didn’t want to take them, but for the sake of Amravati … ’

‘And who are these healers who insist on bleeding Amravati dry?’

‘Many of them, but the Ashvin twins … ’

‘The Ashvin twins! That incompetent pair of quacks wouldn’t be able to cure Surya of a sunburn. You actually wasted all that money on some cock and bull cures?’

He shook his head in disbelief and picked up a goblet of wine that was lying untouched on the table next to Indrah’s throne.

Indrah, relieved at the momentary lull in the storm, muttered, ‘I am sorry but I didn’t know what else to do. Nasatya and Dasra – the Ashvins, I mean, were confident that the medicines would work. I had to take a lot of trouble to get them.’

‘Well, what else did you expect?’ Viru snapped, sipping his wine, ‘Have you any idea how many men burn to death every year, trying to steal Firebird eggs? The Hydaspian ones explode into flames the moment anyone touches them, unless he recites the right mantras before doing so. And those mantras were devised by Agni. You know how he loves big words and complicated incantations. As for whiskers of an infant Yalli! Only the Ashvin twins would be stupid enough to prescribe that. A single Yalli cub is born once every thousand years! Someone would have to be incredibly lucky to find one of those. Speaking of which, who has been getting these goodies for you, anyway?’

‘Umm … a gandharva friend of mine,’ Indrah replied. ‘I met him at one of Urvashi’s parties. He turned out to be a professional treasure hunter. We started talking and he said that he could get the goods for me – at a price, of course.’

‘Useful fellow. You must introduce us sometime. What is his name?’

‘Aranyaka. I must say, he is a cut above the young devas we seem to be producing nowadays. They have no grit, no spirit of adventure. All they want is a good time … dancing, parties – you know – the