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daughter. When all
     else is in doubt, it’s the simple, familial ties we must trust. Even those who would throw their lives away on a whim will
     stop to think if the well-being of their children is at stake. We must bind together the futures of the two nations. We cannot
     depend on diplomacy and friendship alone.’
    Dwaipayana placed a hand on Bhisma’s shoulder. To his surprise, Bhisma did not flinch, his expression remained stolid. The
     diminutive scholar leaned forward, bringing his mouth close to the tall man’sear. ‘Dhrupad won’t refuse us what we ask him. He can’t afford not to see reason … But Dhrupad isn’t the only one with secrets,
     is he? Surely you haven’t forgotten, Devavrata? I know it’s been many years, but I’m sure you still carry the guilt, just
     as he does?’
    Bhisma stared, wide-eyed with disbelief. ‘Why you …!’
    Dwaipayana’s whisper was a hiss, as he said, ‘We both know how they screamed that night. I’m sure you remember every excruciating
     moment, don’t you? But, it was done for the good of this nation and by the will of the gods. Or, did you perhaps do it because
     deep inside you regret, even resent, your forced emasculation? It still bothers you, doesn’t it, that there was a third woman,
     who didn’t scream after all?’ Bhisma gave a roar of anger, but Dwaipayana was not at all affected.
    He straightened up and continued, ‘Sometimes, for the greater good of a family, an individual must be sacrificed. An individual
     for a kingdom is a very fair trade. We are in this together and I, for one, won’t fail. Please don’t let your self-indulgent
     sense of virtue get in my way.’
    Bhisma sat gripping the arms of his throne in festering rage. He shuddered from the effort, but did not dare look at Dwaipayana
     for fear of losing his composure. His face had turned red, in striking contrast to his silver hair and beard, and his breath
     hissed from his nose, as he tried hard to ignore the throbbing pain that rose to his head. ‘How can you justify what you did,
     Dwaipayana?’ he asked in a hoarse voice quite unlike his own. ‘How can you answer to the gods you worship; you, who are learned
     and enlightened? You who claim true devotion to the Divine? How do you answer to the judgement of your conscience?’
    A lesser man would have quailed before the Regent’s fury. The Vyasa, however, remained unperturbed. ‘I answer to the most
     fundamental of truths,’ he replied. ‘What we call the world is sustained by the Creator, and we are just a pale reflection,
     a tiny spark of the Great Divine. This, our kala-kalpa, the cycle of existence, is but one day and one night for Bramha; one
     day in the fifty-first year of His life. Within this single kalpa are a thousand aeons, of which weare in the twenty-eighth. Each such aeon, my dear Devavrata, spans over four million human years and is spread over four epochs.
     Kali, the fourth of these ages is almost upon us. Does that give you some sense of who we are and what our destiny is? We’re
     the servants of this greater power; to understand this duality is to see the earth transformed into heaven itself. As there
     are heaven and earth, there are rulers and the ruled; there are gods and there are kings. To lower our heads in reverence
     is our duty and to accept destiny is the greatest worship. Only heretics and demons seek to question their roles, the way
     of life that has endured for millennia.’
    The words only heightened Bhisma’s confusion. Dwaipayana regarded him with sincere sympathy, feeling sorry that the old warrior
     struggled so hard with his conscience to do what was indisputably right.
    ‘Don’t let your conscience bother you too much, Bhisma. There’s much you don’t fully understand, and there’s much more that
     you don’t know.’ He added with a smile, ‘But, don’t you worry. I am Dwaipayana, the Vyasa of the Firstborn. Aryavarta is in
     my charge.’

5
    A LITTLE BEFORE DAWN,