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GOVINDA LEFT DWARAKA, HEADING EAST . His silver-white Qamboja stallion, Balahak, blazed across the mist-covered fields like a ghost, and by the time the sun
     came up they were a good distance from the city.
    They pushed on, crossing the Raivata mountains and then turning northward, to ride alongside the River Charmanvati. Around
     noon, man and horse sought refuge from the burning sun in a shady glen, but were back on the road before long. They stopped
     again in the evening, when Govinda caught a little sleep, and shortly after moonrise the two set off once more, galloping
     over silver-blue plains as a wild happiness took over them. At their current pace, Govinda was three days’ journey from his
     destination in central Aryavarta. Balahak, named so for his strong legs, would makeshort work of the leagues that took the common warhorse nearly a week and a packhorse much longer. Balahak’s speed, coupled
     with Govinda’s exceptional skill with his beloved steeds, made him one of the fastest riders in Aryavarta, and when he yoked
     all four of his temperamental silver-white stallions to a chariot, few could keep up with them.
    In the misty darkness before the second dawn of his journey, he realized that he was being followed. Even before he saw or
     heard the riders behind him, he sensed them. Closing his eyes, he focused on the faint hoof beats.
Three riders
, he concluded, chuckling softly as he guessed who they were. Slowing down, he whispered a few calming words in Balahak’s
     ear and let out a slow, long-drawn whistle. It rose in a reedy, quavering note before he cut it short. Within moments, he
     heard the horses behind him rear. Govinda stopped and, wheeling Balahak around, waited.
    ‘Watch out!’ a familiar voice cried through the mist.
    Another protested, ‘I am, I am!’
    ‘Mih!’
    ‘You oaf. Oww!’
    ‘No! Not that way! That’s me, you cross-eyed paayu! Look out!’
    ‘Steady, steadyyyy! Dumb horse!’
    ‘Stop butting me, Muhira! You idiot! Arrgh.’
    ‘Oh Rudra!’
    ‘Oi! Oi! Ohhhhhh …’
    The neighing, and jostling of horses and human expostulation, reached Govinda, followed by the sound of a deep, rich laugh.
     One of the pursuers seemed to have fallen off, for a riderless horse emerged through the mist at a light canter. It trotted
     up to Balahak with the relief of familiarity and the two horses nuzzled each other in greeting. Govinda reached out to stroke
     the newcomer, a brown stallion with a trident-like white marking on its forehead.
    ‘Are you hurt?’ a young voice called out.
    ‘No, I’m dancing with the nymphs of heaven, you imbecile. Help me up!’
    ‘You think he heard us?’
    ‘Vathu! Hush!’
    ‘Of course he heard us,’ a third man said, before bursting into more laughter at the antics of his companions.
    Unable to resist any longer, Govinda guided Balahak back along the path, the brown stallion following alongside. He could
     not help but smile at the scene that greeted him. On the ground, his feet still tangled up in a mess of stirrup and reins,
     lay Govinda’s young cousin and adopted heir, Pradymna. Standing over the youth, trying without success to unravel the tangle,
     was the dark-skinned Samva, the second of Govinda’s adopted sons.
    ‘Aah! Not that way, you idiot. You’re going to kill me!’ Pradymna shrieked, as Samva tried to help the struggling youth out
     of the jumble that bound him.
    ‘I’d do a better job of killing you if you’d shut up,’ his brother exclaimed.
    Both men noticed Govinda and fell into silent sulks.
    Govinda paid no heed to them. Instead, he led his horse towards the third rider, a fashionably dressed man of his age, who
     still remained comfortably astride his horse. ‘Yuyudhana,’ he nodded in greeting.
    ‘Cousin,’ the man inclined his head. ‘I left as soon as I saw you weren’t present at the Council meeting. Couldn’t let you
     have all the fun, could I?’
    Govinda said nothing, but he was far from displeased. He