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chants sounded rehearsed, and that the members of the mob were far too organized and well-armed to be anything but soldiers.
    It was, Govinda realized, a perfect trap. Not only did this apparent public outburst exonerate Syoddhan of all responsibility for Govinda’s safety as an emissary, but it also put Govinda in the heinous position of having to attack hapless commoners – an unacceptable show of aggression that would compromise his position and Dharma’s at once. He could not help but register Devala Asita’s touches, not only in the planning of the attack but also in the small details: the wine-like liquid, the small, concealed weapons that the pretend commoners now produced from inside their clothing. The assault, as much as it was intended to do away with Govinda, was also meant to be a demonstration of Syoddhan’s power to his allies.
    ‘Rudra save us!’ Kritavarman exclaimed next to Govinda, clearly sharing the latter’s assessment of the situation.
    Yuyudhana was more direct. ‘Sons-of-whores! It’s a trap, Govinda!’
    Both men drew their swords, preparing to go down with a fight. Govinda stood his ground, fists clenched, searching the mad throng for the one face he had missed in the assembly, the one face that could change everything about the situation. And then he saw the large figure skulking at the back of the throng, the clear leader of the mob despite his position. The man’s gaze brimmed over with bloodlust, a feral madness that left Govinda in no doubt as to his identify. Just as he had thought… Dussasan. A small, lightning-like spark exploded in the air right where Govinda stood, turning instantly into fire and smoke.
    Govinda waited for the cries – mostly of alarm, but some of pain – to subside before turning around, a smile on his lips, to consider the scene, the cause for the stunned expressions writ on each face in the assembly. A wall of flame, dancing golden and blue, rose almost to the high roof of the hall. Against the curtain of fire and smoke stood Govinda, Kritavarman and Yuyudhana. A fleeting memory of a similar moment swept through Govinda’s mind as the soft crackle of fire filled the air. A coronation and a beheading. Shisupala . He looked toward Syoddhan, met the anger he found there with confident understanding. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he caused the wall of flame to descend and finally disappear. All that remained of the earlier episode was a mass of prone, bleeding, soot-stained forms, the light rise and fall of their chests the only sign of life in the men who had attacked them.
    Adjusting the Wright-metal bracelet on his wrist, the source of the small explosion that had proved such an effective defence, Govinda turned to Yuyudhana and Kritavarman next to him. Kritavarman, particularly, Govinda would not have faulted for being slow in coming to his aid, or not coming at all. But war was only imminent and not yet declared, and Kritavarman had chosen to show unity with his fellow Dwaraka citizens. Smiling his thanks at his kinsmen, Govinda returned his attention to Syoddhan and the others. ‘I find this a rather novel welcome on your brothers’ part, Syoddhan. Though I must admit, Prince Dussasan and your other brothers look rather becoming in their guise as commoners. They bring a certain… authenticity…to the role, don’t you agree?’
    Syoddhan did not respond to Govinda’s sarcasm, but with the silence thus broken a growl of a murmur rose all around. To attack an emissary was against law and morality, an act of dishonour and cowardice. Had Dussasan succeeded, the crime would have been its own redemption, but the Kuru prince’s failure was a fault in itself, one that left palpable awkwardness in its wake.
    The situation would have persisted, but for Vidur’s intervention. ‘See to the injured,’ he called out to the omnipresent attendants. In response, a host of servants ran to aid Dussasan and his companions, while others went to summon the medics.