when she was hungry, falling into a stupor as intoxicants and corresponding moods dictated. She came to groggily an hour or so later. Before sadness could start hammering at her again, she soothed herself with the promise of sneaking up to the roof at twilight, where she would celebrate moonrise by savoring the spotted mushrooms that were the guardsman’s special treat. She sat up and lit the half-used chillum hidden under her couch, skillful now after many moons of regular practice, drawing in the acrid smoke even as she anticipated the euphoria to follow. Tomorrow, as the hymns of the priests rose into the air from the Great Bath, she would experiment with fragrant charas mixed with opium. This is how she would honor the gods—for she was forever done with hypocrisy.

“Vasudeva’...

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