We briefed Kartik as Bengal keeps him — the beautiful young war-god whose good looks made him a household byword, seated on the peacock whose vanity matches his own. A three-quarter turn lets the peacock face left while Kartik sits side-saddle toward us, the spear held upright so his martial role reads alongside his charm. The eyed tail fans to the lower-right, the one piece of pure pattern in an otherwise plain field. We gave him the golden body, plumed crown, pearl strings and brick-red shawl the patuas loved for the handsome gods, and kept the ground quiet so the rider and his bird carry the picture. Boneless shading rounds his torso and the swell of the peacock's breast.