Sipping from the glass of water and honey, Bachchu Kaka continues, ‘So this doctor is extremely intelligent, focused, capable and ambitious. Sandesh guesses his children have left home as they do in America. His wife was a classical dancer. She used to teach the Indian girls in the neighbourhood her style, whatever it was.’

‘Was?’

‘She’s dead. Died at the end of 2001. Murdered.’

‘Oh my God!’

‘At first the police thought this was a classic hit-and-run case. But investigations threw up a different possibility. The only eyewitness to the incident said the whole thing had happened so fast, he hadn’t had time to note the registration number of the car. But he remembered clearly what the occupants had shouted as they sped away. “You black bitch terrorist. Go home.” Clearly a post-9/11 thing.

‘Apparently his wife’s death and the thought that her murderers were driving around free, made Bhaskar go berserk. He began to say wild things to his white colleagues. Things like “You’ll come licking our feet when we are masters of the world.” And “Let’s see how your 300-year-old civilization stands up to the power of our 5000 years.” There was menace in his voice. Gradually his work began to suffer. His hard-won reputation hit rock bottom. The other Indians, who were first sympathetic, soon began to find his ramblings embarrassing and even dangerous. They began suggesting he return home. “India needs you,” they said. “That’s where your real work lies.” When his local guru said the same thing, Bhaskar began giving it serious thought. The guru finally commanded him to return to the motherland and serve her poor children. He told him that his fellow NRIs would support his work.

‘That’s how he returned to his village. His cover story is that he has come back to look after his aged parents. For one year, he lay low. Then suddenly he was everywhere. He became known as a social worker. Our fields and forests are wide open to doctors who want to give away free medicines. We have such an abundant supply of the poor who can live or die for all our government cares.’ Bachchu Kaka’s voice drops to a self-questioning whisper. ‘Our adivasis are still the poorest of the poor. My party set them free from bondage, fought for their rightful wages, brought them to a certain stage of education and good health, but couldn’t take them further. We left the field open to these Bhaskars to barge in with their free medicines and a free place in the fold.’

Bachchu Kaka slaps his thigh and laughs out loud. ‘So there he is, Dr Bhaskar, flitting in and out of your house, influencing your mother.’

‘Sounds odious. But what do you mean influencing her?’

‘Wish I could say. Something’s happening in that house, I don’t know what.’

‘Ai has given Dr Bhaskar Anna’s room for his clinic. Is that what’s bothering you?’