Janaki is struck by the fluid fusion of religions and cultures that has been going on in the subcontinent for centuries. As they enter Surgaon, it becomes evident that the inauguration of the Ram mandir has become a public celebration. Flags, pennants and posters of Lord Ram are everywhere. The posters show a resolute, even stern, Ram, standing erect, raised bow in hand, unaccompanied by Sita, Lakshman and Hanuman in their designated places beside him and at his feet.

When Ashesh, Anima and Janaki reach Home, there is still an hour to go for the auspicious moment of idol installation. The drone of loud chanting issues from what was once Anna’s study. People in dhotis and shoulder cloths fly around busily in different directions. The three new arrivals stand in the midst of it all, staring in dumb astonishment at the enormous marble Ram mandir that occupies the whole of the huge front yard where once a garden bloomed with mogra, roses, an arbour of the purple-blue krishnakamal creeper and a massive bakul tree. The well, from which the outcasts of the town once drew water and in which Anima swam with such heady joy, has been covered. A small Sita mandir now stands on top of it. None of this belongs to them or their father. The thought plunges like a dagger into Anima’s heart. They are mere observers, as much as Janaki is.

They move forward gingerly to peep into the temple. There are eight carved pillars inside and an idol of Lord Ram, gleaming in the dark of the sanctum sanctorum. Above the sanctum is a large mural depicting his coronation in Ayodhya.

‘Done by local artists on traditional red-earth plaster,’ a voice offers. ‘Local customs must be respected. It’s a foundational principle with us.’ Dr Bhaskar stands behind them, eyes sparkling with pride and pleasure. ‘The concept of this painting came from our brother devotee Shyam Sarpotdarji. The fantastic thing about it is,’ and here Dr Bhaskar’s eyes take on a brighter shine, ‘the positive-energy vibrations that it communicates. Feel that? You see, the secret is . . .’

‘Who did you say has painted the mural?’ Ashesh asks.

‘Some local artists.’

‘I meant their names.’

‘Oh that. You’ll have to ask brother Shyam. He’s here somewhere. Anyway, the secret behind the positive-energy vibrations—Brother Shyam had a mind-blowing idea. He went to Kashi. He visited all the old bookshops there, looking for old manuscripts of the Tulsi Ramayana. After days of ferreting around, he stumbled on an exquisite manuscript and bought it on the spot. But not for his pleasure. You’ll never guess what he did with it. He tore the pages one by one and got our workers to paste them on this wall . . .’

‘The pages of the exquisite manuscript?’ Ashesh is aghast.