Suni left the go-down. No word no note no clue, his family had called and called and called but no one knew. There had always been rumours of a man with money and prospects, who liked the robotwallah thing, but you do not tell those sorts of stories to mothers. Not at first asking. A week passed without the jemadar calling. It was over. So over. Rai had taken to squatting outside, squinting up through his cool sexy dangerous shades at the sun, watching for its burn on his pale arms, chainsmoking street-rolled bidis.

‘Sanj.’ He smoked the cheap cigarette down to his gloved fingers and ground the stub out beneath the steel heel of his boot. ‘When it happens, when we can’t use you any more, have you something sorted? I was thinking, maybe you and I could do something together, go somewhere. Just have it like it was, just us. An idea, that’s all.’

The message came at three a.m. I’m outside. Sanjeev tiptoed around the sleeping bodies to open the window. Umbrella Street was still busy, Umbrella Street had not slept for a thousand years. The big black Kali Cav hummer was like a funeral moving through the late night people of the new Varanasi. The door locks made too much noise so Sanjeev exited through the window, climbing down the pipes like a Raytheon Double- eight thousand I-war infiltration bot. In Ahraura he would never have been able to do that.

‘You drive,’ Rai said. From the moment the message came through, Sanjeev had known it would be him, and him alone.

‘I can’t drive.’

‘It drives itself. All you have to do it steer. It’s not that different from the game. Swap over there.’

Steering wheel pedal drive windshield display all suddenly looked very big to Sanjeev in the driver’s seat. He touched his foot to the gas. Engines answered, the hummer rolled, Umbrella Street parted before him. He steered around a wandering cow.

‘Where do you want me to go?’

‘Somewhere, away. Out of Varanasi. Somewhere no one else would go.’ Rai bounced and fidgeted on the passenger seat. His hands were busy busy, his eyes were huge. He had done a lot of battle drugs. ‘They sent them back to school, man. To school, can you imagine that? Big Baba and Ravana. Said they needed real-world skills. I’m not going back, not never. Look!’

Sanjeev dared a glance at the treasure in Rai’s palm: a curl of sculpted translucent pink plastic. Sanjeev thought of aborted goat foetuses, and the sex toys the girls had used in their favourite pornos. Rai tossed his head to sweep back his long, gelled hair and slid the device behind his ear. Sanjeev thought he saw something move against Rai’s skin, seeking.