Doctor: “Let me tell her what you’ve just said.”

Harbart: “Yes, yes, tell her. Let her be happy.”

Doctor: “He is saying that your mother is now on the fifth plane which is the realm of beings with moderate virtues.”

Tina: “What, oh yes, how exciting—tell him that he is marvelous, a master …”

Doctor: “Tina is saying that you possess extraordinary powers.”

Stop.

Pranab Ghosh takes out that cassette. Puts back the first one. Rubs his glasses with his handkerchief and puts them on. Then presses Record again. “Do you know who Tina really is? A member of the Geneva-based international rationalist movement. That Tibetan lama in London—the one with all the politicians in his pocket—trapped by Tina and now languishing in jail. In Mexico, Brazil, the Philippines—do you know how many miracle-men she has proven to be frauds? We’re the ones who sent her to you. To let her see one of our typical specimens.”

“How can that be? There was that doctor with her, explaining what I was saying.”

“That doctor? Yes, Alok is most certainly a doctor. And a founding member of our organization.”

“So what, for god’s sake.”

“So what? So we have proved that you are a cheat. A crook. Tina’s mother is hale and hearty—and alive! And you packed her up and moved her off right onto the fifth plane? Apart from that, you’re obviously illiterate—you don’t have a spot of the sophistication required to efficiently pull off this kind of thing. If you did, you wouldn’t have spelled Shanta as Santa. Bimalendu is part of a famous theatre group. He came to you too—yes, yes, that trunk with the sister’s body in so many pieces. He clearly marked how uncomfortable you were at the mention of Lalbazar. So. Now, it’s your call. What do you call yourself, Mr. Conversations with the Dead?”

“More like Major General of the Crap Army!” says one of the bearded boys.

And everyone roars with laughter. Harbart breaks out in a sweat. Grows red in the face. Pulls out from the shelf Accounts of the Afterlife and Mysteries of the Afterlife.

“Ever heard of these, have you? You really think I’m cheating? Read, read and then see if you understand, what the different plans are, what the different arrangements are.”

We don’t need to read any of that.”

“Same old planchette,” said the camera girl, flipping through Accounts of the Afterlife, “same old spirits. Bullshit.”

“Won’t look,” shouted Harbart, “won’t learn! Only gad about all afternoon, barging into people’s houses and fighting—aren’t you ashamed?”

“You’ll know who’s the one to be ashamed when the police come and drag you away.”

“Why, why will the police drag me away? So easy it is?”

“Yes, indeed it is. Because that bullshit you fed Tina, you fed it to a lot of others and got a lot of money. That is cheating. That is theft. Wait and see what happens when we hand in our report.”

“What’ll happen?”

“The police will come. And arrest you.”