“No! The police won’t come! I had a dream. Binu was killed by the police. Binu was shot by the police.”

Harbart began to scream at the top of his lungs, began to weep and wail: “The police won’t come. I didn’t lie. Ghosts have been. They always will be.”

At a sign from Pranab Ghosh, the girl clicked photo after photo of Harbart having hysterics. Then she lit a cigarette. Outside the door linger a crowd of the neighborhood boys—but even they didn’t dare to come forward. All that police-police had made them wary.

“The best medicine for such specimens is Stalin,” said one of the boys stashed against the wall, “If only he’d fallen into Stalin’s hands. Straight up firing squad.”

“All that Lenin–Stalin even I know, ok?” shouted a Harbart now in the cold grip of terror, “The police won’t come. The police don’t hurt the innocent. The police will catch you instead. I can see the God of Death circling you already.”

“Alright. We’re off. But as soon as we get Tina’s report, we’ll make our move.”

“Shut up! Fucking English! I’ll also do what I have to do! Only fucking English! Ever seen a double chang? Eh? Seen a double chang?”

“Do whatever you want. But know this, we will not spare you nor any other swindler like you. Wipe out every godman we can find. Won’t spare even one.”

“Alright, alright, we’ll see who does what.”

It is not clear whom Harbart meant when he said we. As they began to walk out of the room, Harbart began to whirl about in a frenzy: “Oh, oh, how I fucked them well and good! Cat, bat, water, dog, fish! Cat, bat, water, dog, fish!”

The whirling makes him dizzy. He bumps against the bed. Falls to the floor. Gets up. The more afraid he grows, the more he rants and raves. He begins to drip with sweat and then suddenly he stops, stares at Binu’s bed, mattress, pillows. Binu had been shot by the police. Would the police kill him too? And Tina! Who could imagine a woman so wretched? Such a sinful girl! So, this—this is what lay in your heart?

“Cat, bat, water, dog, fish, cat, bat, water, dog, fish, cat, bat, water, dog, fish, cat, bat …”

Outside, on the street, they were walking away, Pranab Ghosh more or less in the center of their group. “Pranab-da,” said Mickey, “I must say that the man was very crude.”

“So? You can be as crude as you want in this country, but you’ll never run short of clients.”

“Remember that levitation case in Baruipur?” one of the boys said, “What was that chap’s name?”

“Moslayuddin?”

“Yes, yes, Moslayuddin. Now that man was tremendous smart.”

“Well, then, if you must, I think the really clever pack was that other lot.”

“Which lot, Pranab-da? Those Tarapith ones?”

“No, no, those other ones, the seven astrologers, on TV—remember?”

“Oh yes, but Pranab-da, they were totally urban. No wonder they were smart.”