‘Shit gets brutal,’ Devam says sagely. Devam has done his fair share of psychotherapy back in the States: Reichian bodywork, Gestalt, primal scream.

Anala, the group leader, whose name means God of fire, is a sunburnt, heavily bearded, balding Californian. He is carrying a tape player, which he connects to a power point in a corner of the room and loads with a cassette. Soft flute music plays. When he is satisfied, he turns to the room and instructs everyone to sit in a circle.

Ceremoniously taking his own place, Anala looks each of them in the eye, one after the other.

A long silence follows.

Finally, with an air of apparent disappointment, Anala begins to speak.

‘Guys,’ he says, ‘everyone here is totally fucked up.’

‘Too right,’ someone says. It’s Devam.

‘You, Devam, especially, because you think you know what’s going on.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Sometimes, you’ve gotta make some decisions,’ Anala continues. ‘Your boat is too heavy. You gotta chuck some shit overboard. So that’s what we’re gonna be doing in here for the next five days. Shit is gonna get pretty heavy. We’re gonna have to make some decisions about what’s dragging us down, as human beings. What are we gonna chuck overboard? What are we gonna drop?’

He looks from face to face.

‘There’s only three rules in here,’ he says. ‘Rule One: don’t attack me. Rule Two: ask permission to use the toilet. Rule Three: just keep the energy moving. Beyond that, everything is yours. Just be total. And what that means is, I want you to think of yourself as the first man, the first woman. You don’t know anything yet. You don’t know anyone. There are no priests. No mommies and daddies. No babysitters. No limits. Nobody has told you how to be. You gotta find out for yourself how to be. And the way to do that is just by accepting whatever comes up. That’s what tathata means. It means suchness. It’s the is-ness of whatever is, you know what I’m saying? If you’re angry, go with the anger. If you’re horny, feel that energy. If you wanna cry, I wanna hear you cry like a fucking baby.’

A long silence.

Nothing happens.

No one wants to make the first move. Time drags on.

Someone sighs heavily.

Veena, the Swedish girl, giggles.

Vikram, the ex-marine, is clearly not having a good time. His face has turned red, the veins in his neck are swollen. He is clenching and unclenching his fists.

Now something is going to happen. K can feel it.

‘Hey man,’ says Devam, getting up and going over to sit in front of Vikram. ‘You wanna do something?’

Vikram stares at him for what seems like an incredibly long time. At last, he opens his mouth. ‘Do you wanna die?’ he says flatly.

‘Nah, man, I just mean, why don’t you move your energy or something?’

Vikram stands up. Before anyone can figure out what’s going to happen, he has picked Devam up and thrown him against the wall.