So, ultimately, she – who had no name, no identity, no family, no city or village, no property or assets – had still retained a religion. A religion acquired without the application of effort, ability, reason or questions. She’d made no effort to hold on to it, and yet, in stark contrast to the ease with which objects slipped from her hand, or relationships from her life, this religion hadn’t fallen by the wayside.

While riding the bus, religion felt as natural as her body’s nervous reflexes. The bus arrived at a place where everything had changed again – the street name, the shop signs, the religious symbols on women’s bodies, the religious practitioner seated beneath a tree, the desire for religion as expressed in food, the search for it in people’s expressions. Averting her eyes from the sight of a dog urinating on a broken clay idol, the embodiment of woman worshipped in her own religion, she discovered her fearsome and fear-prone wariness vanishing, and found herself once more able to ignore her religion.

Back in her flat, she considered telling you that secularism is not a credo but a shifting situation, eternally mutable …

13

In her sleep she recognised the music school from her childhood. She remembered it as having been constantly under construction. A hill took up most of the grounds. Stacks of bricks next to it. Scaling the hill, her small feet slipping down with each step, brought the layers of bricks into view. She often played in the sand, but never ventured too close to the bricks. Fear held her back. For the experiences of her still-brief life had taught her that brick piles were the haunt of snakes.

Now and then she sank up to her waist in the sand. She could feel that the sand inside was damp – it was fun. She rolled down the sandy slopes. When she stood up, sand clung to every uncovered inch of skin. Even once she’d dusted herself down, something glittering remained behind.

She also rummaged for snail and oyster shells in the sand, picking out the largest and smallest to absently clutch on her way home. She planned to show everyone her collection, only she could never remember where she’d put them, and they were usually lost for good after a day or two. In her sleep she saw herself gathering shells. The sun had not set yet. The sunlight glinted strangely on the reddish sand. The sand glittered. She spotted countless shells and busied herself with gathering them. That was when she saw the snake. Its hood was raised.

It was the same colour as the sand; it glittered in just the same way. The snake had also seen her. She was afraid – pressed up against a solid, impenetrable wall of fear. Her skin prickled all over, she looked around in desperation – directly in front was the peak of the sand hill. Behind were the brick piles. To her left, the half-finished music school. There was no one around who could be referred to as ‘someone’, someone whom she could call on for help. Not that any sound would have emerged from her throat.