As the car turned into Chowringhee Road the sounds of a loudspeaker could be heard. There was a large demonstration. A Sikh man held up a banner as another spoke through a megaphone protesting about the government. ‘Let us make it clear once and for all that the Sikhs have no designs to get away from India in any manner. What we simply want is to be allowed to live within India as Sikhs, free from all direct and indirect interference and tampering with our way of life. Undoubtedly, the Sikhs have the same nationality as other Indians. It is the government who is saying that we are arguing that we need a separate homeland. A land for the Khalsa, Khalistan, but this is just one woman’s political ambitions.’

As the large group cheered, a man in a blue turban burned an effigy of the Prime Minister. Two policemen looked on as a police jeep approached the scene to assist. Another policeman stood in the jeep waving his lathi. He shouted a command in his megaphone at a Sikh man, who yelled back using his megaphone while waving a poster of Bhindranwale. Each tried to yell louder than the other.

‘Sectarian problems,’ Sunil Seth said, shaking his head. ‘This can’t end well.’ Govinda immediately thought of Mumbles and his family.

The large and opulent hotel where they were going for their meeting had a white marble façade and a wide driveway. At the entrance they were greeted by liveried doormen, but were not allowed to enter because a suitcase had been left unattended nearby, and the staff didn’t want to touch it. Several thuggish-looking policemen came to take a look. Finally a woman in a saree arrived and claimed the case as hers. The family passed through a foyer with a floor of white marble and illuminated with giant chandeliers, each glass prism glittering. At both ends of the room were oil paintings. Fans circled between the chandeliers overhead. Govinda was immediately struck by the number of Americans and sheiks dotted about. All were well dressed, all looked a little sickly, and all talked in loud, merry voices to solid and prosperous Indians. He was sure that they were selling or buying. ‘Pearls’, ‘bonds’ and ‘pharmaceuticals’, were words he overheard. It seemed everyone was aware of opportunity and certain that all was theirs.

Govinda and his parents were smartly dressed for the occasion. His mother had a new navy dress tailored specifically for the interview. His father wore his favourite navy-blue blazer and his school tie, and Govinda was wearing his school uniform.

His father persisted in telling his mother to check her bag full of papers to see that she had everything in order. ‘It’s all here, Sunil,’ she whispered as they entered the commissioner’s suite for the interview, ‘Don’t worry.’