A crowd had gathered on the side of the road near a calf with five legs and a sadhu seated on an animal skin. The sadhu had long hair worn in thick dreadlocks and painted markings on his forehead, and wore a crown of rudraksh beads. He sat cross-legged, straight-backed, rocking. Beside him lay his staff and a water vessel. Several cobras moved about him, including an albino with three lines on his hood: the mark of Shiva.

The sadhu took out his chillum and filled it with ganja. ‘Om namah Shiva,’ he chanted, ‘Kali ma ki jai.’ When he inhaled, a foot-high flame leapt from the chillum. Then he began to sing in a loud, powerful voice about not being attached to worldly things:

There is too much worry here

Bears, tigers and elephants stalking the forest

Oh Shiva, Oh Shiva

Don’t fear not having enough

There is too much worry here

Bears, tigers and elephants stalking the forest

Oh Shiva, Oh Shiva

Maintain your true self

There is too much worry here

Bears, tigers and elephants stalking the forest

Oh Shiva, Oh Shiva

The terror will consume you

There is too much worry here

Bears, tigers and elephants stalking the forest

Oh Shiva, Oh Shiva

He will hold you

There is too much worry here

Bears, tigers and elephants stalking the forest

Oh Shiva, Oh Shiva

Rest and turn inward

There is too much worry here

Bears, tigers and elephants stalking the forest

Oh Shiva! Oh Shiva!

Find joy within

There is too much worry here

Bears, tigers and elephants stalking the forest

Oh Shiva, Oh Shiva

‘Look!’ Govinda pointed to the calf in astonishment.

Mumbles soon set him straight. ‘That is no miraculous calf,’ muttered Mumbles. ‘Look at this. See how people live. The lane is a health hazard. The local authorities are still squabbling over who should fix the drains after the monsoons, because of so many years of a Marxist government.’

‘Is that why you like Bhindranwale?’

‘I don’t like how Sikh people are being treated,’ said Mumbles.

Govinda thought about his father. Everyone seemed to be upset with India. Govinda felt different because Serpent Lane, even in its mad state, was his neighbourhood. Everything of value to him took place there. Now he was being asked to step away from his home. ‘I’ll never-never-never be glad about leaving.’ Govinda said, getting worked up.

‘I understand that. It is a terrible thing if someone denies you your land of birth,’ Mumbles tried to console him. ‘This is our birthright. To be free to call a place home is very important. No one has the right to refuse you that. Not even the Prime Minister.’ He thought for a minute. He cleared his throat. ‘Just imagine what it would be like to live in Australia or Canada or somewhere where the streets were clean, and not used as a public lavatory, where there was fresh water and fresh air.’

‘What is a lavatory?’