Govinda remained on the balcony, because he was not ready for the bath, even though he felt dirty. He tugged at his collar. ‘No,’ he whispered, kicking the wall, and sliding down until he sat on the floor. Inside, his mother and father continued to talk about Mrs Gandhi, the army and the Sikh leader, Bhindranwale.

‘The army has stormed the Golden Temple and killed Bhindranwale and so many others,’ he overheard his mother say. ‘What is she thinking, ordering the attack on the most auspicious Sikh holiday?’

‘Now the trouble begins,’ said his father. ‘And there will be an almighty reaction.’

The Goddess

The Goddess

The dome of the temple of Kali rose from the mess of alleyways, residences, hovels, stores and rest houses. Hundreds of shops surrounded the temple with a rope of multi-coloured stalls that sold fruit, flowers, imitation jewellery, perfumes, devotional objects, gilded copper utensils, toys – even fresh fish and caged birds. Above all the activity, the smoke of the funeral pyres and the smell of incense mingled with burning flesh. At the temple of Kali, the most vibrant life went hand in hand with death.

Sometimes Govinda’s father took him on unpredictable outings, and it was not unusual for them to go to the Kali temple.

‘We need a well-deserved break from packing,’ said Sunil Seth.

Govinda stood by the railings and watched the pilgrims climb the steps beneath the brightly painted eaves, brushing past the garlands of marigold and the strings of tinkling bells. Passing pilgrims offered sweetmeats and spices for Kali. A rich family laden with gifts of fruit and food wrapped in gold paper pushed past a western tourist dressed in white cotton. A ragged beggar jostled for money from the pilgrims. Saffron-robed yogis with their hair tied up and knotted on the crowns of their heads mingled in the crowd. Govinda felt contented as he watched the motley throng mill about in an atmosphere of festivity, until he observed a small wooden block in the courtyard and a goat being led to it. On the ground he saw stale blood. He knew the goat was about to be sacrificed. It reminded him of the elephant. He looked for his father who was talking to a priest. Govinda turned quickly and ran outside the temple.

Outside, kirtan wallahs sang songs of praise to the goddess. As Govinda passed by, the kirtan wallahs called to him as they sang. He went along happily now, relieved to be out of his father’s grasp and away from the animal sacrifice. He joined in with the musicians, who played harmoniums, fiddles, flutes, trumpets, bells and drums as they sang and clapped and blew and beat and drummed.

Saw her today

And as she turned away

I saw a diamond in her eye

And naturally I marvelled why

I asked why

An answer came

Surrender yourself

Lie still like a dead body

Roll forward like a wheel

The spirt regenerates.

They sent her away