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But that was last night. Today, she was in a worse temper than ever, and even though it was a holiday she had pulled Rakti by the arm and put her to mopping floors and tending the fires. Jandu had sneaked out while he could.

Rakti was tall for her age, taller than Jandu, and soft-eyed and pretty in a way that promised heartbreaking beauty when she grew up, and Jandu had sometimes hated her for that beauty, because he felt it gave her an advantage over him; but at other times he had loved her too, and felt proud when the other boys talked of his beautiful sister. He had made Rakti’s doll with his own hands, with coconut shells, rope and pieces of wood. It was old now but she never went out without it.

The sun rose higher, and the children dispersed. Jandu was debating whether to go home for lunch, because he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t be beaten for asking for lunch if there was nothing in the house with the feast coming, when there was a banging sound and shouting and suddenly everyone was running everywhere, in all directions, aimlessly. Some of the people lay down on the ground and blood began to come out of them. Jandu began to run, too. First he ran towards home but most of the banging and screaming were coming from that direction and the people were mostly running from that direction, and before he quite knew what was happening he had been forced off the path and was running into the forest.

There were other people running into the forest too, some of them boys and girls his age, and he ran with them. It was not so easy going in the forest, and in between the trees the group broke up rapidly and Jandu and another boy were alone. They had just stopped to catch their breath when two men stepped out from behind a tree and stood looking at them.

They weren’t quite men. They were boys of perhaps fifteen, dressed in baggy shorts and green T-shirts with bandannas around their heads, one black, the other red. They held angular guns and looked at Jandu and his companion and frowned. They pointed the guns and forced the two boys back through the forest to the village, where by now the banging and screaming seemed to have died down. On the way, Jandu stumbled over a body. It was very fat and its belly jutted up as it lay on its back and it had no head. Only later did he think about it and realise that the storyteller had told his last tale this side of the Great Beyond.

Many of the village people had been gathered in the central square, where the feast was to be held that evening, and more teenagers with guns and knives were standing guard all around them. They spoke a language Jandu had never heard before, with complex rhythms and slurred sibilants. Nothing happened for some time except more people were brought into the square, and then the children were pushed into the centre and one of the teenagers stepped forward. He beckoned to Jandu.

"Where are your parents?" he asked in Jandu’s language, Sambar, with an accent so strong it was like a parody. Jandu looked around. He could not see his parents and sister anywhere. Some of the adults were crying and praying and the teenagers were laughing at them. Then one of the crying adults began to abuse the teenagers, and the boy stepped up to the man and calmly took a pistol and shot him dead. All the crying and praying stopped in a shocked silence. The rays of the sun streamed down on the people in their once bright clothes and the red of the dead man shone dark and rich on the black earth, and suddenly Jandu knew what the banging sounds had been.

"Where are your parents?" the boy asked again. Jandu wanted to cry but was sure that it would be the worst thing he could do. He still could not see his parents anywhere, and couldn’t decide if this was good or bad. "They aren’t here," he said. The boy looked at him steadily for a moment and then nodded. "Stand over there."

One by one the children were all asked where their parents were. Some of them could point out their parents among the gathered adults, and these parents were all pulled out and made to stand to one side. Finally when all the parents had been gathered to one side the teenagers turned and called the children one by one and asked them if they wanted to be free and happy like the teenagers themselves. They said the children could have a life full of fun and games. They then gave the children guns and made them shoot their own parents. It took a long time. One or two of the children refused and the teenagers shot both them and the parents. After that nobody refused. The parents at first called out to their children not to do it but afterwards just stood there and accepted their fate.

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