'What do you mean, Doctor? Why wouldn't she believe him? If he is a good liar, she would believe him.'

'Can you fool your wife?'

'I don't see your point, Doctor. Husbands fool their wives all the time. Do you dispute that?'

'Ousep, we arrive at an intriguing aspect of the Folly of Two. You have to listen to me carefully. Imagine the two sisters. Imagine the elder sister is you. You as in you Ousep Chacko, who is not schizophrenic. We assume that though I don't know your medical history. So, in the place of the schizophrenic elder sister who hears voices, it is you. You do not hear voices because you are not a nut. Now, imagine I ask you to fool the younger sister, I ask you to lie to her about the voices. And you lie to her. You tell her that you have heard your mother's voice and that the voice has instructed both of you to stop eating. You keep saying this to her. You do this for days. Would the younger sister start hearing the voices?'

'I don't know.'

'What do you feel, what does your instinct say?'

'I would be very surprised if she starts hearing voices just because I tell her that I am hearing voices.'

'I have studied this, Ousep. I have studied the phenomenon in this very building. Even if you are the best actor in the world, there is only a very small chance that the younger sister will begin to hear voices just because you say there are voices. You are as persistent as the elder sister, you say everything she would have said, you do everything she would have done, but you cannot make the normal younger sister hear voices by lying about the voices.'

'Why is that?'

'Because to fool a person, it appears, you have to first fool yourself. That is at the heart of all human influences. That is why the elder sister can make the younger sister hear the voices, and you cannot do that. A delusion is many times more powerful than a lie. The distinction between a delusion and a lie is the very difference between a successful saint and a fraud. Why does one man succeed in convincing half the country that he is God while other third-rate magicians like him fail, or even get arrested or beaten up? Why do some evangelists do better than other evangelists? Rationalists think all god-men are frauds. That is the problem with rationalists. They are not rational enough. The world cannot be conned so easily by frauds. Great god-men are great because they really believe they are holy. And all our gods, Ousep, are not lies. They existed. All our gods, from the beginning of time, have been men with psychiatric conditions. And their delusions were so deep, they passed them on. God and believer were then locked in the Folly of Two, they still are. Sometimes in this equation the god could be a political theorist in the grip of a powerful idea, or an economist, a dictator, even a particle physicist. They can influence the world not because they are right, or because they are conmen. They can influence the world because they are deeply deluded. The human delusion has that extraordinary property. It transmits itself. Especially when it does not have to fight a powerful existing myth, a delusion moves from one neurological system to another, it spreads. This is a world that is locked in the Folly of Two.'

As an afterthought, he includes social workers in the list of the deluded. 'Some of them, our living saints, do not realize that they are actually sadists who enjoy watching human misery from very close.'

His eyes grow ponderous and he smiles as if he has experienced a happy memory. 'A boy once told me something, and he said it in this very room. He was sitting where you are sitting right now. He told me that the very objective of a delusion is to spread, to colonize other neurological systems. That is its purpose. There is no evidence to support this but it does appear sometimes that the boy was right.'

'Who was the boy?'

Iyengar waves his hand in a dismissive way. Ousep decides not to push. He says, 'From what you say, Doctor, it seems a person can pass his delusion to more than one individual. So it is not just the Folly of Two. Is that correct?'

Iyengar is about to say something but stops himself. Ousep knows that his questions are somehow exposing him but he cannot understand how that can be. Or is Iyengar just a dramatic man, a cinematic man, who has learnt to intrigue people with cinematic moments? Ousep would never underestimate the power of Tamil cinema. Madras is full of actor clones, full of acts and moments that people have plagiarized from films.

'Ousep, how did you come here?'

'I don't understand your question.'

'Let me imagine the chain of events. You decide to write a story about schizophrenics in Madras. You decide to meet the patriarch first, as you say. But then you don't know what I am. You have done no research, it seems. Very odd for a senior journalist like you. Don't get me wrong, I am not trying to embarrass you. I am trying to understand the situation that we are in. You wanted to meet Dr Krishnamurthy Iyengar but you have no idea who he is, what he means to his profession. When neurologists think of me, do you know what they think of?'

'I should admit that I've been incompetent in my research.'

'Or you just walked into this building not knowing what to expect, and you knocked on a door. But why?'

'It may appear that way, I admit, but I came here looking for you.'

'I believe that, Ousep.'

'If you're not too offended, and I am truly very embarrassed to say this, can you tell me what you are, Doctor?'

Iyengar laughs like a child. 'Of course, I would love to. Isn't that what I was getting at? My wife always complained that she and I only talked about me. One day she told me, "Let's go to a good restaurant and talk about you, you and you."'

Iyengar laughs again, drinks a glass of water waiting for him on the desk. 'All my life I have used the Folly of Two to study mass delusion,' he says. He speaks softly, he is reflective, even proud perhaps. 'That is my rebellion. That is what I am. Why is this important? The society of neuroscientists does not recognize mass delusion as a psychiatric condition. What does this mean? This means, the society of neuroscientists would admit that all evidence points to the fact that God is a figment of man's delusion, yet believers in God, who form most of humanity, cannot be considered delusional. This is a ridiculous position. From the point of view of neuroscience, sanity is a majority condition, and a mass delusion is not a delusion but merely human nature. I don't agree. I have never agreed. What they are saying is that if there is a pandemic and all of mankind is infected, that must be considered normal and a healthy human a freak. That is rubbish. That is why I fought for the inclusion of mass delusion as a part of neuropsychiatry, but I failed. I was ridiculed. Why did I fight, Ousep? Because I believe that there is absolute sanity, there is a human condition that is perfectly sane. But it is a minority condition, which means, from the point of view of neuroscience, it would be in the spectrum of insanity. Somewhere in this world there are people who are in an extraordinary mental state, an extraordinary state of sanity. And they would be considered odd.'

'What is this state, Doctor?'

'I don't know.'

'So you have not met anybody who is in an extraordinary state of sanity?'

Iyengar answers with a blank face. 'A neuropsychiatrist would be the last person to meet such a being, isn't that true, Ousep?'

'That's true.'

'But neuroscience does recognize the delusion of a group of people as a form of mental instability. There is the Folly of Three, and the Folly of Four and even the Folly of Many, which is sometimes used to describe the mass hysteria in the adolescent girls of a school, or the sort of people and their master who wait for alien contact, or wait for the arrival of The One. But they all come under the basic principles of the Folly of Two. There is usually a primary agent, whose powerful delusion is passed on to the secondary agents, and they start corroborating each other's delusions. They start seeing visions, hearing things.'

'So it is never equal. Two people in the Folly of Two are never equally deluded.'

'Rarely.'

'So there is always a primary and a secondary?'

'Yes. A primary agent and a secondary agent.'

'Alpha-Beta.'

Iyengar nods, drums the table with his fingers, fixes Ousep with an indecipherable stare.

'I am reminded of an old case. Not very old, actually. It is another classic case of the Folly of Two. Can I tell you?'

'Yes, you must, I am grateful.'

'I know you are, Ousep. I know. There were two brothers, twins, not identical twins but fraternal twins. When I met them they were in their late teens, which is when these things happen to boys. Adolescence is a very dangerous period in the lives of philosophically oriented males. The brothers, they were cartoonists, very good cartoonists. They showed me their comics. The comics were about powerful supervillains fighting underdog superheroes. Not surprising at all, you will understand why. I don't remember the names of the boys now but I remember what they called themselves Alpha and Beta. That is how they signed their comics. Strange, because that was what they turned out to be. Alpha and Beta.

'Alpha was schizophrenic. He believed that the early human race was in the trance of a great vision, which has now been lost. He believed, and he probably still believes, that some people, by pure chance, see the original vision, a vision without thought, a vision of the entire universe that is immeasurably beautiful. Meanwhile, the others, almost all of humanity, are trapped in what is generally considered human nature. Some days, Alpha heard voices, voices of ancient people who have seen the great hallucination, guiding him, asking him to lock himself in a room for days and meditate so that he could prepare himself to see what they saw. Alpha passed his delusion on to Beta. Beta was not entirely normal but as a doctor I would not diagnose him as schizophrenic. But, under the influence of Alpha, he started believing in the vision. Some days, he, too, started seeing visions and hearing voices. The boys stopped going to college. They started acting weird. Their father forced them to meet me.

'The boys did not like me much. They thought I was with the dark forces, they thought my purpose was to brand people like them mad and lock them up. They refused to meet me but their father kept forcing them. One day, Alpha walked into this room and picked up a paperweight and threw it at me. He missed, fortunately. But then he held me by my shirt and started shaking me as if the truth would then spill out of my ears. I yelled like a fool. The peons came and saved me.'

'When was this, Doctor?'

'About three years ago.'

'Was that the last time you saw Alpha? The day he attacked you?'

'Yes, that was the last time. But a few weeks later something interesting happened. Alpha sent a message through a friend.'

Iyengar opens the drawer of his table and takes out a folder, which contains handwritten letters, short printed notes, medical certificates and yellowing pages from Sanskrit books. He takes out a sheet of paper from the folder and hands it to Ousep. 'Alpha sent this,' he says.

On the sheet is a brilliant caricature of Iyengar. At the bottom of the portrait is a short message: 'I am sorry.' And it is signed 'Alpha'. But the style of the cartoon very clearly points to Unni. Unni's caricatures are austere portraits, he did not exaggerate any part of the face, he was true to all dimensions and there was no attempt at humour. It was as if he found the human face funny enough, so he did not try hard. The quality of the paper, its density and colour, is the same as the pages of Unni's notebooks. Also, from what Ousep has seen of Alpha, he does not appear to be the sort of person who would care to apologize. In all probability, the messenger was Unni and the message was his.

Iyengar asks a surprising question. 'Do you think the portrait was done by Alpha?' Ousep decides to be silent. He realizes that the conversation is not in his control any more, it probably never was.

'The friend whom Alpha had sent was a cartoonist,' Iyengar says, extending his hand to retrieve the portrait and carefully inserting it back in the folder. 'I forget the boy's name but I remember his face very well. A handsome boy, there was something about his face, his stare. He was younger than Alpha. He told me he was seventeen.'

The boy starts a conversation with the doctor about the Folly of Two. 'That boy knew a lot about the subject. He obviously had been reading about it. He even knew about my position on mass delusions.'

At some point, the boy tells the doctor about his hypothesis that the objective of every human delusion is to spread to other brains. Iyengar, naturally, does not take an adolescent's theory seriously enough to offer a scientific opinion, but he enjoys the conversation that follows.

'It was a rich conversation. I enjoyed talking to him.'

The boy asks him whether there is a possibility that enlightenment is just a schizophrenic condition. All the sages who turned into anthills beneath tropical trees in the search for truth, and all the saints and the gods, what if they were just schizophrenics? Iyengar accepts, with complex qualifiers, that he has seen patients who exhibit the enlightenment syndrome, who believe that they are one with the universe, who feel that their bodies are mere vehicles of an eternal condition. Iyengar has seen people who believe they are gods with many hands, demons with many heads, giants of astronomical sizes, even illuminated white doves that speak. He has met men whose dreams contain coded messages from heaven. The boy finds it funny that men and women whose mental conditions have specific names in neuropsychiatry today were, in another time, gods. He finds it funny, and strangely satisfying, that the pursuit of truth is in all likelihood a path left behind by ancient schizophrenics.

'As we were chatting, at some point the boy probably realized that I could not continue talking to him. I had work to do. But he wanted to hold my attention. So he had to make himself valuable. He had researched me, Ousep, he knew a lot about me, he knew what I would fall for. He told me, "Doctor, I know someone with the Cotard Delusion." I was hooked. The boy had me. The Cotard Delusion is a very rare form of schizophrenia. It is also called the Corpse Syndrome. A person with this condition would feel as if he were a living corpse, that he was rotting inside, that he was actually dead and hence eternal. It is a strange philosophical state, but also an extreme case of depression, and the only reason the corpse does not kill himself is that he thinks he is dead anyway. I had never directly interviewed a person with the Cotard Delusion. Not many doctors in the world have. And here was a boy in my room who claimed that he knew someone with the condition. Someone very close to him, he said, but did not reveal any details.'

The boy and Iyengar meet several times over four weeks. The boy wants to understand the world of delusions, and Iyengar wants to meet the corpse. They spend hours together, Iyengar even lets the adolescent meet some of his patients. They form a relationship, a bizarre fellowship. Every time they meet, Iyengar asks the boy about the corpse and the boy says that the corpse does not want to meet the doctor yet. 'Then one day, the boy simply vanishes. He stops coming. I don't see him again. This was three years ago.'

Iyengar leans back in his chair, crosses his fingers. 'Now, Ousep, I've told you everything you may want to know. Is there something you would like to tell me?'

'The boy's name is Unni.'

'Unni, yes, that was his name. Unni Chacko.'

The doctor leans forward, and asks in a gentle tone, but without compassion or curiosity or fear, 'Where is Unni?'

'He is dead.'

Iyengar nods. 'How did he die?'

'He killed himself.'

Iyengar nods again. 'When was this, Ousep?'

'Three years ago. Sixteenth May 1987.'

'And you have been trying to find out why he died?'

'Yes. One of the people I met was Alpha. He asked me to meet you. He said you would know who the corpse is. And the corpse would know why Unni did what he did.'

'How did Alpha know about the corpse?'

'Unni used to talk about the corpse. He had told several people about the corpse.'

'So the corpse does exist. He was not lying.'

'Yes. He knew a corpse. I was hoping you would know who that is.'

'I am sorry, Ousep. I don't know.'

'You don't seem very surprised by his death, Doctor.'

'In my line of work I have no room to be surprised. But if it is grief that you are actually asking about, I will deal with it when I am alone, which is most of the time.'

Ousep's scribbling pad and pen lie on the desk like the props of a farce. He puts them back in his trouser pockets, which makes Iyengar smile. 'There is something else I want to ask you, Doctor,' Ousep says. 'Unni used to play a prank with people. He would ask a person to think of a two-digit odd number. The chances of his guessing the number right were roughly one in forty-five. He would always guess the number as thirty-three. That way, by pure chance, he would get it right sometimes. There are people who still think Unni could read minds. They don't remember that he had asked them to think of a two-digit odd number, that he had reduced the odds; they only remember that Unni had somehow read what was in their mind. Why do you think Unni did it?'

Iyengar shakes his head. 'I've no idea, Ousep. But listen, not everything he did need have any relevance to his death. He was an adolescent. He discovered a great prank. There is probably nothing more to it.'

They sit in silence, without any discomfort between them. The old man, too, is remembering Unni perhaps. He puts his elbows on the desk and asks, 'Is there anybody you know who was very close to Unni who appears to fit the description I gave you of the Cotard Delusion? Anybody? Family, friends, the guard in your building, it could be anybody.'

'No.'

'The boy told me that he was very close to the corpse. It is highly probable that the corpse would know something important about him.'

'Can you take a guess, Doctor? Why would Unni kill himself?'

'I cannot, Ousep. I am as clueless as you are. I gather you have interviewed everyone who matters.'

'Yes.'

'Except the corpse?'

'Yes. Except the corpse.'

'And there is nobody you know who could be the corpse?'

'Did Unni ever tell you about a boy called Somen Pillai?'

'No. Who is Somen Pillai?'

'He was Unni's closest friend. But I have not been able to meet him. He does not want to meet me. Every time I go to his house, his parents send me back saying he is not at home.'

'Can you describe this person to me?'

'I've met him only once and that was three years ago. He was shy, he did not talk much. He did not always look me in the eye. That is all I can say about him.'

'You know nothing more about him?'

'All his classmates say he spoke very rarely. When he was in a room it was as if he did not exist, he was one of those invisible types.'

'Was his hair neatly combed?'

'Yes, it was combed.'

'Did he have a hairstyle?'

'Nothing flamboyant.'

'And his clothes? They were clean and smart?'

'Yes.'

'Did he use the word "I" to refer to himself? Was he aware of his self?'

'I don't remember,' Ousep says.