KATHERINE LEFT EVERYTHING. She found a place where other devotees lived. They were French. They offered her a mattress in the corner of their room. On the first night she lay awake under her mosquito net listening to the breathing of sleepers and the cries and groans of lovers. Their sighs hung in the air. A gecko with bug eyes scuttled along the wall and from afar came the sound of bells and sitar. As her eyes grew heavy, Katherine felt the mysterious rhythms of the music beckoning, and a tremor ran through her body.

The smell of coffee woke her. From behind the net she watched men and women rise naked from their beds. They criss-crossed the room to the bathroom and back again. Soon the naked procession was transformed into a group of devotees in flowing saffron robes. They laughed and talked, drinking their coffee and crunching on little toasted biscuits, before disappearing through the arched doorway. Katherine wanted to join them, to be swept in an orange swirl to the ashram gates and into the embrace of the guru.