I was obliged to come to the conclusion that Shiva, my rival, my changeling brother, could no longer be admitted into the forum of my mind; for reasons which were, I admit, ignoble. I was afraid he would discover what I was sure I could not conceal from him the secrets of our birth. Shiva, for whom the world was things, for whom history could only be explained as the continuing struggle of oneself against the crowd, would certainly insist on claiming his birthright; and, aghast at the very notion of my knock kneed antagonist replacing me in the blue room of my childhood while I, perforce, walked morosely off the two storey hillock to enter the northern slums; refusing to accept that the prophecy of Ramram Seth had been intended for Winkies boy, that it was to Shiva that Prime Ministers had written, and for Shiva that fishermen pointed out to sea… placing, in short, a far higher value on my eleven year old sonship than on mere blood, I resolved that my destructive, violent alter ego should never again enter the increasingly fractious councils of the Midnight Childrens Conference; that I would guard my secret which had once been Marys with my very life.

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