Between glugging the Generation Next beverage and compiling copious lists for his bosses, Vasava outlines his plan: ``It is not correct to say that all the churches are being destroyed in the Dangs. In most instances these are just thatched huts with crosses where people gathered to pray. At best, you could call them prayer houses, but not churches.''

Prayer houses? "Yes, churches have a certain architecture and all that. These are simple huts. So there is no question of any compensation.'' There is now also a move afoot to start an inquiry into the legality of the lands where these ``churches'' stood.

The Navsari SP has extensively toured the troubled area and has come to conclusions which have little to do with politicsor religion. ``This is a social problem,'' he says. ``The trouble started when the Christians stopped paying for religious festivals, and the upkeep of the local deity, and yet wanted to avail of all the administrative amenities provided to Hindu tribals. Naturally, the Hindus resent this,'' he says.

In the web of villages across the Dangs the schism is deep and apparent. Not once during the spate of attacks on the Christians did the other villagers come forward to help. At Zadsaul as masked assailants first destroyed the church and then brutally attacked the pastor, Sitaram, and two others, no one was even willing to help carry them to the district civil hospital some kilometers away. ``In the dead of the night we had to drag these people through the forest, all the way to Ahwa,'' says Mehri Pawar, wife of one of the victims.

The Hindu tribals' conviction that the genesis of the trouble lies with the Christians attacking the VHP-HJM rally at Ahwa on December 25 is given a voice by the administration:``It is true that the Hindus shouted a few anti-Christian slogans but there was no need for the Christians to start attacking the rallyists. After that it became difficult to control the Hindus. Though, I must say that we were rather successful otherwise Deep Darshan school in Ahwa would have been razed instead of suffering a few broken panes and that Sister Carmel (the principal of Deep Darshan) would have been killed,'' says Vasava. Instead of being grateful, Vasava accuses, she has been going around saying that the police did not do enough. To stress his point, Vasava narrates, what he says is his favourite anecdote these days: A man is drowning in a river. A passerby notices him and jumps in to save him. When both men reach the banks the man who was drowning starts to quarrel with his saviour: `Why did you let my cap flow away'?'' He laughs heartily.

The humour is entirely lost on the likes of Vanita, Lakshubhai, Ishwarbhai, Mehri Pawar, Kamubhai...people, who in the last ten days have seen the onlything they truly possess come under attack, their faith.

The first missionaries came to the Dangs in 1907. Since then the Church has flourished to accommodate as many as 15 denominations and the Christian tribal population has swelled to 25 per cent. The missionaries used education, medical care, and curiously, even `miracles' to draw the tribals into their fold. Cutting across villages everyone we spoke to had a uniform story of how they converted to Christianity. A typical story goes so: A child in the family falls sick. The absence of any medical care infrastructure and the failure of jadoo-tona to revive the child leaves the harried parents with one last resort: ``Christi prayers.'' And invariably they seem to work! After which the grateful family decide to convert. It's inexplicable, or maybe as Avinash Kulkarni, a Committee for Protection of Democratic Rights' activist says, ``just faith.''

Trying to articulate her decision to convert nine years ago, Mehri Pawar of Zadsaul says, ``I feel moreat peace.'' While Lakshubhai says it gave him the strength to give up his dependency on mahua. For Suman Lahnu, it meant the chance of an education for his daughter. For none of them reconversion is an option.

Their belief has also given these tribals, desperately poor and unlettered about the politics of religion, the strength to cope and the knowledge that sometimes violence is fait accompli.