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In south Asia, the significance of the departure of the host country from the World Cup is that it clears the way for a renewal of India-Pakistan rivalry, at Old Trafford on June 8.

The cricket contest between the subcontinental neighbours must be the fiercest derby in world sport. Never mind Rangers v Celtic or Yorkshire v Lancashire, this is an encounter that brings into play politics, religion and the foundations of national identity across a huge swathe of humanity. And since last year, the sporting confrontation has been overshadowed by a nuclear one.

The India-Pakistan rivalry has been cricket's top-selling roadshow for the last decade. Having entertained crowds in Sharjah, Singapore and Toronto, there's no reason for it not to go down a storm in Manchester.

Certainly, it promises to attract the biggest television audience of the tournament so far, which will delight sponsors like Hero Honda and LG Electronics, who sell next to nothing in the host country but - thanks to the telecast - will enjoy huge exposure in their target south Asian markets.

However, there is no escaping the fact that the escalation of the conflict in Kashmir alters the framework in which this sporting rite is celebrated.

Whether the players like it or not, the symbolic stakes have been raised, and along with them the emotions that will attend the fluctuating fortunes of the match. Given the grim exchange of fire in the Himalayas, the green turf of Old Trafford may take on the dark cast of a proxy battlefield.

When India and Pakistan went to war in 1965, a Rest of the World side were playing against England at Scarborough. Among the Rest of the World XI were the then captains of India and Pakistan - the Nawab of Pataudi and Hanif Mohammed - who issued a joint appeal to their two governments: ``We wish to express deep regrets at the war between India and Pakistan. We find unity on the cricket field by reaching for a common objective. We fervently hope both countries can meet and find an amicable solution.''

Only the most myopically romantic of the game's devotees would claim that cricket can resolve international or even domestic conflicts. But it remains reasonable, and necessary, to insist that it not be used to add fuel to the fire.

In the current international climate, no one can welcome the prospect of the cry of ``Pakistan, hai hai!'' (''down with Pakistan'') ringing round English cricket grounds, matched to the decibel by the other side and beamed by satellite back to south Asia. As our globalised information economy reverberates with competitive jingoism, cricket will not be the only loser.

Would it be too much to hope that the stars of the India and Pakistan sides could find a way to issue an appeal for peace - not to their respective governments but to their legions of fans? The last thing Asian communities in Britain need is the importation of the most aggressive elements of the India-Pakistan rivalry.

Asian communities in Britain are a complex and evolving mixture. Within these communities, there are many who view with unease the way the cricket rivalry between India and Pakistan seems to compel young people to choose one of these identities over the other. We have weathered the Tebbit test, they argue, why should we saddle ourselves with a south Asian version of it?

Cricket is a form of escapism, and there is no need to apologise for that. But sometimes the surrounding realities permit no escape, and cricket finds itself encumbered with unwelcome significance. In Manchester, the best that can be hoped for is that cricket lovers and cricketers show themselves superior to political leaders.

And since it is not impossible for India to face Pakistan again in the semi-finals, or even the final, a display of friendship between rival supporters would set a healthy precedent for the remainder of the tournament.