As leader of the doomsday cult Aum Supreme Truth, Asahara, 51, commanded the fanatical loyalty of 40,000 followers in Japan and Russia. Although its membership has since dropped to about 6,500, the perceived threat posed by the cult, now called Aleph, was underlined yesterday when 160 investigators raided its premises across Japan amid suspicions some cultists remain loyal to Asahara's violent teachings.

But the Asahara who languishes in prison is a shadow of his former self, incarceration having brought on a swift mental decline that has left him unable to speak or recognise his own children, his lawyers say. After more than 140 meetings in prison, lawyers say their client no longer understands what is happening to him and his trial should be halted. But their attempts to save him from the gallows have all but failed.

'Like a doll'

A court-appointed doctor said Asahara's apparent mental decline was simply an elaborate scam to escape execution. If so, he has managed to fool even members of his own family. "The first time I saw him he was just like a doll, he couldn't say a word," says Mayumi, his second daughter, who has visited him 28 times since August 2004.

His once long hair is now kept short and his beard has been replaced by greying stubble. Dressed in regulation grey prison uniform, the incontinent, nearly blind Asahara communicates with a series of indecipherable grunts, all meticulously recorded in his daughters' personal diaries. He can walk only with support and urinates and masturbates in front of his lawyers and daughters.

"I told him that my [two] brothers wanted to see him, that they had grown up and their voices had broken," said Kaori. "But he just sat there, rubbing his leg constantly. He didn't respond at all, even when I shouted."

The daughters' description of their father is far removed from the image Japanese have of the white-robed guru who drew thousands of disenchanted young men and women into his cult.

After a mammoth trial that ended with a death sentence in February 2004, Asahara's legal options appeared to have run out last month when the Tokyo high court threw out his appeal. His lawyers filed an objection to the ruling but it is not clear when a decision will be issued. If the petition is rejected Asahara could be led to his death at any time.

The daughters say they have spent the 11 years since their father's arrest living like fugitives. They have been denied housing and schooling, and are subjected to regular vilification in tabloid newspapers, which are convinced that they are under the malign influence of their father.

They refuse to meet the local media and only agreed to talk to the Guardian and two other foreign reporters provided they were not photographed and were referred to by aliases. During the interview, at the office of Asahara's lawyer, the daughters described how their lives had been blighted by their father's status as one of the most hated figures in Japanese criminal history.

Their elder sister had attempted suicide after being bullied at school and Mayumi was shunned when she asked the school principal for help. Their 11-year-old brother was recently denied admission to a junior high school, even though he had passed the entrance exam. Like Kaori, he has taken legal action to try and secure his right to an education. "Every move I make is reported, and none of it true," said Kaori, who was recently awarded 300,000 yen (£1,400) in damages from a university that refused to enroll her. "I don't trust the media any more. We just wish they'd forget about us."

Like other members of the cult, the daughters were given Aum identity numbers but say they have never been active members, either of Aum or its successor, Aleph, which says it has renounced violence. The women, now in their early 20s, live separately at secret addresses. They receive limited financial support from a guardian - a former Aum member who looked after them after their parents were arrested - but pay their way working part-time, moving jobs frequently after employers are tipped off about their identities.

Legal victory

Kaori's recent legal victory means she can now study at university, although she refuses to name which one. "By the time I started attending classes everyone knew who I was, but people have accepted me for who I am and I have made lots of friends," she said. Mayumi, who is studying for a law degree via correspondence, admits she doesn't have a single friend.

The sisters are reluctant to talk of the crimes for which their father is expected to hang. Kaori calls them a "big problem" but says she can't find the words to describe her feelings towards the victims. Asked if she thought her father capable of ordering such atrocities she said: "I would like to ask him directly."

Her physical resemblance to her father, and reports that as a child she had been anointed as his successor as head of the cult, has her constantly watching over her shoulder: on the day we meet she is wearing a wig. She says any semblance of a normal life will elude her as long as she remains in Japan, and she has loose plans to settle in Canada, where she spent a month studying English a few years ago.

"I was happy there because no one knew who I was," she said. "I could be myself, and I realised how much pressure comes with living in Japan. But I can't leave now. If I left and did nothing to help my father I would regret it forever."

Aum Supreme Truth: Dark and dangerous

Formed in the late 1980s, Aum Supreme Truth, with its secretive compound in the foothills of Mount Fuji, was seen as a weird, but harmless, group of yoga enthusiasts with an interest in spiritual development and ambitions for a modest role in party politics.

But there was a darker, hidden side to Asahara's most loyal disciples. While Aum's elite scientists set about developing chemical, biological and conventional weapons, Asahara convinced his followers - mainly disenchanted youths, among them graduates of Japan's best universities - that only unswerving faith in the cult's philosophy, a mix of conventional religions, the occult and yoga, would save them from a nuclear holocaust orchestrated by the US.

At about 8am on March 20 1995 several of Asahara's followers released sarin, a nerve gas developed by the Nazis, on several subway trains during the morning rush hour.

The cult was also responsible for a sarin attack on the town of Matsumoto in 1994 in which seven people died, and of killing Tsutsumi Sakamoto, an anti-cult lawyer, his wife and young son in 1989, among other crimes.

In 2000 the cult renamed itself Aleph, agreed to compensate victims and claimed it had renounced violence. The cult's headquarters in the Tokyo suburbs remain under constant surveillance. Police believe 1,650 members in Japan and 300 in Russia are still faithful to Asahara.

The Raelians, who had their "annual awakening seminar" earlier this month in Queensland, are a prominent group in Australia that believe aliens created them and will return.

These are most commonly referred to as UFO cults, the most infamous of which is Heaven's Gate, whose 39 members committed suicide in 1997 in the hope that their souls would catch a ride to the Kingdom of Heaven on a passing spaceship. But Monash University sociology professor Gary Bouma said religions based on UFOs are an "exceedingly tiny fraction" of religious groups.

Professor Bouma, an expert on religion and society, said they were "one of the absolute fringes of spirituality".

"It's simply a tiny little group pursuing an esoteric idea. Life has been full of them, they've come and gone," he said.

"They never stand up against the mainstream, for a whole variety of reasons."

But since space travel began in the 1950s, the idea of extraterrestrials has taken hold of people's imaginations.

Films like Close Encounters of the Third Kind and television series like The X-Files have made aliens and UFOs a part of popular culture.

There is even a predominant image of an alien - a small, grey creature with big, dark eyes.

And with new technology such as the internet, small groups can have a large and enduring presence.

The Raelians are one group that has used the internet to become a worldwide phenomenon. They have an international headquarters in Switzerland, and offices all over the world, from Afghanistan to Zimbabwe.

They claim there are up to 70,000 Raelians worldwide, with about 500 in Australia. A registered non-profit organisation, their main aim is "to create peace on Earth".

The group was founded in 1973 by Rael, a French journalist formerly known as Claude Vorilhon.

He said he had met extraterrestrials who told him to build an embassy to await their return to Earth.

He claimed they had created humanity, and would return to elevate them to a higher evolutionary plane sometime before 2035. But members of many groups deny that the word "cult" applies to them, and would prefer to be called religions, if anything.

This is a complicated idea. The High Court of Australia defines religion as "a complex of beliefs and practices which point to a set of values and an understanding of the meaning of existence". By this definition, most groups with any organised spirituality should be referred to as religions.

The proliferation of magazines, books, and internet sites on the subjects suggests most groups referred to as "cults" are not just brainwashed followers of charismatic leaders, but diverse groups of people looking for spiritual guidance. The Raelians gained media exposure through their claims to have cloned humans, and they have also weighed into the Intelligent Design debate with their version of the origin of life. Roy Tyrrell is a "guide" with the Raelians - a position which he likens to being a priest.

He said the Raelians believe "that life . . . was a scientific creation".

"We believe that beings, whom we call the Elohim (which translates as 'those who come from the sky') came to the planet, and with the synthesis of DNA they were able to create life."

"They created man after their likeness, so we look like the Elohim," he said.

This theory of the origins of humanity is common in UFO cults and is often referred to as the Ancient Astronaut theory. Its most famous proponent was Erich Von Daniken, whose 1969 book Chariots of the Gods? Was God an Astronaut? was a bestseller.

Von Daniken argued that aliens were a hidden force behind the history of humankind, responsible for ancient civilisations. He suggests that, once upon a time, there was a war between two worlds, and the defeated race concealed themselves on Earth.

These astronaut refugees then contacted the "feeble hominids" (our ancestors) and decided to help them.

So they mated with the hunter-gatherers and produced a superior race of human beings.

VON Daniken offered proof of his theory in the form of cave drawings that he claimed looked like astronauts, complete with helmets and spacesuits.

Mr Tyrrell said Von Daniken has "provided evidence of the existence of extraterrestrials doing things on the planet in the past".

He said this supported the Raelians claim that the Elohim had been here.

Professor Bauma said that these extraterrestrial theories of the origins of life are "an interesting but trivial phenomenon", although for some people they are "a way of making sense of the world around them".

"Von Daniken said if you look at certain things a certain way they look a bit like astronauts," he said. "I can't imagine that he has any current credibility."

He said that some people "seem to be vulnerable to some kinds of charismatic leaders", and that people should be wary of people trying to convert them to unconventional religions.

"These programs give inmates hope and prepare them to be different people," says John Lanz, CCA's director of industry and special programs.

While the ambitious approach wins kudos from some inmates, other people question its constitutionality.

Though not directly supported by President Bush's faith-based initiative, CCA's program poses the same questions about how to encourage positive change in people's lives without privileging one form of religion with taxpayer dollars. Some also see potential political ramifications.

CCA provides for a variety of religious services in each facility, as required by law. But in addition, it has formed partnerships with eight national Evangelical Christian ministries under which CCA provides annual financial contributions and sets up franchise-style operations within facilities.

"We had chaplains and religious services, but I saw we didn't take full advantage of resources these national ministries provided, and they were having [legal] difficulties in state and federal facilities," says Mr. Lanz. "As a private company, we could knock down the barriers."

Critics say those barriers shouldn't come down. Religious programming per se - which can benefit both prisoners and the prison environment - is not at issue, but showing preference for a particular religion is. The partnerships do that, they suggest, especially when they include residential "pods" where one faith message structures the living situation, and benefits are available that others don't get.

In a case unrelated to CCA, Americans United for the Separation of Church and State has challenged in court the Inner Change program run in an Iowa prison by Charles Colson's Prison Fellowship. Results of that trial are due any day.

CCA says funding groups using company profits makes it legal, but others argue that since CCA acts for the government in running facilities, it cannot support a particular religious message.

"In the corrections context, CCA would be treated as if it is a 'state actor,' " says Robert Tuttle, a law professor at George Washington University and an expert on faith-based program issues.

The Freedom From Religion Foundation of Madison, Wis., and its New Mexico members recently filed a federal lawsuit against the state and CCA over programming at the women's prison in Grants, N.M. FFRF says the Life Principles program in the "faith pod" there is fundamentalist Christian and teaches the women submission to male authority.

"This is a flagrant endorsement of religion," says Annie Gaylor, FFRF co-president. "We consider this a nationally significant lawsuit because they are the major private provider of prison services ... and have openly said they want to franchise this."

The company contends it's on safe ground because programs are voluntary and inmates don't have to convert; it developed a checklist for detention facilities to follow, which it says will ensure they are meeting First Amendment requirements.

Ms. Gaylor disagrees: "They are being told that the only way they can be rehabilitated is through Jesus Christ, so it's a mind game even if they say you don't have to convert."

Volunteering in prison is a complicated question, Professor Tuttle says. Do some make choices they think officials or parole boards favor?

Studies don't support program effectiveness

Along with issues of taxpayer funding of a religious message, there are questions of religious programs' efficacy in prison. Todd Clear, a professor at John Jay College of Criminal Justice in New York, has conducted several evaluations. He says that empirical data have not shown a positive impact that can be traced to the programs themselves.

The studies show "fairly substantial differences in postrelease success of those involved and those not," he says, "but the differences disappear when you statistically control for the characteristics and background of the people."

Yet encouraged by Bush's faith-based initiative and by staff and inmate interest, CCA says that along with the vocational, educational, and antiaddiction programs offered, faith-based programs are crucial.

"While all programs are important, our company - and, hopefully, our nation - has recognized that changing the hearts of people leads to larger change of attitudes and behavior," says Dennis Bradby, CCA's vice president for inmate programs.

At the Metro-Davidson detention facility in Nashville, Tenn., inmates can apply to live in separate residential communities some have dubbed "God pods," where life is highly structured.

Chaplain Dennis Smith coordinates one faith pod in which 41 inmates study two programs: Life Principles - a character-building curriculum based on fundamentalist biblical teachings developed by the Institute for Life Principles, in Oak Brook, Ill., (a group controversial even among evangelicals); and the Bible study course of School for Christ International, of Beaumont, Texas. Local volunteer teachers receive training by national ministries, which provide the materials.

At a pod session during a recent visit, inmates listen to a televangelist-style message on DVD by the ministry leader, focused on religious doctrine, and then volunteer Ray Vick leads a discussion.

"The fact that I'm saved means I'm special to the Lord. Do you consider yourself a miracle?" Mr. Vick asks. "If it wasn't for Jesus, we couldn't be saved and become a new creation."

One inmate raises the importance of forgiveness, and Vick talks about his experience of forgiving an absent father. In his second term at the jail, David Elmore signed up for the pod and considers it one of his best decisions.

"The programs teach me that God is the head of my life whether I want Him to be or not, and if I yield to that, my life will be better - and I'm seeing that," he says in an interview. "We do anger resolution, the commands of Christ, and 170 lessons with DVDs and a text on what's expected of you as a Christian."

Mr. Elmore, who worked for a concrete company, says he played hard and did what he wanted, including alcohol and drugs. A divorced father who left home when his daughter was 4, he has also signed up with another of the ministries - Child Evangelism Fellowship - which encourages inmates to communicate with their children around Bible lessons.

"My daughter always wanted to know why I wasn't there," Elmore says. "She's 18, and this helps us build a relationship based on who we are now rather than on past mistakes."

Harold Harris, also a repeat offender, says, "Once you get into the program it will grab you. Doing time is hard.... This is the best place to be in the facility because there's more peace."

The other faith pod of 100 inmates is staffed directly by Men of Valor, a Nashville ministry founded by a former prisoner. It is committed to "winning men in prison to Jesus Christ and discipling them" so they can "reenter society as men of integrity." The staff of five shepherds the men through a 12-month curriculum, including goal setting and one-on-one mentoring by volunteers. The mentoring will continue for a year after the inmates' release, and includes support from a local church.

During the morning, the men spend time in group sessions on topics like marriage and family, financial management, and Christian qualities of manhood; an afternoon community meeting is for discussing issues and worship. Today, it's a rousing, high-energy event, with a cappella praise songs, clapping, and rap music with Christian lyrics written last night by "the Prayer Squad": "This is the new life/ set back wait I got something to tell/ remember my old life/ high speeding on my way to hell...."

Eugene Gregory used to write a different kind of rap music, but says "since I got in the program, it don't feel right" anymore. This is his fifth time in jail. He's only 25 and has five kids. Raised in a strict, churchgoing family, he got caught up in adventure, drugs, and the "Wild Boys" gang.

"I've learned something new every day - it's exciting," he says. Even if allowed out after a coming court date, he'd prefer "to leave a new man. I want to inspire somebody to wonder what happened to me."

Does it institutionalize Evangelical view?

Several in the pod say what's affected them most is the Bible study. "I used to read the Bible like any book, but they taught us to read one verse maybe a hundred times until you get the meaning," says Rodney Collier. "Now I know how to go to God."

Residential faith-based pods in prisons are a growing phenomenon in states, though controversial. Dr. Clear says Colson's Prison Fellowship (PF) has reorganized its programs to focus on reentry into the community.

In addition to the eight Evangelical ministries already under agreement, CCA has just signed with PF for a reentry program in Indiana. It's also developing a partnership with megachurch pastor Rick Warren's prison ministry.

Overall, "we're about 40-50 percent there in implementing these programs," Lanz says.

The all-out emphasis on Evangelical groups, including some fundamentalist ones, appears to involve deals with preferred religious groups for any structured programs beyond simple church services, raising questions about the choice inmates have. Some county jails are taking similar steps.

"This is now a systematic attempt by folks on the prison and Evangelical side to move this vision of evangelical transformation as a core part of what it means to prepare prisoners for reentry," Tuttle says.

Dr. Clear is also skeptical. "The potential downsides of a partisan, Evangelical alliance with a profit-making prison industry are alarming," he says.

Yet he is strongly in favor of religious programming that offers real choice and is widely available. Prisoners are positive about programs because they ameliorate the strains of being locked up, he says.

The challenge for those in the corrections business is to find the right constitutional mix of programs that allow prisoners free religious expression and a choice of opportunities for rehabilitation.

"The ice core is made up of snow that fell in the distant past," said project leader Hideaki Motoyama of the National Institute of Polar Research, dressed snugly in a parka after unveiling the gleaming ice in a room kept at minus 20 degrees Celsius (minus 4 Fahrenheit).

"You can use it to examine changes in temperature, levels of carbon dioxide and methane over time, information that is only available from the core," he said.

Researchers at the Dome Fuji base in the eastern Antarctic spent more than two years on the delicate operation of drilling into the ice sheet, coming up with the million-year-old samples in January and shipping them to Japan on an icebreaker.

Research based on a previous study of Antarctic ice and published by Nature magazine last year said concentrations of carbon dioxide and methane were far higher now than at any time in the last 650,000 years.

The Japanese team will look farther into the past and are also hoping the ice samples will yield opportunities to study the evolution of tiny organisms trapped in the ice.

"The environment there is very harsh, with temperatures about minus 45 degrees, so we don't know if life can be sustained," Motoyama said. "But we believe we will find organisms."

The researchers believe they can dig about another 20 metres into the ice at the Antarctic site before reaching base rock.