The Moghul

lamps. By the time the guests assembled to leave, the room was virtually dark. Kamala and the musicians had been escorted from the room by Arangbar's guards. Suddenly Hawksworth felt Nadir Sharifs hand on his arm.
    "That was a noble thing you did, Ambassador. We all owe you a debt of thanks. I have rarely seen His Majesty so out of temper. The repercussions could have been distressing for many of us."
    "It was your idea."
    "Merely a quick fancy, an act of desperation. But without your cooperation it would have been impossible. I do thank you."
    "There's nothing to thank me for." Hawksworth drew his arm away. "Where's this house you've found for me?"
    Nadir Sharif sighed. "Finding a secure lodging these days is more difficult than you might first imagine, Ambassador. But you were in luck. I remembered there's a small lodge in my palace grounds that is unoccupied. I did not reckon on quarters for two, but of course the woman will be living with your servants. The house should serve until something more fitting can be found."
    "My thanks." Damn you. "When do I move there?"
    "Your effects have already been moved, on His Majesty's authority. You can come tonight. My men will show you there. Your dinner is probably waiting."
    At that moment the last lamp was extinguished. Along with the other guests they groped their way out of the Diwan-i-Khas in total darkness.

    CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

    "Many years ago I was a devadasi ." Kamala sat, pillowless, on the carpet, watching as Hawksworth ate. Her musicians, the flautist and the drummer, knelt silently behind her. Nadir Sharif’s servants stood by, nervously attentive, pretending to ignore everyone but Hawksworth. The white plaster walls of the lamp-lit room fairly flashed with Kamala's diamonds. "Do you know what that is?"
    Hawksworth shook his head, his mouth gorged with roast lamb. The room was filled with its aroma. It was his first lamb since Burhanpur, and he was ravenous.
    "Does that mean yes?" Kamala's Turki was surprisingly good.
    Hawksworth suddenly remembered the curious Indian convention of swinging the head from side to side to signify concurrence. He had meant to say no, which in Indian body language was an almost un-reproducible twist of the neck. He swallowed the lamb and reached for another shank.
    "No. I meant no. Is that a kind of dancer?"
    "It means 'a servant of the gods.' In South India there's a special caste of women who serve in the great stone temples, who are married to the god of the temple. When we are very young we have a marriage ceremony, like any wedding. Except we are a bride of the temple. And then we serve its god with music and with our dance."
    Hawksworth examined her quizzically. "You mean you were like a nun?"
    "What is that?"
    "They're something like Papist priests. Women who give themselves to God, or at least to the pope's Church." Hawksworth paused awkwardly. "And claim to be married to Christ, so they never lie with a man."
    Kamala looked at him with surprise.
    "Not even the high-caste men who come to the temple? But how, then, do they serve this Christian God? By dance only?"
    "Nuns aren't known to do much dancing. They mainly . . . well, I don't really know what they do, except claim to be virgins."
    "Virgins!" Kamala exploded in laughter. "This Christian God must be a eunuch. We devadasis serve the temple with our bodies, not with empty words."
    "Then what exactly did you do?" Hawksworth looked up and examined her.
    "I was at the famous Shiva temple of Brihadishwari in Tanjore, the great fountainhead of Bharata Natyam dance in India. There we danced for the god of the temple, and we danced too at the courts of the Dravidian kings of the south." She hesitated, then continued. "Devadasis there also honor the temple god by lying with men of high caste who come to worship, and by wearing the jewels they give us. It's all part of our sacred tradition."
    She laughed as she watched the disbelief flood Hawks-worth's face. "I gather we must be quite different from your Christian 'nuns.' But you know devadasis are honored in the south. Many are granted lands by the men they know, and though they can never marry, devadasis sometimes become attached to a man and bear his children. But our children always take our name and are dedicated to the temple. Our daughters become devadasis also, and our sons temple musicians. Our dance gurus are part of a hereditary guild, and they are esteemed above all men. They are the ones who preserve and pass down