The Moghul

there's a second aim in life besides our honoring our dharma. We call it artha . That aim is to have things. Knowledge, wealth, friends. Is that part of why you're here?" Kamala smiled scornfully. "Some merchants seem to believe artha is their primary aim."
    "It can't be for me. I somehow always manage to lose whatever I have."
    "Hindus also believe there's a third aim in life, my handsome feringhi . And that's kama . It's to take pleasure in the senses."
    "I think I like the sound of that better than the other two."
    "Do not speak of it lightly. For Hindus it is just as essential as the other two aims. Kama is taught by Lord Shiva and his consort Parvati. It means love, pleasure, the primal force of desire." She stared at Hawksworth for a long moment, and then at the lute standing in the corner. "Music is part of kama . It's one way we experience beauty and pleasure. That's the kama of the heart. But there's also kama of the body, and I do not think you yet know it. Your music betrays you. You are a man of sensuality." Kamala looked at him regretfully. "But not of the sensuous. Do you even understand the difference?"
    "How do you know what I am?"
    "Remember I was once a devadasi . It's my dharma to know the hearts of men. Who they are and what gives them pleasure." She fell silent for a moment, then continued. "The sensualist is one who only knows his own feelings; the one who is sensuous knows also how to give."
    Hawksworth shifted uncomfortably, uncertain how to reply.
    "Do you, Ambassador Feringhi , touch a woman with the same feeling you touch the strings of your English sitar?"
    "I don't see any connection."
    "The arts of kama are not unlike the mastery of your sitar. You can spend a lifetime learning to sound its notes, but you do not create music unless your hand is in touch with your heart, with prahna , the breath of life. It's the same with kama ." She paused discreetly. "Have you ever known it with a woman in India?"
    "Well . . . I knew a courtesan in Surat who . . ."
    Kamala's eyes hardened, but her voice remained dulcet. "Is this the woman you spoke of?"
    "No, this was a different woman. Her name was Kali and she was thrown out of Arangbar's zenana ."
    "Ah, she was probably badly trained. But still. Did you feel the force of kama with this Surat courtesan?"
    Hawksworth shifted again, uneasily. "That's not the type of thing we normally talk about in England."
    "Don't be foolish. You judge the skill of a musician. Why not of a courtesan?" She turned and said something Hawksworth did not understand. Both musicians immediately rose and moved a screen across the corner of the room where they were sitting. Then, from behind the screen came the first notes of a simple, poignant melody, the soft tones of the bamboo swelling slowly to envelop the room in their gentleness. "I have asked him to play the alap , the opening section, of a south Indian raga for you. To help you understand. His music has the life breath of prahna . He speaks to Lord Shiva with his music. Kama too must come from the heart. If we are worthy, we evoke the life-giving power within us." Her eyes snapped back to Hawksworth. "But tell me more about this Surat courtesan."
    "Perhaps I'm not entirely qualified to judge. She certainly knew more tricks than most women in England."
    "That's not surprising. It's well known feringhi women know nothing of pleasure." Kamala paused and studied Hawksworth carefully with her dark eyes. "But I've never known a feringhi who could move my senses with music. You did that just now, even though I don't understand how. I cannot dance for you; that is for Shiva. But I want to touch you." She shifted on the carpet until she was at Hawksworth's feet. With a gentle motion she removed a boot and quickly ran a finger across one toe. Nerves throughout his body tingled unexpectedly.
    "What did you do just then?"
    "The secret of kama is touch. To touch and be touched by one we desire always gives pleasure. Do you understand what I mean?"
    "Is that kama ?”
    "A very small part."
    "You know, the courtesan in Surat actually told me about you. She said you had a book . . . an ancient text."
    Kamala laughed and began to remove the other boot. "And I've always heard that feringhi think everything can be put in books. You probably mean the Kama Sutra . Whoever told you about it has probably never seen it. Of course I have it, and I can tell you it is one of the great frauds of India. It was compiled by a musty scholar named