Part 40 (2/2)

”Which 'order' of woman are you?”

”I think I must be the third order, the Conch Woman. The book says that the Conch Woman delights in clothes, flowers, red ornaments. That she is given to fits of amorous pa.s.sion, which make her head and mind confused, and at the moment of exquisite pleasure, she thrusts her nails into the man's flesh. Have you ever noticed me do that?”

Hawksworth felt the scratches along his chest and smiled. Only in India, he thought, could you make love so many ways, all kneeling before a woman rather than lying with her. So she scratches you on the chest.

”So far it sounds a bit like you.”

”And it says the Conch Woman's love cleft, what the

Hindus call her yoni, is always moist with _kama salila_, the woman's love seed. And its taste is salt. Does that also remind you of me?”

Hawksworth was startled with wry delight when he realized he actually knew the answer. Something he'd never had the slightest desire to know about a woman in England.

In England. Where baths were limited to the face, neck, hands, and feet--and those only once every few weeks. Where women wore unwashed petticoats and stays until they literally fell off. Where a member of the peerage was recently quoted as complaining ”the n.o.bler parts are never in this island washed by the women; they are left to be lathered by the men.”

But Kali was scrubbed and perfumed each day like a flower. And she had taught him the pleasure in the taste of all her body.

”I guess that makes you a Conch Woman. But what are the others supposed to be like?”

”Let me tell you what it says.” She reached and took back the book.

”The next one, the Art Woman, has a voice like a peac.o.c.k, and she delights in singing and poetry. Her carnal desire may be less strong than the Conch Woman, at least until she's properly aroused, but then her _kama salila _is hot, with a perfume like honey. And it's abundant, producing a sound with the act of union. She is sensuous, but for her lovemaking is always a kind of art.”

”Who would be an Art Woman?”

She looked at him and smiled wryly. ”I think s.h.i.+rin, the one who fascinates you so much, may well be an Art Woman. But I don't know her body well.”

But I will, Hawksworth told himself. I'll know all of her. Somehow. I swear it.

”And what about the Lotus Woman?”

”According to Kalyana Mai she's actually the highest order of woman.

She's a spiritual being, who loves to converse with teachers and Hindu priests. She's always very beautiful, never dark, and her b.r.e.a.s.t.s are full and high. Her _yoni _is like an opening lotus bud and her _kama salila _is perfumed like a lily newly burst.”

”And who would be a Lotus Woman?”

”The only one I've ever known for sure is in Agra now. She's a cla.s.sical dancer, a Hindu temple dancer. Her name is Kamala.”

”I saw a few dancers recently. At the Shahbandar's estate house. In my _feringhi_ opinion they weren't of a very high order.”

”Those were _nautch_ girls, common wh.o.r.es. They degrade and debase the cla.s.sical dance of India for the purpose of enticing customers. Kamala is nothing like them. She's a great artist. For her the dance, and lovemaking, are a kind of wors.h.i.+p of the Hindu G.o.ds. I don't entirely understand it, but I could sense her power the one time I saw her dance. When I saw her I began to believe what people say, that she embodies the female principle, the divine female principle that defines India for the Hindu people. Believe me when I tell you she's very different from anyone here in Surat. She knows things that no one else knows. People say they're explained in a very old book she has.”

”How can there possibly be any more to know?” Hawksworth thought of the hundreds of pleasure tricks Kali had taught him, delights unknown in Europe. ”What's left to put in this other book?”

”Her book is one I've never actually seen. I've only heard about it.

It's a sacred text of the Hindus', an ancient sutra, in which the union of man and woman are shown to be a way of finding your own divine natures, the G.o.d within you both. I'm told it's called the Kama Sutra, the Scripture of Love and Pleasure.”

Hawksworth found himself beginning to be overwhelmed. ”Maybe we'd better start with this book. What exactly does it say?”

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