"Overall I'm inclined to agree. But tell me now, what's your opinion of the wine you're drinking? It's Persian."
"Better than the French. Though frankly it could be sweeter."
Mukarrab Khan laughed. "A common complaint from topiwallahs. Some actually add sugar to our wine. Abominable." He paused. "So I gather then you only use spirits?"
"What do you mean?"
"There are many subtle pleasures in the world, Ambassador. Liquors admittedly enhance one's dining, but they do little for one's appreciation of art."
As Hawksworth watched him, puzzling, he turned and spoke quietly to one of the eunuchs hovering behind him. Moments later a small golden cabinet, encrusted with jewels, was placed between them. Mukarrab Khan opened a tiny drawer on the side of the box and extraced a small brown ball.
"May I suggest a ball of ghola? He offered it to Hawksworth. It carried a strange, alien fragrance.
"What's ghola?”
"A preparation of opium and spice, Ambassador. I think it might help you better experience this evening's entertainment." He nodded lightly in the direction of the rear wall.
The snap of a drum exploded behind Hawksworth, and he whirled to see the two musicians begin tuning to perform. The drummer sat before two foot-high drums, each nestled in a circular roll of fabric. Next to him was a wizened old man in a black Muslim skullcap tuning a large six-stringed instrument made of two hollowed-out gourds, both lacquered and polished, connected by a long teakwood fingerboard. About a dozen curved brass frets were tied to the fingerboard with silk cords, and as Hawksworth watched, the player began shifting the location of two frets, sliding them an inch or so along the neck to create a new musical scale. Then he began adjusting the tension on a row of fine wires that lay directly against the teakwood fingerboard, sympathetic strings that passed beneath those to be plucked. These he seemed to be tuning to match the notes in the new scale he had created by moving the frets.