"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."