"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."