The Moghul Part 41

"The Ananga-Ranga explains that each order of woman must be aroused, must be awakened to her pleasure, in a different way. At different times of day, with different caresses, different kinds of kisses and scratches and bites, different words, different embraces during union.

It says if you learn to know women well, you will understand how to give and receive the greatest enjoyment with each."

"Is it really so complicated?"

"Now you're starting to sound like some Muslim men I know, who lock their women away and make love to boys, claiming women are insatiable.

With desires ten times stronger than those of a man. But they're actually afraid of a woman, so they believe she's to be enjoyed quickly and as little as possible. They care nothing for her own pleasure. But a woman must be aroused to enjoy union to its fullest. That's why this book is so important. I happen to think you are one who cares about a woman's pleasure."

Hawksworth stroked her smooth leg mischievously, then took the book and gently laid it aside. "Tell me what it says about a Conch Woman. What have I been doing that's right and wrong?"

"The book says that the Conch Woman prefers union with a man in the third _pahar_ of the night."

"When is that?"

"Time is counted in India by _pahar_. The day and the night are each divided into four _pahars_. The first _pahar _of the night would be between six and nine in the evening by _feringhi _time. The third _pahar _would be your hours between midnight and three in the morning.

Is that not the very time I come to your couch?"

"That's convenient."

"It also says that on certain days of the moon, which it tells, the Conch Woman particularly enjoys having her body pressed with the nails of the man. Some days roughly, some days gently. And on certain days the embrace must be forceful, on certain days gentle. There are many special ways to touch and embrace a Conch Woman, and they are explained here. Also there are certain ways of kissing her, of biting her, of scratching her. For example, you may kiss her upper lip, or her lower lip, or you may kiss her with your tongue only."

"And how am I supposed to be able to kiss you with my tongue only?"

Hawksworth cast a skeptical glance at the book.

"It's very easy." She smiled at him slyly. "Perhaps it's easier if I show you."

She took his lower lip gently with the tips of her fingers, pa.s.sed her tongue over it slowly and languorously, and then suddenly nipped it playfully. He started in surprise.

"There. You see there are many ways to please a woman, to kiss her, to bite her, to scratch her. When you have become a true lover of women, my strong _feringhi_, you will know them all."

Hawksworth s.h.i.+fted uncomfortably. "What next?"

"The book also tells of the bodies of women. Foolish men often do not know these things, my love, but I think you are beginning to learn. It tells that in the upper cleft of the _yoni _there's a small organ it likens to a plantain-shoot sprouting from the ground. This is the seat of pleasure in a woman, and when it is excited, her_ kama salila _flows in profusion."

"And then?"

"When the woman is ready, you may both enjoy the act of union to its fullest. And there are many, many ways this may be done. The book tells of thirty-two. It is the great wisdom of Kalyana Mai that a woman must have variety in her love couch. If she does not find this with one man, she will seek others. It is the same with men, I think."

Hawksworth nodded noncommittally, not wis.h.i.+ng to appear overly enthusiastic.

"Finally, he tells the importance of a woman reaching her moment of enjoyment. If she does not, she will be unsatisfied and may seek pleasure elsewhere. In India, a woman is taught to signify this moment by the _sitkrita_, the drawing in of breath between the closed teeth.

There are many different ways a woman may do this, but you will know, my love."

"Enough of the book." He took it and replaced it in the box. "Somehow I think I've already had a lot of its lessons."

"That was merely my duty to you. To be a new woman for you each night.

And I think you've learned well." She took the box and settled it beside the couch. Then she laughed lightly. "But you still have a few things to learn. Tonight, for our last time together, I will show you the most erotic embrace I know." She examined him with her half-closed eyes, and drew one last burst of smoke from the hookah. Then she carefully positioned the large velvet bolster in the center of the couch. "Are you capable of it?"

"Try me."

"Very well. But I must be deeply aroused to enjoy this fully. Come and let me show you all the places you must bite."

The sun was directly overhead when Vasant Rao reined his iron-gray stallion to a halt at the Abidjan Gate. Behind him, beyond the grove of mango and tamarind trees, lay the stone reservoir of Surat. It was almost a mile in circ.u.mference, and he had chosen its far bank as campground for his Rajput guard. Accommodations in Surat were nonexistent during the season, and although he could have cleared a guest house with a single name, Prince Jadar, he had chosen to remain inconspicuous.

Through the dark bamboo slats of the gate he could now see the Englishman riding toward him, holding his Arabian mare at an easy pace.

Vasant Rao studied the gait carefully. He had learned he could always judge the character of a man by observing that man's handling of a mount. He casually stroked his moustache and judged Brian Hawksworth.

The Englishman is unpracticed, yet there's an unmistakable sense of command about him. Not unlike the control the prince holds over a horse. He handles the mare almost without her knowing it, forcing discipline onto her natural gait. Perhaps our treacherous friend Mirza Nuruddin was right. Perhaps the Englishman will suit our requirements.

Vasant Rao remembered that Jadar had been insistent on the point.

"The English captain must be a man of character and nerve, or he must never reach Burhanpur. You need only be seen providing his guard as you depart Surat. If he's weak, like a Christian, he will not serve our needs."

The times ahead will be difficult enough, Vasant Rao told himself, without having to worry about the Englishman. The prince has been trapped in the south, and now there's news Inayat Latif and his troops are being recalled to Agra from Bengal. The queen will soon have at her right hand the most able general in the Moghul's army.

Vasant Rao turned his eyes from the Englishman to look again at his own Rajput guard, and his pride in them restored his spirit. Only Rajputs would have the courage to one day face the numerically superior troops of Inayat Latif.

The origin of the warrior clans who called themselves Rajputs, "sons of kings," was lost in legend. They had appeared mysteriously in western India over half a millennium before the arrival of the Moghuls, and they had royalty, and honor, in their blood. They had always demanded to be known as Kshatriya, the ancient Hindu warrior caste.

The men, and women, of the warrior Kshatriya clans lived and died by the sword, and maintained a timeless tradition of personal honor.

Theirs was a profession of arms, and they lived by rules of conduct unvaried since India's epic age. A member of the warrior caste must never turn his back in battle, must never strike with concealed weapons. No warrior could strike a foe who was fleeing, who asked for mercy, whose own sword was broken, who slept, who had lost his armor, who was merely an onlooker, who was facing another foe. Surrender was unthinkable. A Rajput defeated in battle need not return home, since his wife would turn him out in dishonor for not having given his life.

But if a Rajput perished with a sword in his hand, the highest honor, his wife would proudly follow him in death, joining his body on the funeral pyre. And many times, in centuries past, Rajput women themselves had taken up swords to defend the honor of their clain.

When they had no external foes, the Rajput clans warred among themselves, since they knew no other life. For convenience, each clan decreed its immediate neighboring clans its enemies, and an elaborate code was devised to justify war over even the smallest slight. Their martial skills were never allowed to gather rust, even if the cost was perpetual slaughter of each other.

Though they were divided among themselves, the Rajput clans had for centuries defended their lands from the Muslim invaders of India. Only with the coming of the great Moghul genius Akman was there a Muslim ruler with the wisdom to understand the Rajputs could be more valuable as allies than as foes. He abandoned attempts to subdue them, instead making them partners in his empire. He married Rajput princesses; and he used Rajput fighting prowess to extend Moghul control south and west in India.

The men with Vasant Rao were the elite of the dominant Chauhan clan, and all claimed descent from royal blood. They held strong loyalties, powerful beliefs, and absolutely no fear of what lay beyond death. They also were men from the northwest mountains of India, who had never before seen Surat, never before seen the sea, never before seen a _feringhi_.

But Vasant Rao had seen _feringhi_, when he had stood by the side of Prince Jadar in Agra, when Jesuit fathers had been called to dispute with Muslim mullahs before Arangbar. He had seen their tight, a.s.sured faces, and heard their narrow, intolerant views. Could this _feringhi _be any different?

Already he had witnessed the Englishman's nerve, and it had reminded him, curiously, of Jadar. The Englishman had refused to come to their camp, claiming this demeaned his office of amba.s.sador. And Vasant Rao, representative of Prince Jadar, had refused to meet the Englishman inside Surat. Finally it was agreed that they would meet at the wall of the city, at the Abidjan Gate.

"Nimaste, Amba.s.sador Hawksworth. His Highness, Prince Jadar, conveys his most respectful greetings to you and to the English king." Vasant Rao's Turki had been excellent since his boyhood, and he tried to remember the phrases Mirza Nuruddin had coached. Then he watched through the bamboo poles of the gate as Hawksworth performed a lordly salaam from horseback.

The gate opened.

"I am pleased to offer my good offices to you and your king," Vasant Rao continued, "in the name of His Highness, the prince. It is his pleasure, and my honor, to provide you escort for your journey east to Burhanpur. From there His Highness will arrange a further escort for the trip north to Agra."

"His Majesty, King James, is honored by His Highness' concern."

Hawksworth examined the waiting Rajputs, his apprehension mounting.

Their eyes were expressionless beneath their leather helmets, but their horses pawed impatiently. He found himself wondering if Mirza Nuruddin had contrived to provide more "help," and yet another surprise. "But my route is not yet decided. Although I'm grateful for His Highness'

offer, I'm not certain traveling east on the Burhanpur road is best.

His Excellency, Mukarrab Khan, has offered to provide an escort if I take the Udaipur road, north past Cambay and then east."

Vasant Rao examined Hawksworth, choosing his words carefully. "We have orders to remain here for three days, Captain, and then to return to Burhanpur. It would be considered appropriate by the prince, who has full authority to administer this province, if we rode escort for you."

Hawksworth s.h.i.+fted in the saddle.