"But you asked about my name. It's probably the real reason I despise Janahara so much. Before, I was named Mira. My father was Hakim Ali, and he came to India from Arabia back when Akman was Moghul. But the queen said I could never use those names again. She said that because I'd caused Abnus' death, she was renaming me Kali, the name the Hindus have for their bloodthirsty goddess of death and destruction. She said it would remind me always of what I'd done. I hate the name." "Then I'll call you Mira." She took his hand and brushed it against her cheek. "It doesn't matter now. Besides, I'll probably never see you again after tonight. Tomorrow you'll be getting ready to leave for Agra. Khan Sahib told me I'm not to come to you any more after this. I think he's very upset about something that happened with your ships." "I'm very upset about it too." Hawksworth studied her. "What exactly did he say?" "No, I've told you enough already. Too much." She pinched his toe. "Now. You will keep your promise, my love. And then after tonight you can forget me." Hawksworth was watching her, entranced. "I'll never forget you." She tried to smile. "Oh yes you will. I know men better than that. But I'll always remember you. When a man and a woman share their bodies with each other, a bond is made between them. It's never entirely forgotten, at least by me. So tonight, our last night, I want you to let me give you something of mine to keep." She reached under the couch and withdrew a box, teakwood and trimmed in gold. She placed it on the velvet tapestry between them. "I've never shown this to a _feringhi_ before, but I want you to have it. To make you remember me, at least for a while." "I've never had a present from an Indian woman before." Hawksworth carefully opened the box's gold latch. Inside was a book, bound in leather and gilded, with exquisite calligraphy on its cover. "It's called the Ananga-Ranga, the Pleasures of Women. It was written over a hundred years ago by a Brahmin poet who called himself Kalyana Mai. He wrote it in Sanskrit for his patron, the Viceroy of Gujarat, the same province where you are now." "But why are you giving it to me?" Hawksworth looked into her eyes. "I'll remember you without a book. I promise." "And I'll remember you. You've given me much pleasure. But there are those in India who believe the union of man and woman should be more than pleasure. The Hindus believe this union is an expression of all the sacred forces of life. You know I'm not a Hindu. I'm a Muslim courtesan. So for me lovemaking is only to give you pleasure. But I want you to know there's still more, beyond what we've had together, beyond my skills and knowledge. According to the Hindu teachings, the union of male and female is a way to reach the divine nature. That's why I want you to have this book. It describes the many different orders of women, and tells how to share pleasure with each. It tells of many things beyond what I know."