Two days later Dharamdas returned with assurance everything went well. Chandramukhi was settling down in the country and as far as they could tell nobody followed them on the way there. Five days Devdas controled himself, but on the sixth his restlessness won and he asked Chuni Babu if he could follow Chandramukhi the next day, but Chuni Babu would not hear about anything like that. Wait for at least a month, he said. A month! Devdas howled into his pillow with frustration. The days dragged and nights even more so. Nothing could hold his attention for too long. There seemed no point to anything when Chandramukhi was not close by. He threw away the sheet. It was suffocatingly hot. With his eyes closed he reveled in the feeling of a faint breeze caressing his body - ever since he shared the bed with Chandramukhi he grew used to sleeping naked.
He missed her. It seemed ages ago when he rested his head in her lap and asked the question that he had wondered about with a sting of jealousy.
"How many men had you?"
It sounded rude and unbecoming, but to his surprise Chandramukhi just smiled, almost devilishly.
"You are the only one who has ever owned me, but if you are asking how many men I slept with, then the answer is four."
He felt blood rushing into his cheeks and hated himself for it. The way she always spoke and acted so freely and unashamed when it came to physical love fascinated him, excited him - and embarrassed him.
"Tell me," he said and turned his head to kiss her stomach and hide his red face at the same time.
"Yusuf was my first lover," she said calmly. "He turned me into a woman. Even though he didn't mean to at first," she laughed. "He was a rich merchant in his forties. He used to come to Abhati. She was the most famous tawaif in the city back then. Just splendid. And so kind. She took me under her protection when I was a child, she was the one I learned from. I was fifteen that one evening when Yusuf came, but Abhati was not well and asked me to keep him company. He was not too happy. In fact not at all. He came to Abhati, the blooming rose, and he was offered a girl with no experience. I was not afraid of him and I knew all too well what happens between a man and a woman. But I was way too unsure of how to act, what to do. He was so wonderful. I mean - he was too courteous and too well knew how a bad start may ruin me on the path to love. He did not even touch me that night. He was, after all, not coming to us just for bodily pleasures. He came because from the whole city only we understood the beauty of art, of poetry, of music and of life. We talked that night. He was asking and I was replying, and he was quiet surprised and pleased with me. So much that soon he was coming to Abhati for love-making and to of us for conversations. He liked me. So much he paid for both Abhati and me, letting me to grow up fully. Only when I turned nineteen he came to me and made love to me, making Abhati just a friend, but no longer a lover. Only many years later, when I met you, I finally understood that she loved him deeply, but she knew she was ailing and chose me as his new companion. She died some time later."
Chandramukhi fell silent for a moment, her eyes distant, possibly trying to recall that beautiful woman's face.
"I will forever be grateful to Abhati and Yusuf. Only because of them I managed to survive and make my life comfortable enough. They taught me that I am no less of a woman compared to other women. Yusuf had great patience with me. He taught me about love, about the way body reacts to the touch.... He told me about his travels as well and often brought me books and invited people I could talk to. I never replaced Abhati in his heart, he saw me more as a toy, but he genuinely liked me. He enjoyed my company, he felt protective about me. I did't love him as a man, but I loved him for everything he was doing for me. I liked to learn."
"What happened to him?"
"He fell off the horse rather unfortunately and died. I was twenty-four years old by then. And already quite famous. Few weeks later I already had a new costumer. He was so different from Yusuf in every possible way. He was an English officer, a captain, twelve years older to me. Fair, blue eyes. He paid for me for nearly five years before he was called back to England. Him I did not really like. For him I was a piece of furniture he bought. He only came to sleep with me. He was not even interested in my dancing, let alone talking! We hardly understood each other - he knew only few words and I never learned his language. He was never cruel to me, never hurt me intentionally, but when he did, he did not care. He also never cared if I have any pleasure from our union. I often wondered if all white men are as ignorant in bed, and for the longest time I was thinking of inviting some of his friends, one by one, and find out." She chuckled at the shocked expression on his face. "Don't worry, I didn't do it! But I did not feel a slightest pity when he left."
Incredible. That she was and nothing less. She was talking about such things without hesitation, as if she was telling him about what she bought in the market a day before. She was not finished yet though.
"And then there was my poor Neelkanth!" she said with a smile. "His father wanted to get him married, but also wanted his son to impress the bride so he sent him to me to learn something useful. The trouble started when Neelkanth fell in love with me!" She was hardly holding her laughter now. "He refused to marry and for six months stayed with me. He asked me to marry him! Can you believe that?"
He could. More easily than she may thought. But instead he just asked: "What did you tell him?"
"I sent him to his bride! He wandered around the kotha for a few weeks, but eventually went back home and married the girl."
She fell silent, a smile on her lips. She finished.
"You said there were four," he spoke after a while. "What about the last one?"
"The last one..... the last one destroyed my world. Everything I knew and enjoyed, he ruined everything. He made me cry, he insulted and hurt me. He hated me. He broke my spirit and whatever I gave him he crashed to pieces. And I.... I loved him. I cannot remember time when I didn't. I just knew I was waiting for him my whole life."
She bowed down, so close he could feel her breath on his face, her lips close to his, her long hair shielding them from the rest of the world. Tingling excitement was rushing through his body as he whispered: "Say my name, Chandramukhi." He knew all too well she spoke about him, but he wanted to hear her voice calling out to him.
"Deva."
His eyes shot open. He was alone. The memory flew away. He could almost swear he had heard her voice in the breeze coming in through the open window, but his brain was telling him it was all just a dream. With a heavy sight he fell into the pillows again. The night was not merciful at all. He tried to picture the memory again. Yes, they made love after that. Gently, for a change. And then she asked him how many women he had. He promised to tell her some other time. He did not feel like sharing his embarrassing experience from London, nor what now seemed even more awkward try to be intimate with Paro. He was hoping she'd let it go. She did. Because she was not like him. Yet he was again kept wondering. Because among the names she told him about, there was not the one he hated. Ram. Who was he that she called to him in her dreams? Would she ever tell him?
