DARSHANA KAUR LED her guest into the kitchen and poured some tea for him. He thanked her in heavily accented Punjabi and took the chair she offered. She remained standing, watching him as he sipped at the cup.
‘Do you know why you are here?’ she asked him.
‘Yes,’ he replied, his cat-like green eyes searching the room around her.
‘Where are you from?’
The man smiled. ‘From across the mountains to the north,’ he replied.
‘From China?’
He nodded. ‘From the empire of dragons,’ he said, smirking.
Darshana wondered how old he was. His hair was long and straggly and completely white. A long white beard hung from his face and his teeth looked canine. His skin was dry and his ears seemed too large for his head.
‘How do you come to speak our language?’ Darshana asked.
‘I have lived in your country for many years. I was brought here by a rajah who employed me for a decade.’
‘What did you do for this rajah?’
The Chinaman smiled. ‘Whatever I could,’ he replied. ‘Spells and potions and curses . . . But you know all about me. That is why you asked me to come.’
Darshana nodded. ‘I am told that you are the best there is,’ she told him. ‘Expensive, but very good.’
‘That I am. Once I am in your employ, there is nothing I cannot do, if you ask me.’
Darshana was about to ask him another question when the Chinaman shushed her.
‘You long for a male child,’ he said to her. ‘You have already had two . . . shall we say, unsuccessful attempts at childbirth.’
‘But how do you—?’
‘Silence!’ he ordered. ‘It is what I do. Now, I can help you but it won’t be easy. You must do as I say, whenever I say.’
Darshana nodded slowly.
‘Take all images and artefacts of God or religion from the house,’ he said.
‘But . . .’
The Chinaman frowned. ‘Do as I say or find another.’
‘Now,’ he whispered. ‘I shall finish my tea as you collect them and then we shall go into the garden.’
‘The garden?’
‘In order to burn the offending items. The magic does not work if it is tainted by religion.’
Darshana sat where she was and thought for a moment about her husband. Would he be angry if she did as the man asked? The answer was probably no. Gulbaru Singh was not a religious man, unless you counted the worship of money.
‘I’ll do it,’ she replied. ‘But be warned – I am not a woman to cross.’
The Chinaman nodded. ‘I know this. Now get on with your task. And make up a bed for me. I will be staying in your house until my work is done.’
Darshana left the kitchen, muttering as she went. She had taken an instant dislike to the Chinaman. But as long as he served his purpose she would put up with him.
Twenty minutes later they were in the garden – a pile of religious artefacts burning on a small fire in front of them.
‘Do you have any broken or cracked dishes?’ the Chinaman asked Darshana.
‘One or two,’ she replied. ‘Why?’
‘Bring them out too. And anything else that is broken. Such things will stop you falling pregnant.’
‘Is there anything else I need to burn while I’m at it?’ she asked sarcastically.
The Chinaman smiled. ‘In many parts of this country, a bitch such as you would know her place. But here, you are queen.’ He chuckled to himself. ‘I mean nothing by those words,’ he told her. ‘That is just my way. Do not take it to heart.’
Darshana looked him in the eye. ‘You dare to call me a bitch again,’ she said quietly, ‘and I will pull your eyeballs from their sockets and feed them to the rats. You say you know all about me: tell me, am I serious?’
He nodded. ‘You and I will make formidable allies, madam. I apologize for any offence.’ He began to chuckle once more.
‘Let me go and find those broken dishes,’ she said.
When she returned, the Chinaman inspected the dishes closely before smashing them on the ground. Once they were in small pieces he took a broom and swept them into the fire.
‘Kneel down, madam,’ he told Darshana. ‘I am going to see what it tells us.’
‘How?’
‘Many things are made clear in this way,’ he said.
They knelt before the fire and looked into it. The flames were small but hot enough to make the skin on Darshana’s face prickle. The Chinaman looked unperturbed. He sat completely still for five minutes, not even looking away when Darshana stood up, her face red with the heat. Finally he turned and looked up at his mistress.
‘You may not like what I saw,’ he said, ‘but we are allies and I must tell you.’
Darshana helped him to his feet. ‘What did you see?’ she asked, desperate to know.
The Chinaman fixed her with his feline eyes. ‘The magic of love has gone from your marriage,’ he said softly.
Darshana nodded sadly.
‘Your husband looks for a new love. And, as he has done before, he thinks about ridding himself of his burdens.’
Darshana’s eyes grew wide with shock as she digested the Chinaman’s words. ‘I am his burden,’ she said in a whisper.
He nodded. ‘He sleeps badly and he dreams of ghosts. And each day, as he sits making money, he wonders what a new woman could give him. And thinks of what you cannot give him.’
Darshana shuddered. ‘A son,’ she said.
‘Yes, madam.’
She wiped away her tears and steadied herself. ‘This remains between us,’ she told him.
‘As you wish,’ he replied. ‘If the time comes, I will be ready to help.’
An image of Gulbaru lying on her bed in the morning light, his eyes shiny with love, came to her. He called out to her, telling her that he wished to lose himself inside her. That he would never, could never, touch another woman. Was God so cruel that he could kill such a beautiful love? she asked herself. Despite all they had done, they had loved each other. And now it was gone. She had known, deep inside, that it was over, but it had taken the Chinaman to make it sink in.
‘But if I . . . If he . . .’ she stuttered. ‘I will end my life alone. What man will want this broken thing that I have become?’
The Chinaman took her hand. ‘Broken things can be mended,’ he told her. ‘Perhaps your husband is the evil that has infected your body. Perhaps when he is gone, you will become again the flower that you once were.’
Darshana wiped her eyes again. ‘Do you think so?’ she asked hopefully.
‘Yes, madam,’ replied the Chinaman. ‘Now let us go and drink some more tea.’