‘I’ve suspended the classes,’ Kulwinder said. ‘I fired Nikki.’
Sarab looked up sharply. ‘Kulwinder, think about the girl,’ he said. He drew himself away from her. She felt the emptiness of the room as he vacated it but her indignation remained. It was Nikki who had put them in this situation. If she had just done her job, none of this would have happened. Kulwinder opened the folder. Weeks and weeks of deception were written in these pages. Picking through the folder, she saw that one of the illiterate widows had put her artistic talents to use and filled a page with illustrations. A man hovering over a woman’s breast, his mouth slightly open to capture her nipple. A woman straddling a man, the crease down her spine to her buttock defined to show the slight arching of her back. Filth.
Kulwinder tossed the papers back into the folder and went to the kitchen to make some tea. She poured the water into the pot. While waiting for it to heat up, she could not help thinking about the angles of the man’s body as he crouched over the woman. She shook her head and focused on the pot. Tiny bubbles were beginning to surface on the water. She crossed to the spice cabinet and took out the fennel and cardamom seeds and there, again, she paused and shut her eyes. Spots of light danced around as her vision adjusted to the darkness. Then, instead of disappearing, the spots took shape. A man. A woman. Fingers skilfully gliding across bare skin. Red lips pressing into glistening flesh. Her eyes flew open. She went to the stove and took the pot off. She glanced at the folder. She supposed there was no harm in reading one story, just to review the information. After all, if she were to be questioned by the council over this, she needed to have all the details.
Kulwinder picked out the first story.
The Tailor
Centuries ago, on the fringes of a palace city, there was a talented but modest tailor named Ram. Ram’s customers were women who wanted to look like the royals who lived within the palace walls. These women travelled for miles to see Ram, carrying with them a list of seemingly impossible demands. It was said that Ram had a gift for putting together the most regal and fashionable creations out of nothing. He could spin a simple yellow thread into gold and turn an ordinary pale green into the rich emerald shade of a rare jewel.
Many of Ram’s customers were enamoured with him. They noticed the way he handled his modest sewing machine, his fingers deftly moving between layers of cloth and they drew conclusions about what a talented man he must be between the sheets. During fittings, some women purposely loosened their top garments and leaned forward to give him a sneak peek at their cleavage. Some left a gap in the curtain of the changing space to give Ram a chance to peek. Ram paid no attention. While working, he preferred not to be distracted by temptations. One day he would have time for a lover but for now there were too many orders. Word had spread all over India that Ram was the best tailor. The popular rhyme went:
The tailor Ram is the best in town
You’ll feel like a royal in a fancy gown
His prices are good, his prices are fair
You’ll be a queen with a crown in her hair
But for every piece of praise Ram received, there was also a curse. Jealous tailors all over India were furious with him for luring their clients away with his magical skills. Ordinary men cursed him for catering to the demands of their wives, who, when wearing such fine saris, expected royal treatment.
One afternoon a woman came to Ram asking for his help. Her hazel eyes made Ram’s heart skip. ‘For once, I would like to look like a rich woman,’ she told him in a voice that he wanted to hear whispering in his ear. She handed him an old shawl. ‘I can’t afford to buy something new but can you stitch a border onto this?’
‘Of course,’ Ram said. For you, I would do anything, he thought. ‘Your husband must have bought this for you.’
The woman smiled and tucked a stray hair behind her ear. ‘I have no husband,’ she said to Ram’s delight.
This beautiful woman was fit to look like a queen. Ram decided that he would not accept any payment from her when the shawl was completed – all he wanted was a chance at another conversation so he could find out her name. Ram’s passion for the woman ignited his creativity. He blended dyes to create threads of the most brilliant colours to impress her. The border of the shawl would be lined with a parade of turquoise and magenta peacocks. In the centre of the border, Ram would embroider a replica of the palace with a minuscule image of the woman standing in one of its windows. He would point it out to her, this secret, so she would know that she was his queen.
A scene with this level of detail required Ram’s fullest concentration. He was so focused that he dismissed the voices of the children playing outside. It was only when he heard his name that he stopped working and paid attention.
The tailor Ram is the best in town
You’ll look like a princess in a fancy gown
His prices are good, his prices are fair
But he’ll never be a part of a loving pair
This was the worst curse in existence because it banished its victim to a lifetime of loneliness. Ram ran outside. ‘Where did you hear that?’ Ram asked. The children scattered. Ram chased them up the street before he realized that he was still holding the shawl. It was ripped and covered in mud from being dragged along the ground. ‘Oh no!’ Ram cried out. He returned to his shop and tried his best to repair the shawl but it was ruined. That evening, when the woman returned to check on his progress, Ram hung his head in shame and said that he had lost the shawl. The woman was outraged. Gone was the warmth from her hazel eyes. ‘How could you do this?’ she screamed. ‘You’re the worst tailor in the world!’
Ram closed his shop the next day. He wept at his workstation, seeing the curse darkening his future like a storm cloud. He had never wished for anything before but now he wished for a chance at intimacy. Why didn’t I bed a woman when I had the chance? he asked himself. He went to sleep dreaming of the milky thighs of the customers who had bared their bodies to him. In his dreams, he was bold enough to bury his face in their bosoms and breathe in their sweet scent. In another dream, Ram saw himself bent over a woman, kissing her plump lips as she stroked his manhood with one hand and tickled her own private parts with the other …
Suddenly, Ram woke to a rustling noise. A burglar! Ram leapt out of bed and rushed to his storage room first. Nobody was there. The rustling noise started again. Ram shone his lamp in the direction of the noise and noticed that his fabric was moving. He picked it up and noticed that it was heavier than usual, almost solid. He brought it to his workstation to see it in a better light. The fabric twisted away from his grip and fell to the floor. Its shape shifted in waves until a woman fully emerged. Ram staggered back against the wall, staring at this ghostly thing in his home.