What terrible sin had Rabi Thakur committed, and the old lady in that bed across the room, that prevented them from being set free? And I, what terrible sin had I committed in a past life to be stricken with such suffering? Cut me loose from the wheel of life, I cried. Where is my liberation? I have lost everything. I have nothing, like a sannyasi who is regarded as dead. Let me set out then like a sannyasi with nothing in my hands but a stick and a bowl to find my moksha.

Not yet, sister, Shmelke responded.

He needed me now. There was no one else he could trust as he could trust me, for my loyalty, my advice, my discretion. He was a wanted man, wanted in both senses, negative and positive, by enemy and devotee, all of it a burden too heavy to bear alone. He needed my help. If I loved him, I would stay. If I felt an uncontrollable need at this time to cycle into ascetic mode without delay, I could begin my austerities here in the House of Holy Healing even as I carried out my duties as his counselor and confidante—let my hair grow wild and matted, abstain from food and drink three times a week, clothe myself in rags, carry a skull for a drinking cup, sleep on a stretcher bier on the cold ground, detach myself from all comforts and pleasures, surrender desire, cease wanting. If I felt I had sinned in another life, I could undertake tikkun now through selfless service. As it happened, right at this very moment, there was an urgent need here at the House of Holy Healing for a woman to oversee the prepubescents, my brother said. He would have me moved tonight from this room in his suite to the prepubescent pod in the great ward. He would put me in charge of them, the girls they had rescued who had been sold by their mothers.

2

THERE WERE FOUR PREPUBESCENTS when I took over the pod in the great ward that night, ranging in age from five years old to thirteen. Two of these girls were from the very lowest of castes, from desperately impoverished families in villages in the north. They were sold by their mothers in straightforward deals for a few hundred rupees to sex traffickers specializing in servicing locals and tourists who happened to prefer pedophilia. After many sordid encounters, they were ultimately delivered, battered and sick, from Kamathipura, the red-light district in Mumbai, to Rebbie-ji’s House of Holy Healing in Kolkata, rescued by the sheriff, Buki ben Yogli.