Bhagmati is a feminine hijda. When she was fifteen, the leader of the troupe took her as his wife. He already had two hijda wives; but such things do not matter to them. Instead of shunning her as a rival, the wives stitched Bhagmati’s wedding-dress and prepared her for the nuptial bed. They shaved the superfluous hair on her face and body and bathed her in rose-water. They escorted her to their husband’s room. They had their eyes and ears glued to the crevices in the door. Later they often made love to her. Bhagmati had small-pox when she was seventeen. ‘They gave me up for dead,’ she said. ‘They threw me in a hospital where people were dying like flies. Seetla Mai (goddess-mother of small-pox) spared me but left her fingerprints all over my face.’

When men came to expend their lust on hijdas—it is surprising how many prefer them to women—Bhagmati got more patrons than anyone else in her troupe. She could give herself as a woman; she could give herself as a boy. She also discovered that some men preferred to be treated as women. Though limited in her resources, she learnt how to give them pleasure too. There were no variations of sex that Bhagmati found unnatural or did not enjoy. Despite being the plainest of hijdas, she came to be sought by the old and young, the potent and the impotent, by homosexuals, sadists and masochists.

Bhagmati regards a bed in the same way as an all-in wrestler regards the arena when engaged in a bout where no holds are barred. Bhagmati is the all-purpose man-woman sex maniac.

Although Bhagmati is a freelance, she continues to live with her husband and co-wives in Lal Kuan. She puts whatever she earns in the community kitty. In return she has a roof over her head, and a meal whenever she wants it. When she is ill, they look after her. When she is arrested for soliciting they furnish bail; when she is sentenced by the magistrate, they pay the fine.

How did I get mixed up with Bhagmati? That’s a long story which I will tell you later. How did she come to mean so much to me? I am not sure. As I have said before I have two passions in my life; my city Delhi and Bhagmati. They have two things in common: they are lots of fun. And they are sterile.

‘Where have you been blackening your face?’ I ask her flopping down on the sofa.

‘Ajee!’ she exclaims saucily digging her finger into her chin. ‘I go blackening my face but you go riding big cars and old, white women! What kind of justice is this?’

‘You’ve been gossiping with Budh Singh.’