At the time I found Bhagmati on the road I had been courting a stenographer working in the West German Embassy. I had met her at a consular reception, discovered that she was a new arrival and like many newly arrived foreigners anxious to get to know Indians. She was not particularly attractive—thirtyish, grey-eyed, thin-lipped, tall and bony. She tied her hair in a bun which made her look severe.

Fraulein Irma Weskermann was an easy conquest. One Sunday I took her round the monuments of Delhi and had Bavarian beer in her apartment. The following weekend I took her to the son-et-lumiere at the Red Fort and gave her dinner at Moti Mahal. Since restaurants were not permitted to serve alcohol I carried a hip-flask and when the waiter was not looking poured a slug of Indian whisky in her Coke. I explained that this was all an Indian citizen could afford as the cost of Scotch was prohibitive. She took the hint. (This gambit always worked with the diplomats). Thereafter whenever I invited her home or took her out she brought a bottle of Scotch or wine with her.

Fraulein Weskermann did not seem very interested in sex. Being somewhat sexless in appearance she had cultivated a kind of brashness as a defence mechanism. When I first put my arm round her waist she said, ‘Must you?’ I answered in the affirmative and added, ‘’Because I like you.’ Thereafter, she began to put her face forward to receive a kiss on her bony cheeks. One evening I said to her, ‘Irma, I am beginning to like you more than I should.’ ‘Zat’s nice,’ she replied and responded with a kiss. On another occasion I told her, ‘Irma, it’s terrible but I think I am beginning to fall in love with you.’ No woman can resist that. ‘How many women have you said zat to before?’ she asked. And let me kiss her on her lips. The relationship progressed in the conventional way with a little more intimacy each time. Soon I was fondling her breasts. How long can any woman have her breasts fondled and resist giving herself completely? My hands began to explore further. If they got too close to her middle she would open her grey eyes and firmly say, ‘No.’ But it was only a matter of time. One evening as I was feeling her between her thighs I said, ‘You are ready for it.’ A shudder passed through her frame. ‘It must neffer, neffer happen,’ she said pushing my hand out of her knickers. I apologized and pretended to be hurt. ‘It’s also my fault, yah?’ she replied and made up with a kiss that made my ears burn. I had little doubt that the decks had been finally cleared arid at the next encounter the Indo-Germanic affair would be consummated.

I had not reckoned with Bhagmati.