“Let’s see what you have.” The old woman leans nearer. An unpleasant odor wafts toward us. Something dark and decaying. We stand our ground. Paheli takes out five Between diamonds. The woman’s eyes widen and her smile grows, crawling up her cheeks. She licks her lips again with a black tongue and names her price.

Paheli stares at her for a very long moment before returning the diamonds to the pouch they came in. “We will try our luck with the human merchants.”

We turn to go.

“Wait!” the woman says, half-rising from the rickety stool she is sitting on. The decaying smell grows stronger. “I will give you more.”

We don’t react.

“I will give you the going rate,” the woman says, and this time we stop, turn around, and do business.

Afterward, Paheli gestures to the corked bottles with her chin. “What do you sell here?”

A sly look brightens the woman’s eyes this time. “Heartbreak. All different kinds. To give to your rival or take yourself. Can I interest you in one?”

“No, thank you,” Widad says before we drag Paheli away just in case she becomes curious.

Three rickshaw rides—with two stops for mithai and one for pani puri—later, we arrive at the posh hotel we plan to stay in. The hotel employees are anxious when they realize their much-lauded luxury and Koh-i-noor suites are going to belong to us for the next few days, though their unease melts into pleasure when we tip them lavishly.

We settle into rooms that are richly and tastefully decorated in pleasantly contrasting, vibrant shades. Paheli and Valentina share the Koh-i-noor suite, claiming seniority among the Wild Ones, and we gather into its large living room after freshening up in bathrooms with walls the color of the Mediterranean Sea. The doors leading to the balcony in the living room are open, and we can see the domes of the Taj Mahal gleaming in the distance. We arrange ourselves on the chaise, on the chairs, and on the rug in the middle of the room.

Valentina walks out of the bathroom, wearing a towel as a turban. She stares at Paheli, who is eating a mysteriously sourced mango with glee. “We need to talk.”

“Room service,” she replies to our unasked question. She glances at Valentina. “Aren’t we talking now?”

“I mean about Taraana,” Valentina says, sitting next to Sevda on a settee.

Paheli finishes eating the mango, washes her hands in the mini kitchen, and returns to the living room. She sits on the floor beside Talei. She, too, has showered and is wearing a shapeless yellow lounging dress with large red flowers embroidered on it. With her light pink hair, blue eyes, and dark skin, she looks very much like an exploded rainbow. We don’t tell her this, of course.