So I held her down, hard, but her sobs and appeals were terrible. In the end she screamed for death, to be out of it, and I could bear it no longer. I let her go, and knocked away the men who held her down, and her arms, released, reached out for me. She could no longer speak, and her skin was white like a corpse, and her eyes, imploring, had hell in them. I bent over her and lifted her shoulders and held her, and pressed my face against hers, and wept. I heard Teraj roar and the men shout, and hands pulled at me. I held her more tightly, and screamed silently at God.

“Let her die!” I cried. “You’re cruel. Don’t you care about our suffering? If you have any mercy, any love, let her die. Or else free her mind, so she doesn’t feel.” I sobbed and cursed and raged, and the harsha slumped in my arms, inert, and I thought she died. I held her closer still, and took her mind with mine, and we were two birds flying, high, high, beyond the narrow table and the torment. We flew in wind and in the fragile heart of rock; flew in water, ice and fire. And while we flew, love enfolded us, and we heard voices filled with gentleness, and pipes playing, and the soft laughter of children. We flew beyond the earth, beyond ash and smoke and cloud, and up through a fire so huge it set a universe aflame – and then we were in total light.

I felt hands on my shoulders, and realised my arms and back were aching and strained, and that I had been holding the woman for a long time. I let her go, slowly, and laid her down on the wooden boards. Her face was white like bone, and had a strange waxen sheen. She was utterly at peace.

I looked across and saw that Teraj and I were alone with her, and he had put his instruments into a clay bowl to be washed. His apron ran with red. He came over to me and handed me the bowl. He looked at me strangely, as if he were uneasy with me. “Will you wash these for me, Elsha?” he asked, and his voice trembled. “Then it is all finished.”