Free Tea and Spices (An Erotic Novel of Colonial India) by Nina Lane

alive, as if gods and spirits are embedded so deeply within the fabric of the country that they are a part of daily life. There is holiness, to be sure, but a comforting kind of holiness, one that seems to inspire love rather than fear or simple awe.
      “Devora, would you like another sandwich?” Louise held out a plate of cucumber sandwiches.
      Devora looked up from her journal. “Oh, thank you.”
      She took a sandwich and closed her journal. They had spread a picnic blanket out underneath a tree near the temple, and several of the women had brought more food than they could possibly eat. Their party consisted of about eight people, all of whom were draped lazily over several embroidered, Indian pillows.
      “What is it you’re writing, Devora?” Reginald Thompson was leaning against the tree trunk, puffing on a pipe. He was a plump, jolly man with a thicket of gray hair and a handlebar mustache that curled at the ends.
      “Only my journal, that’s all.”
      “You know, you shouldn’t be alone in your bungalow without Gerald around.”
      “I’m all right,” Devora replied. “He’s only been gone for a day.”
      “Perhaps Billy should come and stay with you. He’s our son, you know. Back from a journey to Banares for the week.”
      “No, that’s really not necessary.” The last thing Devora wanted was another man staying with her. She reached for her bag and took out a pencil. “Besides, it’s giving me time to work.”
      “On what?”
      “Some drawings and watercolors.” Devora opened her journal again and sketched the outline of the temple. She would have to return here alone to capture more details, but she was grateful for the opportunity to at least do some sketches.
      “You’re coming to the cricket match at the club tomorrow, aren’t you?” Mr. Thompson asked.
      Devora barely suppressed a sigh. “I’ll have to think about it.”
      “Oh, you must come,” Louise said. Her reddish curls, tossed by the wind, made her look like a blue-eyed doll. “Cricket matches are always so much fun. And there will be a lovely luncheon too, of course.”
      “Of course.”
      “Devora, I meant to tell you that I’ll be happy to accompany you ladies to Agra this coming weekend,” Mr. Thompson said. “You’ll love the architecture of the Taj Mahal. One of the few things the Indians have done right.”
      “I think all of their architecture is beautiful,” Devora said. “And very unique.”
      “Of course, dear. Just a bit primitive is all. I mean, these people still worship gods in the form of animals, if you can believe that.”
      Devora leveled a long look at Mr. Thompson. “What’s wrong with that? Many cultures worship animals.”
      “It’s uncivilized, that’s what’s wrong with it,” Mr. Thompson replied. “Not to mention all of their monstrous gods. Very violent religion, Hinduism. Contains a great deal of blood-shedding.”
      Devora’s mouth twisted derisively. “Well, Christianity does too. For example, look at the Crusades and the mere idea of nailing a man to a cross.”
      Louise’s eyes widened in shock. “Devora, there’s no need to be blasphemous.”
      “I’m not being blasphemous,” Devora protested. “Simply pointing out that Hinduism isn’t the only religion that involves bloodshed. Just because it’s an Indian religion doesn’t make it uncivilized.”
      “Good God, Devora, you’re turning into a Indian sympathizer, are you?” Mr. Thompson said. His mustache quivered slightly. “If they’re so civilized, then why do they need the British presence to keep things in order? If it weren’t for us, they would be in total chaos.”
      “They managed fine without us for hundreds of years,” Devora murmured.
      “You’re an impertinent young woman, did you know that?” Mr. Thompson sniffed. “I really can’t believe that Gerald has left you alone.”
      “I’ll be fine, thank you. And Gerald appreciates the