The Sound of the Kiss

by Pingali Suranna

  Not content with that, and indifferent to the heavy rain, she left the house in desperation, without her mother’s knowledge. Because of her loyalty to her husband, the rain did not affect her; the flooding water gave way before her, opening a dry path. She reached the garden where her husband was and watched him from a distance. She saw that he was safe, untroubled by the winds or rain, protected by the goddess in response to her prayer. “Mother Sarasvati,10 you have shown your concern for us,” she thought, overjoyed. She returned home, and no one knew that she had gone there. In her shyness, she went on just as before. People were amazed that the flower garden was undamaged by the storm.

  Shy Sugatri patiently suffered as her husband toiled. Finally, she conquered her bashfulness, and, her heart full of love for her husband and paying no more heed to her mother’s words, she went, dressed as usual, to the garden. At first he would not let her work with him, but she was insistent: she put her jewels away in a corner and tied her sari around her waist. She started digging with a shovel, her breasts swaying up and down, her full buttocks shaking as she walked briskly back and forth. She fed water to the plants through muddy channels, and mud splashed onto her smooth cheeks. She carried bundles that burdened her tiny waist and made it tremble. Sweating a little, her hair dancing, graceful, she performed each task before he could. And as she worked, the god of desire, noticing her quivering buttocks and breasts and hair, let loose his arrows at her husband, as if in target practice.

  Salina could not fend off those arrows. “You crazy woman,” he said, “you just won’t stop, even if I ask you. You’re so far removed from gardening.” With the edge of his upper cloth, he wiped the beads of sweat from her cheeks. But the sweat kept pouring out, through Desire’s tricky power. Looking at her glistening cheeks, he said, “You couldn’t bear to watch me toil, and now you’ve exhausted yourself with this work.” Hungrily he embraced her neck and hugged her. Then he carried her to a soft bed of flowers and made love to her with joyful passion.

  Afterward, he held her even tighter, his desire still growing. She said, “All this is quite new. Shouldn’t we go home?” Gently she made him let go. Putting on the jewels she had hidden, she walked toward home, her heart full of her husband’s ways. After that lovemaking, she was pleasantly tired, like a fresh flower exposed to the springtime sun. Loved by her husband, Sugatri reached home. Her girlfriends could tell at a glance that her wish had been fulfilled; they teased her, and her mother was also pleased. That night her girlfriends eagerly adorned her even more than normally and sent her to her husband in the bedroom.

  Her tremulous waist, wearied by effort; her slightly soiled, thin sari slipping over her buttocks; the necklace rippling over her swinging breasts, tightly tied in the top of her sari; the dot of turmeric and musk on her forehead, smudged by sweat; her huge bun of hair, trembling at every move—all these combined in a single image as she ran ahead of him to perform the various tasks in the garden, and that image stuck in his mind. So now, at night, he did not even look at her splendid ointments, ornaments, and dress. As usual, he sat distracted. His wife waited for quite some time, wondering sadly what she had done wrong. She thought of leaving, but then she thought: “If I go, who is there for me? I’ll wait here. What will be will be.” She stayed by the door. After a long time, she gathered herself up and approached him. “You must be very tired after all that work. Shall I go? Would you like to sleep?” she whispered, wafting fragrance, in his ear.

  Still distracted, he asked: “What do you want from me?” She answered with a languorous lilt in her voice, “What do women usually want from a husband?” Then, patiently: “My lord, forget all the rest. I’m happy that you took enough interest to ask. How can I blame you? It’s dawn already, and you haven’t even asked me to rub your feet or to come near you. You didn’t even open your eyes enough to look at me with a little love. Today in the garden, my good fortune must have ripened fully. It’s only after finding your love in that way that I have spoken to you so openly. I know this is not the way a good wife should talk.”

  In her heart she was feeling the pain of increasing desire. She thought a little and said, “Even a rock is better than your heart. You’ll never do anything by yourself.” She gently touched his foot. Pressing it, she sat on the edge of the bed and placed it on her thighs, soft as golden silk. Then she pressed it against her breasts, brought it near her eyes, and touched it tightly to her cheek in evidence of her love. He remained lost in thought. She wondered what was going on. A little agitated, she said: “Perhaps you’re in love with some other woman and can’t take your mind off her. So bring her here. Or, if she’ll listen to me, send me and I will bring her. I will serve her just as I serve you, as a slave. Believe me. Why all these knots? It’s enough if you are fulfilled. You can sell me off if you want. Tell me what’s worrying you.”

  All the while she was massaging his foot. He had no idea at all what was happening. He was obsessed with that first vision of her beauty, the disheveled form, the quick movements as she was working, the gentleness and comfort of her affection, her ways of making love. So the night passed, as she tirelessly pressed his feet in true devotion, without another word.

  The next day she went, like the day before, to work in the garden. Once again she found her husband’s love, and she realized: “He cares only for this sort of beauty, but not for ornaments.” From then on she went there every day, worked in the garden, and made her husband happy with love-making as he pleased.

  Eventually her mother came to know about all this. She spoke in private to her daughter: “My dear, your were born with the blessings of the goddess of arts. The goddess came to me in a dream and promised that our whole family would become pure through your acts—as if she knew you very well. My husband, your father, has gone away to another land. I am counting on your children to take care of me in my old age; that’s why I keep waiting for you to have sons. But one thing is bothering me. Listen to me. People say that making love at the wrong time produces sons without good qualities. At the beginning, for some strange reason, he didn’t want you, and I spoke to him in anger. But we have our old servants to work in the garden, don’t we? Why should your husband work there? Why should you, for that matter? You are young in age but old in wisdom. You know what’s right and what’s wrong.”

  Sugatri broke into a gentle smile. “Whatever my husband likes is right, and what he doesn’t like is wrong. That’s my natural way of thinking. I won’t change it. To me, my husband is God, text, and teacher. I will follow his commands, without considering any other rights or wrongs. I’m not giving anything up just because it is forbidden, nor doing anything just because it is prescribed. I will do what he wants, without any hesitation, and reject whatever he rejects.”

  When she said this, the goddess of arts herself appeared, full of praise for her loyalty to her husband. She held her with a motherly embrace, looked at the mother, and said: “Don’t try to fix this fine woman’s ways. With her strong love, she has washed away not only her own sins but also those of both families. From now on, her story will be my very favorite. I myself will publicize it in the world.”

  “The Brahmin boy finished reading and tied up the book.11 The teacher looked at me and said, ‘It’s a good story. The goddess of arts must have immeasurable love for Sugatri and Salina. She came to me in my dream and told me to read this book every morning before sunrise. That same night she also gave this book to all the literate people in the town. Everyone has been talking about this in amazement. Just yesterday I myself went to that garden to see the happy couple. They received me with honor—but I forgot the book there. Today, early in the morning, I wanted to read it and remembered. I sent this boy to bring it, and now this bad news has come.’ I left him there, grieving for this couple in many ways.”

  “I took leave of the teacher,” continued Manikandhara. “Since I could see that everyone in the town was preoccupied with these events, I realized that this was not the time to put my poetry to the tes
t. So I went to the world of the snakes. After some time, a desire emerged in me to learn music in full, so I began to serve Narada and to wander the worlds with him.

  “Now listen, Kalabhashini. Your mind worked just like in Salina’s story. He was obsessed by rustic beauty and repelled by anything that smacked of ornament or fancy clothes. He rejected his finely decorated wife but was impressed by her plain loveliness when she was working in the garden—so impressed, in fact, that he forgot everything else. His story is a variation on yours.”

  He looked at Sumukhasatti. “You’re from Kashmir, aren’t you. Don’t you know the story of Sugatri?”

  “Who says I don’t know it? I am that Sugatri.”

  Everyone was amazed. “If you are that woman, how did you survive? Why did you change your name?”

  “When I fell into the lake deep as a hundred palm trees, I was thinking only of my husband’s feet. No other man was in my mind. Midway to the bottom, drowning, I was swallowed by a crocodile; but it couldn’t digest me and the next day, rolling on the sands of the shore, it vomited me up. That’s what the people who were there told me afterward. Everyone was amazed at my survival. I went home and prayed to the goddess: “Bring back my husband. I depend on you.” My hair grew white, and I was still praying. I said to myself, “How can I serve my husband at this age? Let the goddess decide what’s good for me.” I turned away from the world and spent my time in the company of philosophers who knew what was real and with experts in Yoga, who let you experience the real. I only regretted that I was no longer young enough to practise the postures that are an integral part of Yoga. That’s how I got the name Sumukhasatti: Sumukha means “scholars,” and asatti means “closeness.” So I’m the one who is always close to scholars.

  “Everyone knew me by this name. I left my mother’s place and went wandering over the earth, from shrine to shrine. When I heard about the powers of this goddess, I came here. The rest you know. Though I was respected for my commitment to my husband, I ended up in this sad state. And although I survived, I haven’t the foggiest idea what happened to my husband in the depths of that lake.”

  Manistambha said, “A crocodile swallowed you and then, a day later, you came back unharmed. Don’t you think your faithfulness would have saved your husband, too? Believe me, he survived.” He pointed at himself. “I am he.

  “I’ll tell you my story,” he said. “You know how I jumped into that lake in my anger at what you said. A little while after that I reached a man, a Siddha who lived underwater as if in his own house. He had the skill of arresting water, and he was so bright that the darkness of the depths was dispelled. Because I had fallen so deep into the water, I was gasping for breath. For a single second, I looked at him. He was in samadhi, a fathomless state. He opened his eyes and saw me. I bowed to him. When he asked, I told him my story. ‘So you’re a very angry man,’ he said to me, smiling. ‘This is a very lonely place. That’s why I’m here. I can’t let you stay more than a minute.’ But he looked at me with compassion and kept me with him for a whole day. Seeing I was so devoted to him, he gave me a jewel that keeps me young, the lion he rode, knowledge of the herbs that control it, skill in playing music, and this sword. Then he sent me off, saying, ‘This sword will eventually kill the person it is aimed at.’

  “I bowed and mounted the lion he had summoned for me. No sooner did I spur him with my heel than he rose from the lake high up into the sky. I was happy. I wanted to see all the fascinating things that exist in the world. And because of the jewel that keeps me young, I got the name Manistambha, Frozen Young by a Jewel.

  “From that day on, I’ve been traveling, dressed as a Siddha, with my guru’s consent. Lost in the fun I was having, I didn’t think of you. You know the rest of the story, since I came here.”

  Sumukhasatti laughed. “Are you really Salina? If so, tell me what I whispered in your ear that made you so angry, and what you whispered to me after praising my youthful beauty. Tell me all that.” She turned to Kalabhashini. “Come here,” she said. “I will first tell you the secret. You can verify if he repeats it.”

  She was bending over to tell her when she stopped. “No, that won’t work. He can hear from a long distance. He’ll hear it immediately. I’ll write it down for you. No—he’ll be able to read it from afar.” She looked at Manikandhara. “Listen,” she said. “You go get him to say those things first to you. Then I’ll tell you my version.”

  So Manikandhara took Manistambha aside and had him report the early conversation and the reason for his getting angry. Then Manikandhara asked Sumukhasatti to report her version. She said, “Before Salina jumped into the lake, we were alone together. As we were talking, he said, ‘Have you been drinking the juice of lasting life, my dear, or have you found some magical potions? You become more beautiful and youthful day by day. They say women age faster than men, so what is it that constantly enhances your vitality?’ I answered, ‘I don’t really know.’ He said, ‘I know.’ And he bent over to whisper into my ear. ‘I want you to stay young and attractive. I can’t get enough of you. So I’ve asked the goddess Sarada that you never become pregnant. She was kind enough to give me that wish. That’s why you always look so youthful and your body is bursting with beauty.’ I was shocked. ‘But she—that same Sarada—gave me a wish sometime earlier, that you will have a son by me.12 How could both come true?’ He was furious. ‘You asked her for a wish that is completely contrary to mine?’ Overcome by anger, he jumped straight into the lake.”

  “Doubt no more,” said Manikandhara. “This man is your husband. The versions coincide precisely.”

  At once, Sumukuhasatti became a little shy. She looked at her husband with joy, respect, love, and humility. She was holding back the tears. “I may have said things about you unknowingly,” she said. “I noticed something familiar about the way you walk, talk, and smile, but I said to myself, ‘People resemble people.’ That was how it had to be at that point, so I didn’t think much about it. My luck has flowered today—because of this Manikandhara, who’s like a brother to me. The company of good people helps you in this world and in the next.”

  She looked at Manikandhara. “You know, I heard good things about you and your music, many times, from my husband, here. He heard you playing from afar. You’re a gandharva by birth. So handsome the moon is put to shame. In music, second to none. You’re a Yogi, devoted to Vishnu. Yet in the end you are bound by this curse, and that makes me sad.”

  Kalabhashini was also sad. She asked Manikandhara, “But why did you have to be cursed by Nalakubara? Didn’t you know the answer to Rambha’s question?13 You heard Kalapurna’s story before, didn’t you?”

  He said, “No. I never heard that story. You may have heard it, but I don’t know where and when.”

  She thought for a moment. “Yes, yes, I remember. You had gone away when that conversation occurred between Narada and me.” And she told the whole story and its context—how when she first saw Narada, there was occasion for her to ask about Kalapurna; how Narada, surprised at the question, looked through the entire universe, past, present, and future, with his Yogic vision and then said that he could not tell that story, because it would force him to be born and to enjoy the riches of life on earth. She told it all, like stringing every single bead into a necklace.

  [ Enter Alaghuvrata. Kalabhashini Is Sacrificed ]

  At that point a Malayali Brahmin named Alaghuvrata appeared. He was eager to be rich and intended to perform the appropriate rituals. He overheard Kalabhashini’s narrative.

  “Who is that Kalapurna?” he asked. “When can I hear the whole story? Even if you carry out all the rituals that bring wealth, you won’t have the good fortune of listening to this unprecedented story. You say that story is so powerful that merely by listening to it, one gets to live a long life in luxury and have a large family of children and grandchildren. Sounds good. I’ll pray to the goddess here to let me hear the whole story.” He sat right down and began to chant the mantra of the Worl
d Goddess.

  Meanwhile, Kalabhashini was thinking about her curse. She was afraid it might take effect in some meaningless way—a random blow, somewhere or other—if she delayed. So she looked with some determination at the Siddha and his sword.

  “Why waste time? Use your sword and make Rambha’s words come true. You’ll win your kingdom.”

  Manistambha looked at her. “Remember, this woman Sumukhasatti invoked the goddess and stopped me from killing you. I’m afraid to lift my sword against you again. Once was enough.” He turned to Manikandhara and said, “You take my sword and do what the girl wants. You take the vast kingdom, with all its riches, you’ll get as a reward.”

  “Good idea,” said Sumukhasatti. “Do it. I know you have to die soon, because of Nalakubara’s curse. You’re probably wondering why you should acquire more bad karma by killing this woman and what good a kingdom won by these means will be to you. But it’s no bad karma to offer this woman to the goddess, especially when she wants to convert her curse, which she anyway can’t avoid, into some benefit to others. She is herself asking to be killed. So do it.”

  She convinced him by this and many other arguments. A kind man at heart, he finally agreed and prepared himself to perform the sacrifice. Kalabhashini, with tears in her eyes, bowed to Manistambha and his wife and said, “These tears are not because I’m afraid to die, but because I am losing the chance to serve you as my elders.”

  Sumukhasatti replied, “My dear child. Our mutual affection is not about to end. Even in the future your husband and you will treat us with the love and respect due to elders, just as you desire.”