‘I attended classes on comparative religions at Princeton,’ I told her, taken back over fifteen years to those days. ‘Our professor laid a lot of stress on Dukkha—sorrow, all-pervading sorrow—in the teachings of the Buddha. His way of overcoming it was to overcome desire: desire for food, sex and the good things of life. I found that hard to accept. The strength of Hinduism lies in the fact that it is a happy religion. Our rituals allow lots of fun and frolic, drinking, dancing, gambling, flirting. I go by that rather than fasting, penance and that sort of thing.’
‘You call having fun and frolic religion?’
Before I could answer her, Jiwan Ram came to pack up the hamper. It was another hour’s drive to Haridwar.
‘We’ll continue our argument another time,’ I said standing up and brushing the dust off my trousers. She held up both her hands for me to haul her up to her feet. She could have got up herself; I guessed it was a gesture of friendship. I went further and brushed her posterior of dust and dried grass that had stuck to her sari. ‘Thanks,’ she said giving me a winsome smile. We got into her car and followed Jiwan Ram to the BHEL guest house.
The caretaker was awaiting the arrival of the VIP guest. He was impressed by the size of the car and its diplomatic corps number plate but was evidently not impressed by the diminutive dark lady who looked like any college girl from the south. Her bossy manner put him in his place. ‘Driver, put my bag in the room allotted to me,’ she ordered. Then to the caretaker: ‘Can I have some tea?’
I did not go to inspect Sue’s room. I simply shook hands with her and said, ‘My driver will come for you at five-thirty—about two hours from now. Pick me up from the ashram and we can have an hour strolling along the ghats and then watch the aarti at sunset.’
She did not protest against being left alone.
At the ashram I had my room opened and everything in it dusted. I was served highly sugared tea in a brass tumbler. I had a lota bath and changed into fresh clothes and awaited Sue. Jiwan Ram was a stickler for time. He drove in exactly at five-thirty. Sue’s driver was also in the car. ‘He insisted on coming with me to have Ganga darshan. He also wants to come in the morning to bathe. I hope you don’t mind.’ Sue had a camera slung on her shoulder.
‘The more the merrier,’ I remarked.
We crowded into my car and proceeded to the point nearest Har Ki Pauri. I assumed the role of guide and protector. I shooed off beggars, paandas, and subscription collectors. On the main ghat the servants stayed a discreet distance behind us. Sue had her camera ready all the time: temples, sadhus, paandas, cows, pilgrims, river, landscape—it was snap, snap, snap all through. She had no time to talk to me. I found her behaviour somewhat off-putting.
Sue noticed my irritation and put her camera in her bag. ‘These pictures will remind me of my pilgrimage to the Ganga. I must take some of you with the river in the background.’ I did not say anything.
The sun had gone over the western range of hills. It was time to find a good spot near the clocktower facing Har ki Pauri. I led her with my arm round her shoulders and with a succession of ‘excuse-me’s’ we pushed our way through to the front row—in such places size and ‘Sahib English’ command obedience. The pageant of lights and sounds began. I kept a protective arm round Sue’s shoulders throughout the waving of candelabras, the chanting of shlokas and the clanging of bells. She did not seem to mind: on the contrary, she rested her head against my chest. And when the aarti ended she looked into my eyes and mumbled, ‘Bewitching! Thank you ever so much for letting me come with you.’
The crowd began to disperse. We stayed by the river for a while, strolled on the ghat, enjoying the moonlight and cool breeze. We went through the brightly lit bazaar to reach the car. ‘What next?’ asked Sue as we took our seats.
‘I to my ashram; you to your guest house. No women allowed in the ashram. Nor any alcohol in the holy city.’
‘Both allowed in the guest house. You told me it is off limits. I’ve brought a bottle of Scotch and some soda, would you care to join me?’
‘Can I have a rain check on that?’ I asked. ‘I would like to get up early and take a dip in the river in memory of my father. He never missed the opportunity to wash away his sins. Mine need a lot more washing.’
‘Why can’t I come too? I may not bathe, but I would like to see the spectacle,’ she said.
‘Sure! If you can join me at the ashram at five tomorrow morning I’ll take you along. But no photography allowed.’
I and my servants got off at the ashram. Jiwan Ram drove Sue and her chauffeur to the BHEL guest house. I felt bad at having turned down Sue’s invitation so brusquely. I had not told her that I had my own Scotch and soda in my room—prohibition or no prohibition.
Early the next morning she arrived at the ashram to pick me up. Daylight had just begun to lighten the sky. She was in salwar-kameez and carried a sling bag with clothes. ‘I decided to give the holy Ganga a chance to wash away my sins. I’m not a Ganga worshipper, but she may extend her cleansing properties to me,’ she said with a laugh.
We were at different sections of Har Ki Pauri. I could see Sue divest herself of her salwar and wrap a towel round her waist. She took off her kameez, but kept her bra on. Some women had less on them than her. She was the smallest of the lot. I turned my gaze away. I recalled my father offering water to the rising sun and submerging himself in the water a few times. He used to name the people for whom he was performing the ritual by proxy. I offered two palmfuls of water to the sun and ducking into the stream I could only think of a few people who had been close to me: Jessica, Yasmeen, Sarojini, Molly, my father and my children—seven dips in all. It was very refreshing. I turned around to see how Sue was getting along. She had put on her petticoat and had a towel round her shoulders, covering her breasts. Clearly she had got bolder and taken her bra off before the dip. With a second towel she was rubbing herself between her legs. She felt secure among the many women in different stages of nudity. She towelled her small breasts and slipped on her bra.
Then she draped her sari round her, Sinhalese style. We found our way to our cars. I wasn’t sure if Sue meant to return to Delhi or spend another day in Haridwar. I asked her. ‘I booked the rooms for two nights and days. I thought I’d see all there is to see around here and go back with you,’ she replied.
‘It will be too hot to do any sightseeing,’ I said. ‘It would be wiser to stay in your air-conditioned room during the day. I have to make do with an old ceiling fan which only churns up hot air. We can go to the ghats again in the evening. This time without a camera. And if I may, I’ll join you for a drink in the evening.’
We returned to our respective abodes.
I gave my servants money to take Sue’s driver with them to a film on some religious theme showing in a local cinema and for their evening meal in a dhaba. Soon after sunset I drove to the BHEL guest house and was shown to Sue’s room. She had Scotch, soda and a bucket of ice cubes laid out on the table. She was smoking a cigarette. She had not smoked on the way, not even after the picnic lunch by the canal. She was obviously doing so to soothe her nerves. She got up from her chair and instead of shaking hands greeted me with a kiss on both cheeks. ‘This is to thank you for bringing me with you. It was a memorable experience. It will stay with me for the rest of my life.’
She stubbed her cigarette out and said, ‘You do the honours while I rinse my mouth and get the awful cigarette smell out of it.’
She took a long time in her bathroom. I was not sure what she had in mind but as a precaution latched the door from the inside. I poured out two whiskeys and waited for her to join me.
‘So what did you do all day?’ she asked as she came out.
‘Nothing much,’ I replied, ‘it was too hot to go out. I read papers, magazines, ate and snoozed, and the day was gone. And you?’
‘I had the driver take me around Haridwar and up the higher reaches of the Ganga. He didn’t know his way about. So we came back. I loafed in the ba
zaar for a while to see if I could buy something. There was a lot of junk. And shopkeepers would not believe I can’t understand Hindustani. I had to point to myself and tell them, “From Sri Lanka.” The invariable response was, “Oh, Lanka: land of Ravana.” That’s all that most Indians know about my country.’
‘That’s all I know too, besides of course that Sri Lankan Tamils are fighting for Eelam and cursing us Indians for not supporting them … I don’t understand why people of different nations hate each other so much. Do you hate us?’
‘No,’ she replied. ‘The Buddha said hate kills the man who hates. I don’t hate you, you don’t hate me. That’s all that matters.’ She took my hand and put it against her lips. In return I drew her bony hand towards my mouth and kissed it.
‘That’s like signing an India-Sri Lanka Peace Treaty,’ she said with a soft laugh.
I did not let go of her hand; she did not try to withdraw it. After a while she said, ‘Mr Kumar, I’m told most women find you irresistible.’
‘Do you?’
‘Well, I’m not quite sure. You’re a handsome chap and have a way with women. I don’t blame them if they fall for you.’
‘You haven’t told me if you have fallen for me.’
‘Why do you think I invited myself to Haridwar? But I don’t know if I am the kind of woman you fall for. I’m not much to look at. Too dark and too skinny for the tastes of most Indians.’
‘I’ve seen more of you than you know. I had a quick look at you when you were changing from your salwar-kameez into a sari. Everything in miniature but in the right proportions. You have quite a nice figure.’
‘Thank you. I thought you went to the holy river to cleanse yourself of libidinous thoughts.’
‘Also to seek her blessing for success in a new venture.’
She put her glass of whisky aside, came over and sat in my lap, put her arms around my neck and kissed me. We stayed that way for some minutes. Then I took over. I placed her head on my right shoulder, made her open her mouth to let my tongue explore. I put my hand inside her bra. It was very tight. The buttons at the back snapped and her breasts were freed of their confines. I took her small, firm breasts in my mouth, first one, then the other. She put her head back, shut her eyes and ‘aahd’ and ‘oohd’ with pleasure as she kept ruffling my hair with her fingers. She felt my member rise and throb under her. She stood up and tapped it with her bony hand. ‘He’s getting impatient for action. Come.’ She took my hand and led me to her bed. She lay down on her back and pulled her sari up above the waist. She wore no panties. She had planned it all. I was surprised to see how big her cunt was. She had obviously had plenty of sex. As I mounted her, she expressed no surprise about the size of my penis as most other women had: she simply guided it in with her fingers and said, ‘It feels like Ashoka’s pillar entering me. I like it. Put in all you have.’
I did. She squirmed with pleasure. As she felt her climax coming, she asked, ‘Don’t you have a condom?’
‘No,’ I replied, ‘I didn’t expect to use one on this visit.’
‘Then for God’s sake don’t come inside me. I can’t risk a pregnancy. I know it won’t be much fun for you, but this time, for my sake.’
She climaxed with her teeth dug into my neck and her hands clutching my hair. I pulled out just in time and squirted my semen on her thighs.
‘My thighs are sticky, my sari is crumpled, and you’ve snapped the buttons of my bra, but it was worth it.’
After showering herself she came out and lay naked on the bed beside me. She took my flaccid member in her hands and said, ‘It’s massive. No wonder women fall for you. We’d better get dressed. I’ll order dinner to be brought to the room.’
We got into our clothes. She rang for the bearer, told him to serve dinner.
While waiting for dinner I thought I’d get to know a little more about Sue. I asked her, ‘I know very little about you except that you’re a diplomat so you must be very clever. And you’re a liberated woman, of course.’
‘Well, I come from a large family: tea planters. I was a clever cookie, so I passed the civil service exam and opted for the foreign service. As for being liberated, yes I have no hang-ups about sex. If I like a chap and he likes me we get into bed. Nothing wrong in that, is there?’
‘Not at all,’ I replied. ‘When two people want to get close to each other, sex should be their top priority. When did you lose your virginity?’
‘Now you’re being very nosey. But I’ll tell you. I was sixteen. Nothing romantic about the deflowering. My own uncle, my father’s younger brother. The usual thing, you know, a close relative whom you trust. It seemed harmless enough at first—kissing and cuddling, that sort of thing. Then he thought he’d got me worked up and started playing with my breasts and stroking my crotch. I got frantic and before I knew it he had me under him on the floor and tore into me. I almost told my parents but held back because I realized I had led him on. I taught the fellow a lesson by seducing his fourteen-year-old son, my cousin. The boy got so besotted with me he started writing me love letters and poems. I let him to do it a few times but then he wanted to marry me. He went and told his parents that we were in love and wanted to get married. His old man quickly took the boy away from Colombo and put him in a boarding school far from the city. It’s not very difficult for a girl to seduce a man. I know I can get any man I want because men are ever willing for sex. I got you.’
‘We got each other,’ I countered. I told her about Molly who was also ‘deflowered’ by her uncle when only fourteen. ‘It’s amazing how many girls are initiated into sex by their older relations or their parents’ friends,’ I observed. ‘Well, it’s the same for boys,’ said Sue. ‘They’re seduced by their aunts or older maidservants. When the sexual urge becomes too strong in young people and it’s obvious that they can barely contain it, an experienced older person finds it easy to exploit them.’
‘And are you experienced?’ I asked bluntly. ‘I mean, have you had many affairs?’
‘Quite a few. And I had a steady boyfriend for some years. I’ve told you about him. Neither of us wanted to get married, so there was no heartburn on either side. What about you?’
‘I was a virgin till twenty. It was a black girl at university who initiated me into sex. Thereafter I had many affairs. Sex is the greatest thing in a human’s life. The more varied it is, the more enjoyable. Don’t you agree?’
‘Yes and no. I don’t think one-night stands count. A relationship has to be of reasonable duration with the same person to be fulfilling. Both can sense when the excitement has gone out of it. Then it’s time to call it quits and take on a new partner. I hope we’ll be able to meet off and on while I’m posted in Delhi.’
‘I hope so too. We haven’t really begun. You can’t really enjoy it if you’re scared of being interrupted, found out, or afraid of getting pregnant.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said taking my hand. ‘The next time I promise you more satisfaction.’
We left Haridwar early the next morning. We could have gone in our own cars and at different times, but we decided to travel together. I in her car, the servants in mine. Occasionally she stretched her hand towards me and we entwined our fingers tightly. After we crossed the Yamuna, she kept carefully noting landmarks which led to Maharani Bagh and my house. Her car pulled up outside the gate. She did not want to come in. ‘I’m late for office. I must go home, change and get to work. Don’t ring me up at the High Commission or my flat as all calls are monitored. It you have a direct line in your office I’ll get in touch with you. I don’t want to ring up your home, your servants will recognize me.’
I gave her my direct number at work. She rang me up the next day. ‘Hi there! Know who this is?’
‘Sue—something, something unpronounceable! What can I do for you?’
‘What are you doing next Saturday? We have the day off.’
‘I have a lunch date with a lady from the Sri Lankan High Commission. We work half day
on Saturdays and I’ll give the servants the afternoon off. I’ll be home in the afternoon by one-thirty.’
‘Okay, okay. Expect your Sri Lankan date at one-thirty sharp.’
Saturday morning I told my cook to make something cold and put it in the fridge as I might be later than usual. I also gave Jiwan Ram the weekend off. When I got back home at noon, the house was quiet as a tomb. I switched on the bedroom air-conditioner and checked the contents of the fridge. Fish, potato and cucumber salad. Also several cans of beer.
Sue was punctual. She did not come in her embassy car but in a taxi. From the balcony I saw the cab slow down outside Ranjit Villa and pull up in front of my neighbour’s. I saw Sue pay off the driver, open her parasol to cover her head against the midday sun and gingerly walk back into Ranjit Villa. Before she could ring the bell, I opened the door to let her in. ‘Hi there!’ she said as she folded her parasol and put it in the coat stand. ‘It’s hot as hell; I’m sweating all over. Thank God your house is cool.’
‘I’ve switched on the AC in the sitting room.’ I led her by the hand into the cool sitting room. Besides the AC, the ceiling fan was on at maximum speed. She collapsed in an arm chair, stretched her hands behind her and said, ‘Let me cool off.’
‘Glass of iced beer?’ I asked.
‘That would be nice.’
I opened two cans of chilled beer, poured their contents into crystal glass tumblers and handed her one. She turned the frosting glass in her hand and exclaimed, ‘Lalique, tres chic! Mr Kumar, you are a man of expensive tastes.’
‘Yes, ma’am. You see, it results from the company I keep.’
‘Flatterer!’ she screeched. ‘I bet you say the same kind of thing to all the women you entertain with we-know-what designs.’
Company of Women Page 22
