"What is her name?" Sundari asked.
"Anne Meredith Wilson."
Sundari ordered them to throw rice into the fire. Anne, the participant, was aware of Yale's voice. He was speaking to her. She heard the words he had practised, spoken, now tenderly, with a warmth of affection that made her tremble.
"Look upon me with no angry eyes; be not hostile to me; be tender to animals, be amiable, be glorious; be the mother of males; be devoted to God; be the bestower of happiness; be the bringer of prosperity to our bipeds and quadrupeds."
She grinned, remembering how she had kissed him and murmured to him, "I didn't know I was marrying a farmer. Oh, Yale, my dearest, I do love you."
The ceremony was proceeding. She was being linked to this man she had known only a few thousand hours.
Solemnly Surya Gupta said, "In the attainment of Dharma, Artha and Kama. She is not to be transgressed."
"Transgress her I will not," Yale said quietly.
How delighted Mat and Sundari had been with these vows! "You see the point?" Sundari had asked her. "No Hindu wife is chattel. She is very much the mistress in her home. Anne is your equal in every way, Yale."
Yale had quibbled. "Well, not quite every way," he had demurred. "Ultimately a woman receives, and a man gives."
And now Sundari was passing the yoke to Yale. Smiling, Yale placed it over her head. Anne knew her eyes were bright with tears; for this was the act of submission, the passing of authority to her husband. Sundari continued the ceremony, speaking a flowing river of sound that embraced them. Sunanda had moved forward to assist in the symbolical tying of their garments. Since Yale was wearing a chino shirt, they had planned this so that a piece of ribbon from Anne's sari was joined loosely to his arm.
Looking at her, with a tiny grin; an expression of love on his face, as tangible as a caress, Yale said, following the translation Sundari had prepared for him, "First Soma had thee for a bride; Gandharva obtained thee next; Agni was thy third husband; thy fourth husband is myself, born of man. Soma gave thee to Gandharva, then Gandharva gave thee to Agni, and Agni has given thee to me for wealth and sons."
Anne remembered the discussion that this had engendered when Sundari had explained it to them. "I know that these Gods take care of a girl during her youth and protect her virginity," Anne said, teasing them. "But unfortunately I'm not a virgin. Even if I had not lived with Yale, I have been married before. You see, Sundari, even your Eastern religions want their women inviolable."
Sundari was equal to any problem. "Love properly understood," he had told her, "occurs only between virgins. What does virginity mean? I will tell you. Pure, unsullied . . . not yet used for any purpose. Note the word use . It cannot exist in love or in the sexual act. Use implies a destruction of value. It implies that this is a contact that depreciates the flesh. This, I tell you, is not so! Love exists without man or woman. Participation in this never born, never ceasing love is possible for man and woman through the wondrous commingling of their minds and bodies. In this world of Maya, or illusion, we must recognize the truth; for those who are pure the sexual act is a perpetual renewal of virginity."
Listening to him chant the Sanskrit marriage texts, Anne remembered the night that Helen Axonby persuaded Sundari to explain in more detail his Tantric conceptions of Love. "I think it is time," he had admitted. "This man, Yale Marratt, and his woman Anne Wilson, should know as much as possible. A good place to start is in this village. These people are Vanamargis, or left-hand worshippers, known as Tantrics. Their complete worship of sex, and the active female principle in the world, is not easily understood by ascetics. You from the West believe that the only final way to reach God is in the renunciation of life. A Christ-like detachment. That is understood by Hindus, too. Hence many forms of yoga seek God through self-abasement. This is the right-hand path which denies the world. The left-hand path embraces the world. You might call the right-hand path the male principle, the left-hand path the female principle. In China our Buddhist friends call this the Yang and the Yin. But there are many ways to reach Atman. All paths converge. The Sakta principle which attributes all things in the universe to an active feminine drive; the feminine principle, absorbing the male . . . containing it, is more acceptable to many of us in the East, perhaps, because it is compassionate . . . something a society based on male dominance cannot be."
Sundari had smiled at his bewildered listeners. "Do not look so worried, the Tantric accepts this as an image. Parvati, the wife of Shiva, symbolizes it for him with a wealth of story and myth. Similar to your Christian Mary in a way. I understand in certain South American countries there is much more actual worship of Mary than of Christ." He chuckled. "A more logical trinity perhaps would be The Father, The Son, and Mary. But not a Virgin Mary. Oh, dear, no!"
"Now, I understand what Chatterji meant," Yale had said, "when he said all women are Parvati."
Sundari nodded. "You can readily see how this idea could lead to a form of worship based on sex. I think you and your Memsahib would find a study of the Tantras valuable to your own sexual consummation and your identification with the Universe."
"This is a difficult concept for Christians to understand," Anne remembered Mat saying. "In the Christian world Divine Love is the Love of God. It is somewhat surprising for people who have been brought up in a tradition that still looks upon the sexual act as an animal act. . . bestial, even dirty . . . to conceive of a sexual love in which the man and woman are incarnations of the divine."
"This is the doctrine of the Tantric Maithuna. Imagine, Sahib," Sundari had said, turning to Yale, "that you and your Menisahib are seated naked, in the cross-legged yoga position. Your Memsahib then clasps your waist with her thighs. She puts her arms about your neck."
"Good heavens!" Anne laughed. "A woman would have to be an acrobat."
Sundari smiled. "These things can be learned, Memsahib. This discussion is only to illustrate a point. There are many ways of intercourse. You try this with your Sahib. You will find the proximity of his member to your yoni will result not in a penetration but an absorption. You will be joined in the real sense of the word yoga which means 'to join' . . . in this position of course no motion will be possible if you are to remain joined. For hours you will stay together doing nothing to excite the ultimate orgasm."
"Sounds nice." Anne had smiled at Yale, who grinned back at her.
"It is more than just nice," Sundari said sternly. "You and your Sahib will find your individuality vanishing, your breathing will slow down, your lives will come and go without grasping, without loss. Slowly, you will obtain a psychic transference into the Self of the Universe. You will find that your love has become divine. In your wonder and contemplation of each other you will have surrendered your individual bodies to include all the external world. Better still you will find that as you prolong the final ecstasy, Sahib, that you and your lady will discover a blending of your minds, coupled with a blinding wonder at the miracle of each other . . . a wonder that you have never dreamed possible."
Mat leaned toward Anne and Yale. "Do you see what this can mean?" he had demanded excitedly. "In this idea are the seeds of a religion based not on an archaic idea of a male God ruling the world, but a religion based on humanity finding itself and the Ultimate in each other."
Anne remembered she had said, "It is not really possible to put these feelings into words. No matter how clinically you discuss it, it seems to me that it must remain a very private experience."
Sundari had smiled. "No, Memsahib, I disagree with you. I believe we must find a way to teach this feeling to all men and women and teach them how to achieve it, if we are to preserve human beings from extinction."
Anne realized that while she had been reminiscing the wedding cermony had arrived at the Panigrahana, or hand-taking. She felt Yale's fingers entwine with hers. A thrill of delight and panic electrified her body. Surya Gupta tied their wrists with a gold and silk cord while Sundari, unsmiling, chanted endless religious
verses to which the crowds of villagers listened with rapt attention.
It really is a marriage, Anne thought, bewildered. I am really being joined to Yale Marratt in this strange and ancient ceremony. Sundari poured sacred water over their joined hands. Slowly, Yale led her in the tradiditional Saptapadi. Seven times around the sacred fire, circling the priestly group with tiny steps, Anne could feel Yale's wrist bound to hers. She stared at the leaping flames, feeling a flood of desire course through her body for Yale. He looked so wonderfully wholesome, so serious, as he guided her, whispering softly, "I love you, Anne."
On the final trip around the sacred flames she suddenly recognized Colonel Trafford watching them. A feeling of terror grasped at her heart. He was standing just outside the tent with his adjutant, Captain Baker. A broad smirk was on his face. He caught Anne's glance, and even at the distance she knew that he understood her gasp and half-stifled "Oh, my God."
She felt Yale's fingers tighten on hers and saw his expression of disgust as he recognized Trafford. This was it, she thought dully, remembering Trafford's warnings. Now, he would do everything possible to get one of them transferred. The feeling of panic that seized her, the scream of dismay that was so close to her lips, made her forget for a moment that the marriage ceremony was still continuing.
She heard Yale say, "Now that we have taken seven steps together; be thou my companion. May I never part from thee nor thou from me. Let us be united; let us always take counsel together with glad hearts and mutual love. May we grow in strength and prosperity together. Now we are one in mind, deed, and desires. Thou art Rik, I am Saman; I am the sky, thou art the earth; I am the semen, thou art its bearer; I am the mind, thou art speech. Follow me faithfully, that we may have wealth and children together."
Numb with fear, she saw Sundari smile at them as he made a concluding oblation in Sanskrit, and then said in English, "Let this union flower, witnessed by the gods, and sanctified by the Vedic texts. Live together a full life in good health."
Sunanda handed Yale the tali, Surya undid the cord that bound them. Kneeling beside her, as he placed the necklace of flowers on her shoulders, she heard him whisper, "Darling, Trafford can't hurt us. Stop worrying this instant, you scared little goose." He dipped his finger in the red oxide of lead powder that Surya had placed in front of them. Anne bowed her head, and he rubbed it lightly into the centre part in her hair. This was Sendurdan, the mark that the bride was his; the symbolic taking of possession.
"You can't escape from me now." Yale grinned. "I am the master." Laughing, Sundari tossed a fistful of saffron rice at them. The wedding ceremony was over. Yale led Anne through the crowds of villagers who followed them singing, throwing rice, waving torches, and forming a pathway to their house.
"According to tradition," Yale said as he walked beside her, guiding her through the crowds, "we sleep together three nights before we make love. I told Sundari you couldn't stand that. He understands that you are a hot baby, so he gave us a special dispensation."
"Yale Marratt, you're awful!" Anne said indignantly. "You didn't say that! It's not true, anyway. Oh, Yale, how can you joke? Trafford saw the whole thing. Oh, God, how did he ever find out about the wedding?" She held his arm. He could feel her trembling. He recognized the near hysteria in her voice. "Don't you see, Yale, we're sunk. He'll get one of us transferred, and then it will be over."
"Stop it, Anne," Yale said, seeing Mat and Sundari approaching them. "We are married. Even if the worst happens and we are separated, we are married. You can't escape that."
Tears in her eyes, she tried to smile at Mat and Sundari who were congratulating them. She watched the hundreds of villagers as they gathered around them talking and chattering gleefully. Anne wondered where Colonel Trafford had gone. What would he think of their marriage? Would he be content to just go back to Talibazar . . . to forget this afternoon, and permit Yale and her to have this small haven in a world gone mad? Almost as the questions formed in her mind, she had her answer.
Trafford followed by Captain Baker pushed through the crowd. He pointed the riding crop he always carried at Yale. "Well, if this isn't the quaintest god-damned idea I ever heard of." His lips curled in a sneer. "I'd like to know what in hell you think you are doing, Lieutenant Marratt, and you, too, Captain Chilling. I can't understand a so-called 'man of God' tolerating this travesty of a wedding. I presume that, in addition to being an officer and gentleman, you are a Christian . . . and a citizen of the United States. Being a senior officer I hold you as responsible as Lieutenant Marratt for not reporting this incident."
"Captain Chilling has nothing to do with this, Trafford," Yale said, before Mat could answer. "Since my wife and I are not on a U.S. Army base, and we are not interfering with you or the conduct of the war, I fail to see your concern. In fact it's none of your damned business."
"Your wife and you!" Trafford roared with laughter. "You call that wog ceremony a marriage? You just try to have it stand up legal-like. The judge advocate's office would just call it a polite way to cover up a little whoring."
Noticing Yale's anger, Trafford stepped back as if to duck a possible blow. "I wouldn't try to hit a superior officer, if I were you, Lieutenant. If you just ain't mighty careful, I'm going to give you a direct order to put your ass in the back seat of my jeep and we'll go back to the base while I have Captain Baker study the regulations for a good juicy court martial. Now, if I do that, it will be a damned shame. Anyone can see that this little girl needs servicing on her wedding day. I just guess she wouldn't mind if I broke the cherry for you." Trafford started to laugh raucously. For the first time they smelled the odor of whiskey, and realized that Trafford was quite drunk. "Get it." He jabbed Captain Baker with his elbow. "In these tribal marriages the head man always gets the first poke. Now," he said, and grabbed Anne's arm, "if I'm not the head man, hereabouts, I'd like to know who in hell is? Huh?" he demanded, shaking Anne, who looked at him terrified.
"Let go of her, you bastard." Yale's face was scarlet with his anger. He twisted Trafford's arm.
"Get your hands off me, son," Trafford snarled at him, "or I'll trample you to death, right here in front of your whore and wog friends."
Mat intervened. "Whether you realize it or not, Colonel, there are other women here." He pointed in the direction of Mrs. Axonby and several of the Red Cross girls who, with two pilot friends of Yale, had worked their way through the crowd of natives. They were all listening to Trafford. "Whether it bothers you or not," he said, playing on Trafford's pride, "I would suggest that we are but a handful of Americans and one British lady in the midst of all these Indians. It certainly doesn't seem in the best taste to demean the rank you hold by engaging in a knock-down fight."
Trafford clapped Mat on the back. "You're damned tooting right, preacher. We'll just forget all this crap until tomorrow. Then we'll look at the matter with a clearer vision. Such vision would say to me, Lieutenant Marratt . . ." He smiled nastily at Yale . . . "that I've got to hand it to you for arranging your life so handily . . . having yourself a big wallah-wallah deal right here in old India where everyone else has to subsist on dark meat. Very neat. Unfortunately, not conducive to happiness when it gets known around the base. I think we will just have to find us a new f. o." Trafford grinned. "I mean finance officer, Lieutenant, and I'd be mighty careful with your temper unless you plan to spend the rest of your life in Leavenworth."
Trafford turned his attention to Sundari who had been following the conversation impassively. "Since this is supposed to be a wedding, I think I should be invited to the celebration. What do you think, Sundari?"
"I am sure you are welcome to join the villagers. I must warn you, they do not drink."
"It's all right," Trafford said agreeably. "I brought my own. Let's get my jug, Captain, and wander around. There's some good-looking quiff around here." He pointed at Sunanda Gupta who was standing near Anne. "Look at that little brown baby."
They all watched Trafford and Baker walk toward
their jeep.
"This man make trouble, no?" Surya Gupta said to Yale.
"I'm afraid so," Yale said. "I'm sorry to have inflicted him on your village."
"Do not worry, Sahib. This is your wedding day. There is much feasting, thanks to your generosity. I will be responsible for the Colonel's good behavior."
"I wonder how he found out about the wedding." Helen Axonby put her arms around Anne, feeling a deep sympathy for her. Anne seemed to have shrunken into herself. The dismay and terror at the encounter with Trafford was frozen on her face. "Come on, Anne," she said, leading her toward the bungalow. "You've been a beautiful bride, and it was a lovely ceremony."
"Let her lie down awhile," she said to Yale. "I'll stay with her."
Mat told Yale that he and Sundari would not stay for the wedding feast. "It's a shame about Trafford," Mat said unhappily. "I suppose it was inevitable that he would hear about it. All the bearers gossip so much. I do think the wisest thing would be to avoid him tonight. In fact, if you could get your friends to leave early, it would leave Trafford and Baker awkwardly alone." Mat pointed out to him that since it was their wedding night the villagers would not expect that he and Anne would stay at the party.
"I'm afraid it's already too late," Yale said. He nodded toward the centre of the village. Mat noticed the tables set up for the wedding feast. They both saw Trafford and Baker wave a bottle of liquor toward Jane Belcher and Chris Powers. The girls were escorted by two pilots who evidently thought it best to accede to Trafford's demands. Yale saw them take a drink from the bottle. "I think I better talk with Surya Gupta," Yale said, worned.
He thanked Mat and Sundari. He was glad that they had decided to leave. Trafford didn't seem to have any fear. Yale was afraid that the villagers, peaceful as they were, might be so shocked by Trafford's behavior that real trouble would ensue. Sufficiently angered, he knew that some of these Indians would not hesitate to use one of their rapier-like knives on Trafford.
The Rebellion of Yale Marratt Page 36
