Ashes for the Elephant God

by Vijaya Schartz

  "Sorry to cut your evening short," Mukunda said more brusquely than he intended, filling his glass for the third time. "The bedroom is that way." He pointed to the door. "I'd like to retire now, if you don't mind."

  Kora picked up her purse with a heavy sigh. "Are you sure that's what you want?"

  "I'm sure. And lock the door behind you."

  "Good night," she said with a strained smile, blowing him a kiss before disappearing into the bedroom.

  After the door closed, Mukunda exhaled in relief. Bringing glass and bottle to the coffee table, he dimmed the light and turned down the volume on the boom box, then stripped to his white boxer shorts and dropped onto the couch. He punched the pillows with one fist, as much to release the tension as to shape the sofa for comfort, then stretched out, tucked one hand under his head, and picked up the glass of Arak. It would be a long night.

  *****

  Drowsy with sleep, Mukunda responded to the intimate caress. He did not want the dream to end. In his arms, Lakshmi, the dark woman of his dreams, set his body ablaze with unrestrained passion. Her smooth skin glided over him, rustling like silk. Sweet perfume filled his nostrils. Mukunda remembered ancient shivers, deep pools, laughter, fulfillment. His body yearned for a joining, while newly discovered sensitive zones burned with desire under her feathery touch.

  Moist lips worked their way down his chest, stiffening taut nipples. Mukunda arched his back, tensing the muscles of his straining pelvis. Long hair brushed his skin while expert hands grazed his inner thighs. Mukunda gasped when Lakshmi's lips engulfed his aching member then teased the tip with her tongue in a delicious torture.

  Skin against skin, he gloried in her warmth, moaning as she climbed over him, running nimble fingers up his sides. She extinguished his moan with a wanton kiss while nails dug into his buttocks. Suddenly, she sheathed him, moving up and down in a slow rhythm, tightening her moist grip on his shaft as he grew to fill her.

  Mukunda shivered, hands locking onto her hips, holding her close. Her smell, her touch, the feel of her hair falling on his face, her expert hands, all these sensations maddened him. Never had he known such bliss. Without changing position, opening his eyes, or altering the rhythm for fear of breaking the magic, Mukunda took control, thrusting deep and slow, pleasuring her first, enjoying her soft cries, her shuddering release around him. Unable to hold it off any longer, he now drove fast and hard and exploded inside her with a victorious roar.

  "Lakshmi, you are wonderful," he sighed, falling back on the couch, spent and slack from exhaustion.

  "Who in bloody hell is Lakshmi?"

  Mukunda's eyes flew open at the sound of the cold, intruding voice. The gorgeous woman leaning over him had blond hair and an Australian accent. Sorting through the confusion of his Arak‑clouded mind, Mukunda suddenly realized his mistake. "You're not Lakshmi?" He sounded stupid, even to himself.

  "You didn't seem to mind so much, a few minutes ago," Kora seethed. "Who is this Lakshmi who pops up in your mind when you are making love to me?"

  "You?" Mukunda rose on one elbow, suddenly remembering the night before.

  "Who the hell is Lakshmi?" Kora insisted.

  "I don't know..." He frowned, trying to remember. "Someone in my dreams. A woman I love."

  "One can't love a dream," Kora said, losing her snappy edge. "I was watching you sleep and wanted to touch you, so I did. I can make you forget Lakshmi, given a chance." She knelt on the rug beside the couch and ran her fingers on his bare skin.

  He seized her hands in an iron grip and stared into her eyes. "Don't you ever try this again!" Mukunda felt used, betrayed, raped. Anger rose in him, covering his hurt. "I thought I made it clear I didn't want to have sex with you. From now on, I want nothing to do with you," he said with finality. "Now get dressed, and I'll take you back to the ashram. The gate must be open by now."

  The sky paled on the eastern horizon when Mukunda drove a sullen Kora back to Shree Gurudev. He felt terrible about rejecting her so brutally, but he knew that a softer approach would not have worked.

  "I'm sorry it turned out this way." He stopped the Mahindra Jeep in front of the gate without turning off the engine. "Will you be all right?"

  "Will I see you again?" Her eyes filled with hope.

  "I doubt it." Mukunda held her stare. "But one never knows... Our paths might cross again. As I said before, Ganeshpur is a small place."

  "So long, then." With a sad smile, Kora stepped out of the car.

  "Wait!" He reached for his safari jacket on the back seat. "Better throw this on your shoulders or you'll get in trouble again."

  "Are you sure?" A hopeful smile spread on her face as she took the garment.

  "Keep it. I don't need it. I have several."

  Kora donned the jacket, blew him a kiss, and hurried through the gate.

  Mukunda watched her go, suddenly aware of a pounding headache. He sighed heavily. What was wrong with him? Why did Kora, so gorgeous and willing, repel him? Shaking his head in frustration, he switched gear, stepped on the gas, and drove off, tires screeching, leaving rubber tracks on the road.

  Chapter Nine

  Kumbh Mela, the holiest of pilgrimages

  Before three in the morning, the swamis had already prepared the grounds for the spring festival. When I entered the temple, flowers hung above the entrance and incense burned inside, releasing a sweet fragrance.

  I remembered the same smell in Jean-François' room, back in Paris. It seemed so long ago, so faraway, almost in another life.

  "Fabienne," my brother used to say, "you ought to try it. Incense purifies the air, elevates the vibrations, and relaxes the spirit."

  "Sure," I would mock, "and hens have teeth, too."

  Jean-François, can you see how much I changed? I understand you now. You were right all along.

  Bathed in candlelight, several swamis in orange robes bustled around the black stone representation of Bhagawan Durgananda, the local saint. With precise movements, unhurried but efficient, they prepared for the ritual washing.

  I had volunteered to attend the special event, thrilled at the opportunity to participate. To my surprise, apart from the swamis, few ashramites showed up. Of course, at three in the morning, most everyone still slept.

  Around the life-size statue frozen in a meditating posture, several copper pails full of various concoctions sat in a circle. I recognized buttermilk and coconut water, but other substances looked like powders, spices, and fragrant oils.

  The swamis began to chant the Bhagavad-Gita as they washed the statue. When one of them motioned to me that he needed a particular pail, I zealously handed it to him.

  He smiled engagingly. "Come closer and help."

  I recognized Swami Satiananda, from my first day at the ashram. As he reverently poured a viscous liquid on the black statue, I rubbed the oil by hand on every inch of the venerable body. A particular spot on the statue's back felt warm to the touch, while the rest of the black stone retained the chill of the night.

  Swami Satiananda smiled when he noticed my surprise. "It's his heart," he said softly. "It gathers the surrounding energy and holds it. Touch it. Don't be afraid. It's one of the mysteries of Shakti, the aspect of God known as divine energy."

  My spirit soared at the jolt I received from a simple touch. I wanted to shoot out of my body but controlled myself to remain conscious. Suddenly, I could see the swamis’ auras. Blue, green, or orange magnetic fields surrounded them as they continued to work and chant, oblivious to my stare. I resumed rubbing the statue with renewed ardor, unable to erase the smile on my face.

  After the swamis had poured the contents of all the pails, scrubbing, anointing, washing and rinsing with the various mixtures, malas of fragrant flowers were wrapped around the neck of the stone statue. At the conclusion of the ritual, conches and drums blared gaily to wake up the ashram’s population. Soon, the peaceful routine of the holy place changed to celebrate the solar new-year.

  The incredible energy
released by the night’s ritual remained with me while I sat quietly on the mosaic tile of the courtyard, among the festive crowd. On that special morning, Baba held a traditional Satsang of questions and answers. Listening to the living saint share his wisdom, I observed in blissful contemplation the luminous turquoise aura surrounding his being. For a minute, I wondered if the visual phenomenon had anything to do with the fact that I wasn't wearing my contact lenses, then I dismissed the thought. I was really seeing auras. The bright fields of vibrant colors couldn't compare with simple fuzziness.

  To close the session, in answer to a question concerning drug use, Baba told one of his many stories:

  "Once upon a time," he started, as the crowd grew silent, "Sheik Nassurdin, coming out of an opium parlor with his retinue, noticed that the water well sat under the hammering sun, in the middle of the village square. 'The water might get warm. Let's push the well into the shade,' Sheik Nassurdin ordered his companions, also under the influence. 'Clever idea,' all his friends agreed.

  "Under the bemused gaze of the villagers, Sheik Nassurdin and his friends, huffing and puffing, started pushing the well as hard as they could, and soon passed out from heat and exhaustion. By the time they awoke from their drugged slumber, the sun had lowered on the horizon, and the well now lay in the shade of the surrounding trees and houses. 'We did it! We did it!' Sheik Nassurdin exulted in triumph, jumping up and down, applauding his success. 'We did it! We moved the well,' cheered his companions."

  The assembled ashramites, swamis, and visitors laughed wholeheartedly while Baba remained serious.

  "Those who use drugs fool only themselves," he concluded. "I hope for your sake that you do not. But if you do, don't bring any to this holy place. Anyone caught using or possessing drugs on the ashram grounds will be expelled immediately."

  The aroma of rare spices used in the special mid-day feast wafted into the courtyard. Several sittings were scheduled to feed the many visitors. The delicious meal included delicacies such as vegetable samosa, pilau rice, dal, okra cooked with onion tomatoes and spices, mango chutney, raita yogurt with cucumber and onions, and gulab jaman, sweet and juicy deep-fried dry-milk balls. A goblet of lemonade replaced the usual water.

  As the day wore on as if under a magic spell, I felt inclined to live in the ashram for the rest of my life. All I had feared to believe long ago now happened to me. I could no longer deny the existence of spiritual energy. The place bathed in it.

  That evening, after the visitors had left, Baba called the ashramites registered for the Kumbh Mela pilgrimage the next day. The sun had dipped behind the purple horizon, and the courtyard, buzzing with activity earlier, now stood quiet, except for the last chirping of birds in the banyan tree. I sat next to Jade.

  Kora arrived late, and Baba waited patiently while she lay down her sheepskin, the meditation mat of every Australian devotee. The wise man did not admonish her but smiled kindly when Kora took the time to arrange the folds of her silk dress around her.

  "Whether you are aware of it or not," Baba said, "the twenty-six of you sitting here tonight were carefully chosen to share with me the rare experience of the greatest pilgrimage of all. No one is here by chance." His gaze resting on Kora, Baba added, "God works in mysterious ways."

  So he must, I thought, to include Kora in our lot, while half of the attendees were holy swamis. Then I berated myself for thinking ill of another. Despite her many faults, Kora could well be more deserving than any of us. I decided to make an effort and be kind to her during the trip.

  "On our journey," Baba explained, "we will visit many temples dedicated to a myriad of divinities. But do not let that confuse you. All the deities of the Hindu pantheon, although honored in separate shrines, represent the various aspects of one single God. The holy trinity is formed of Brahma, Shiva, and Vishnu. The many other divinities are consorts and reincarnations of the basic three. Shakti is God's divine energy, and Shiva, purity and fecundity. In many temples, Shiva's reproductive role is symbolized by the phallic lingam."

  A few in the audience giggled at the sexual reference, but Baba silenced them with a stare.

  "Brahma, the all-seeing, all-knowing side of the creator, has sometimes four heads. Vishnu gives and preserves life. Ganesh, the elephant-head god, favors prosperity and wisdom, and Hanuman, the monkey-god of loyalty, is often represented guarding a palace. Krishna incarnates divine love, while fierce Durga and bloodthirsty Kali, the executioner, represent the wrath and the destructive side of God."

  Baba paused to look at Kora, and so did I. She seemed transfixed by his words.

  "Throughout history," the holy man went on, "Kali has been misunderstood, and powerful people often twisted her worship into a fearsome cult, to instill fear or justify vengeful deeds. But Kali is to be feared only when you offend God. In short, the numerous deities of our rich pantheon serve to illustrate the many aspects of God, whose energy also resides in all of us."

  As we lined up to bow to the master and receive his blessing, Baba presented each of us with a long yellow scarf of thick woven silk, printed with red Sanskrit symbols, thus marking us as pilgrims.

  *****

  The next morning, after a cup of chai, we embarked on a school bus bound for Nasik, to perform the Kumbh Mela, a pilgrimage alternating every three years between Nasik, Ujjain, Hallahabad, and Haridwar. In each of these four cities, as the legend went, a drop of nectar of immortality had spilled from the pitcher, while the gods wrestled it from the demons.

  Kora, wearing a white gauzy dress, sat in the back of the bus, next to a tall, blushing young man in white T-shirt and skinny jeans, recently arrived from Germany. I took a seat in the front, next to Jade. Baba rode ahead in the Mercedes, with two trustees. Although we could not keep up with the ashram schedule while traveling, we chanted the Guru Gita in the bus to start the day.

  The trip progressed at a snail-pace. We stopped many times on the way to visit the ancient abode of a saint, an out‑of‑the‑way shrine, the cave of a long dead hermit. In each place, I perceived a different quality of vibration, a different presence, a different energy, all very strong, some uplifting and light as a morning breeze, others dark and oppressive as a threatening storm.

  We ate lunch in an ashram, the guru of which offered us strings of Rhudraksha beads to wear around our necks. The brown, inch-wide beads resembled tiny human brains and constituted the pit of a small blue fruit, deemed holy probably because of its color, the bright blue of Krishna’s skin.

  As we neared Nasik, we met more pilgrims at each stop, many of them sadhus with long matted hair and beards, wandering half naked, or in worn saffron clothes. A faraway gaze under a forehead smeared with holy ashes told of total renouncement. In their youth, they might have been successful businessmen, Maharajahs, or movie stars. But Hindu beliefs compelled the rich and mighty to make up for their success at the end of a fruitful life, in order to avoid hardship in the next.

  A beggar’s bowl now their only possession, they regarded our international bunch with only mild curiosity. Westerners did not usually know much about Hinduism, much less participate in the holiest pilgrimage.

  We reached the sacred city of Nasik in the evening and were hastily fed and quartered in an abandoned school transformed into dorms to accommodate the pilgrims, the men in one classroom and the women in another. Although recently scrubbed clean, the old building showed signs of previous filth: vertical stains from waist level down where men had urinated. Dark spots stained the concrete floor, and a smell reminiscent of dust and antiseptic lingered.

  "How can men pee on the wall inside a building like that?" Jade asked, a disgusted expression wrinkling her moon face.

  "This is India," a lanky Bhramacharya offered in philosophical response. "Anything goes."

  We unpacked, washed the grime of the trip from our faces, and prepared for sleep or meditation. Kora snatched her rolled sheepskin and started for the door.

  "Going to meditate?" I asked, rather curious about this
sudden bout of devotion.

  Kora smiled in dismissal. "That's what I'll say if I get caught, but a fleece has many uses, my dear Fabienne." Her expression turned defiant. "Since we can steal a little freedom for this once, I want to have some fun." Her tone softened as she added, "For starters, I have a date."

  "A date on a pilgrimage?" The girl had some nerve. But I kept smiling, unwilling to start an argument. I wanted to understand her at least a little.

  Kora smiled proudly as she approached my bed to whisper, "The German kid from the bus. His name's Uli. We talked all day. He thinks I'm hot. I know he wants me bad." Kora seemed happy to confide in someone.

  "He hardly speaks English," I commented, unfolding my blanket and spreading it on the bed to hide my confusion. How could she think of intimacy with someone she didn't know at all? Had Kora low self-esteem?

  "We understand each other well enough." Kora caressed her sheepskin as if it were a lover's hair. "Besides, some things don't need words."

  "But where will you go? According to what I've seen so far, this is not exactly Las Vegas." I lit a stick of incense and blew on its incandescent tip.

  "Really, Fabienne? You've been to Las Vegas?" Kora's eyes widened with curiosity, and she sat on the edge of my bed.

  "Once, during summer break." I fanned the incense smoke with a wave of the hand and inhaled the musky fragrance.

  "Did you like it?" Kora looked eager. "I'd love to go there some day." I could hear envy in her tone.

  "It's different," I said, remembering my American trip, a few summers back with an ex-boyfriend. I had been a different person then. "I loved it at the time. You would really enjoy it."