Ashes for the Elephant God

by Vijaya Schartz

  With a shrug, Kora dismissed him to stare at the elephant, who calmed immediately. She wheeled the chair close to the open shed so the beast could reach her with his trunk. Laughing as Shankar sniffed her hair, Kora took the canvas bag hanging at the back of the chair. When she opened the bag, the pachyderm gently plucked from it tender treats of green sugarcane stalks.

  Gently, Kora caressed the leathery skin of Shankar's trunk and shivered. The vision from Kali's temple had reinforced her beliefs about reincarnation. Shankarananda...or Shankar for short. It would certainly explain her strange attraction to the elephant. If she gazed long enough, she could almost see a spark of human intelligence behind the huge dark eyes that regarded her from behind long eyelashes.

  "So, what do you think, Shankar? Are you my incestuous brother? I must have loved him very much."

  The elephant emitted a soft snort and nuzzled her neck.

  Kora felt happy at his touch but also very sad. When she couldn't stand staring into Shankar's eyes any longer, she called, "Eh, Frenchie!".

  "Yes, Your Highness," Fabienne answered from a distance with only a hint of sarcasm.

  "Get over your stupid fear of elephants and do your bloody job. Let's go back."

  The chair creaked as it lurched forward. Made in India. The motto had become a joke around the ashram to describe poor quality, and the chair certainly fit the description. Why did the nitwits insist on making everything themselves, from cars to rubber gloves to wheelchairs? None of it worked. But it would be devastating for Indian national pride to import better quality products.

  Kora couldn't wait for the casts to come off, so she could see Mukunda again. An idea had stemmed in her mind during the idle hours of forced confinement, a clever plot to marry the stubborn Californian. No one resisted Kora and got away with it, not even Mukunda.

  As the chair grated through frangipani bushes with yellow and white blossoms, a small gathering attracted Kora's attention. "I want to see what's happening. Take me there," she ordered.

  "As you wish, Your Highness." Behind her, Fabienne turned the chair in the direction of the group.

  "What is it?" Kora looked at the center of the circle. “Can you see anything, Frenchie?”

  “I can see perfectly with my contacts on. It’s in the morning that I don’t wear them... Looks like a baby snake, Your Highness."

  The small reptile, a light shade of pearly gray, undulated frantically, then bravely raised its head in defiance. Hissing, the baby snake spread its cowl, mouth open, small fangs protruding. It was a miniature naja, like Ananta, the sacred cobra on which Vishnu reclined, the giant snake who shaded him with his hood when the god meditated in the wild. Although venomous and deadly, the species was protected by religious people throughout India, especially on holy ground.

  From a safe distance, Kora laughed at the pitiable attempts of the tiny snake, so did a few ashramites, while others commented loudly. At the noise, realizing that its attempt at intimidation had failed, the baby naja coiled upon itself and bit its own tail. A tremor shook the baby cobra, then it relaxed and lay still on the sandy ground. A hush came over the group.

  "He killed himself," someone whispered.

  "Why?" Kora asked. “By accident?”

  "Because he was afraid," Fabienne enunciated clearly, "alone in the face of danger, with no one to protect him. And we're responsible for its death. All of us… To this baby snake we were threatening. He must have panicked."

  "Sadgurunath Maharaj Ki Jay!" All present hailed the honorific salute to welcome the little soul into the spirit world.

  Someone picked up the limp snake, then the ashramites scattered in silence. Kora did not protest when Fabienne pushed the squeaking chair toward the dorms, but a novel idea sprouted in her mind. It just might work.

  "Funny," Fabienne's voice reached Kora in a daze. "In a dream last night a snake bit me, but I didn't die. I didn't even get sick. I felt better than before, more alive."

  As they reached the building, it took the effort of both girls to maneuver the chair through the open doorway and into the dorm.

  "I don't interpret dreams." Kora fanned herself nervously to hide her growing interest in dreams and visions.

  "I didn't think you did, Your Highness."

  "Turn on the fan," Kora ordered. "Then park me here and go get my mail. And be quick about it!"

  "Yes, Your Highness." Fabienne bowed with a disarming smile then disappeared out the door.

  "Damn your smart ass," Kora mumbled.

  The French girl didn't react to her insults just to piss her off. Kora couldn't stand the smirk on her face, the cute black curls, the red bindi, and the deep blue laughing eyes rendered even more striking by nearsightedness.

  Finally alone, Kora breathed a sigh of relief. She hoped the mail would bring more fashion magazines and romance novels. Her old nanny in Adelaide, her only secret connection with home, faithfully mailed them in ordinary envelopes and brown paper parcels, since newspapers, magazines, and novels were banned from the ashram grounds. The forbidden publications, deemed too distracting from the spiritual goal, would make Kora's immobilization more bearable.

  Chapter Twelve

  Ananta, the great sacred snake

  That morning, during Satsang in the courtyard, Baba talked about the baby snake’s suicide. From the corner of my eye, I could see Kora fidgeting in her wheelchair, fanning herself, looking at anything but Baba, obviously bored or pretending to be.

  I felt bad about her predicament but derived a small satisfaction at having so much control over her. I didn't call it revenge exactly. I did, however, enjoy the opportunity to make her conscious of what ashram life should be about. I hated to see her waste her only chance at a deeper understanding of life and spirituality. In the weeks of her forced immobilization I made it my mission to sharpen her spiritual awareness.

  "Shame on those who frightened the little naja to his death." Straight on his low seat, in a yoga posture, thin as a brown reed but radiating exceptional strength, Baba looked accusingly at each and every one of us through gold-rimmed glasses. "Despite its deadly poison, the sacred snake is protected throughout India because he is part of Hindu tradition. He is Ananta, the many‑headed cobra, symbol of eternal life."

  The morning sun now bathed the hundred or so ashramites sitting cross-legged on the mosaic tile of the courtyard.

  Baba cleared his throat. "Some might wonder why a snake would commit such a human deed as suicide. You have to keep in mind that the animals living on ashram grounds, wild or domesticated, are not ordinary. More likely, they are reincarnations of damaged human souls placed here to learn and evolve in a loving environment."

  Baba locked his gaze on me. Around him I could see a deep turquoise aura. I felt energized, my spirits soaring. Suddenly, my recent dream came to mind.

  "Being bitten by a naja," the Siddha explained in a musical voice, "whether in reality or in a dream, and surviving the deadly bite, is considered a sign of high spiritual evolution."

  Had Baba read my mind? Was it pure coincidence? In any case, it fit perfectly. I touched the necklace at my throat, feeling the incredible energy emanating from it, and smiled. Maybe I could reach enlightenment in this lifetime, become enlightened, end the wheel of reincarnation, and become pure spirit.

  "A few Hindu sects use the bite of the naja to test the faith of their most daring members." Baba stopped for emphasis, letting the devotees digest the information. When he had their full attention, he continued. "Assisted by a Brahmin priest and restrained by a friend, the devotee offers his tongue to the sacred snake. After harassing the naja, the priest holding the cobra allows it to bite the supplicant's tongue deeply, three times, then removes the snake. The disciple goes into convulsions and experiences, in near death, superior states of consciousness."

  Some whispers started in the assembly, but Baba cleared his throat and they immediately stopped. "Of course, the naja was nursed of its venom a few hours prior to the ritual, so the dose is n
ot so lethal. Nevertheless, many die from the ordeal. The true believers survive, their perception of life heightened forever."

  A murmur rippled over the ashramites. It took a lot of courage and faith to attempt such a test. Could I do it? All of a sudden, I doubted my spiritual nature. What if this life was all we had and the spirit died with the body?

  Baba smiled and reclined on the back of his seat, crossing long brown fingers in his lap. "Unless starved or threatened, a naja will not usually attack a person unprovoked. Stay away from the snakes, always remain still and quiet around them, leave them alone, and concentrate on spiritual development, on attaining oneness with the Self, which is God."

  As Baba snatched his walking stick and stood up, signifying the end of the morning session, I glanced at Kora. She looked fascinated, staring at the holy man as if in pure awe.

  *****

  The next morning, after the Guru Gita, I was wheeling Kora for her daily visit to Shankar before going to the library, when she asked in the sweetest voice, "Could you stop near the spot where the baby snake died yesterday?"

  Hoping she wanted to say a prayer, I gracefully obliged. Instead of praying, Kora scanned the ground all around, as if looking for something. Her piercing gaze fell on a small shrine, bathed in the morning sun, surrounded by low bushes. The dark doorway looked inviting.

  Kora smiled mysteriously. "Would you fetch me a stick of incense from the shrine and light a candle for me? Please... I couldn't possibly manage the steps."

  "Sure! Be glad to." I couldn't believe she'd show such devotion.

  As I wheeled her closer to the shrine, she stopped me. "No, you'll be quicker without me. You go. I'll wait right here."

  A slight doubt crossed my mind, but Kora gave me such a disarming smile, I thought I'd cry. I hurried toward the nearby structure then turned around to make sure she was okay. The intensity in her stare made me wonder what kind of transformation had occurred. A change for the better, I hoped.

  Quickly dropping my sandals on the side of the stone steps leading to the entrance, I lifted a bare foot over the first stone slab and froze, heart pounding so hard it must have shaken the ground. Adrenalin coursed through my veins like fire.

  Below my foot, blending with the uneven stone, glistening scales reflected various hues of metallic gray. The king cobra coiled on the step raised his head and emitted a loud hiss. Flaring its hood, the naja rose threateningly, tongue lashing, venomous fangs bared, ready to lunge.

  I remained frozen, foot suspended in mid air. Moving now would mean death. Cold sweat dripped down my spine. I felt hot, then cold, then hot again. Any threatening movement, any undue vibration, any scent of fear would cause the naja to strike. Focusing on a point in my upper chest, I willed my heartbeat to slow down. I must relax…radiate love and peacefulness, be one with the Self, with God, the universe. I wasn't ready to die, not yet. Surrendering to the powers that be, I closed my eyes and repeated the mantra silently: So'Ham, So'Ham, I am one with the universe, I am God, I am the snake, So’Ham...

  When no further sound came from the naja, after an hour-long minute during which I prayed and prepared to die, I finally opened my eyes, only to see the scaly tail slithering back to the concealment of the surrounding ground cover. Exhaling a long breath of relief, I let my foot down. Tears rolled down my cheeks and fell in large drops to the flagstone. All the energy had gone out of me. I sat heavily on the steps and sobbed, then looked at Kora to make sure she was all right.

  Her chill laugh shocked me. "Let it be a warning," she said, rolling her wheelchair closer. "Still, I would've liked to see it bite you, just to find out how enlightened Miss French congeniality is." The smug expression on her face told me much about what she had just done.

  Of course, the hatchling of the day before had parents in the vicinity. Kora's keen eyesight had detected the snake, and she’d set me up, enjoying it all.

  I stood up to face Kora. "You, sick-minded brat!" Despite my good resolutions, I couldn't hold my temper. "Playing with life and death like that! Who do you think you are? Who gave you the right to endanger lives?"

  “Oh, Miss goody-two-shoes can also explode! That's reassuring. For a while, there, I thought you were perfect." Kora smiled calmly.

  Mad at myself for giving her the satisfaction of my anger, I turned to peer inside the open doorway of the shrine. Shocked, I recognized the huge leering face of Kali The Black, the destructive deity representing the dark side of Shiva's wife. I didn't know such a shrine existed on the grounds. Life and death, good and evil, all contributed to the balance of the universe...

  "You are welcome to accuse me of attempted murder." I could hear pride and gloating in Kora's voice. "But you can't prove anything. People will think you made it up." She laughed, the loud sound searing my ears.

  I never wore my glasses early in the morning, even when meditation rendered contact lenses impractical. Kora knew that. Today, this small vanity almost cost me my life.

  Stiffly, I walked around Kora and turned the wheelchair in the direction of Shankar's shed. Tensing my jaws to prevent any sharp comment, I set my eyes on the gravel path ahead and kept pushing the creaking chair.

  *****

  I spent three more excruciating weeks in Kora's service. Finally, when both of her casts came off, I was relieved from her care and breathed easier. I could now devote more time to meditation, studies, and the translation of Baba's latest book. Jade left, new roommates came and went. Kora and I remained, the two old-timers in the dorm now.

  To clear my mind, I entered a period of silence during which I spoke to no one. The button pinned to my shirt reminded others to respect my voluntary retreat, which they did. Kora hardly ever came around during the day, and everyone in the dorm relaxed and enjoyed the peace.

  One Sunday, however, Kora showed up in the courtyard for Satsang. Instead of the regular questions and answers, a special event was scheduled. A guest sat next to Baba on the elevated patio, a rare honor reserved only to Living Saints, international good Samaritans, show-business celebrities, movie stars, Maharajahs, and high-ranking government officials.

  The young man looked American, German or Nordic, tall, blond, blue eyed. In a tan safari shirt and western slacks, he sat cross‑legged and talked with natural ease, smiling and laughing at Baba's stories. I took my place in the second row, behind the Bhramacharyas in yellow robes. Amazed, I realized then that the striking man spoke Hindi.

  After a look at the clock, Baba interrupted his chat, cleared his throat, switched on the microphone, then tapped it and laughed at the sound, marveling as he always did at the wonders of modern electronics.

  "Sadgurunath, Maharaj Ki Jay!" The devotees intoned in respectful greeting.

  "I am delighted to introduce our guest." Baba smiled and turned toward the blond man. "His name is Mukunda, and he's looking for a bride."

  Startled by the name, I stared while the ashramites laughed. The young man blushed fiercely, obviously taken aback by this unexpected introduction. He looked at the ground, gave an embarrassed laugh, then raised his head and faced the crowd for the first time. I caught my breath, lost in his clear blue eyes. My heart stopped. Mukunda's frank stare riveted me to the ground. Overwhelming sensations flooded my senses. As he brushed long fingers through his hair, probably to hide remnants of embarrassment, I recognized the familiar gesture from a vision. Then Mukunda smiled, and the world around me reeled.

  I grinned back. From a warm jungle pool, the frolicsome youth of my visions smiled at me over a lifetime, and I could feel that he recognized me too. I wanted to call him, touch him. I wanted to feel his embrace. We belonged to each other...

  "Of course, this is not the whole reason for Mukunda's visit." Baba's voice brought me back to reality.

  Suddenly, I remembered where I was, who I was, and my recent commitment to the spiritual path. In the greater scheme of things, Mukunda must represent the supreme temptation, the ultimate sacrifice for me to make, the one thing to renounce. In order t
o become a nun, as I should, I had to overcome my irresistible attraction to this man, let go of the past, and free myself from earthly bondage.

  "As it happens," Baba went on in a bright tone, "Mukunda is the engineer responsible for building the dam on the NarmadaRiver. I would like you to listen to what this good man has to say." Baba handed the microphone to Mukunda.

  Mukunda bowed slightly in acknowledgement. How could I give him up, when he looked straight at me and his smile turned me into slush? On top of everything, he was looking for a bride! What if he chose someone else! I couldn't stand the thought. I kept staring at him, oblivious to impropriety.

  The blond man started to stand up, but Baba motioned him to remain seated. Mukunda smiled again, bringing the microphone closer to his lips. "We're the despicable people responsible for all the noise and commotion going on upriver. I hope it does not intrude upon the serenity of this holy place. I apologize if it does. I know heavy trucks and caterpillars disturb the peace of this road. The sound carries far at night, and we've been working after sunset, in case of an early monsoon."

  I delighted in the sound of Mukunda's voice. A definite American accent... Where had he been raised? I wanted to know every detail of his life. The aura enveloping his body as he talked projected a green radiance, the color of love and compassion. I couldn't tear my eyes off him.

  "I will not bore you with lengthy details." Mukunda cleared his throat. "But once completed, this work should make life a lot easier for everyone in this little corner of India. Monsoon rains will collect in the artificial lake, creating a reservoir."

  Since he still stared at me, I felt that Mukunda was talking for me alone. Every sparkle in his eyes, every movement of his long hands, every twitch of his cheek, every expression of the corner of his mouth sent me a message. I felt singled out, special. I knew we were made for each other...but our destinies lay elsewhere.