Ashes for the Elephant God

by Vijaya Schartz

  In the back of the stall, through a flapping sari stretched like a flimsy wall, I could see young women sitting on the floor, among cardboard boxes full of flowers. They laughed and chatted while stringing blossoms into garlands. For a few extra rupees, the man of the house promised to have all the flowers ready early the next morning. His whole family would probably work all night to get the work done on time. I was glad that, for a low price, we had saved this imposition on Amit's family.

  Still, we had to stop at Amit's house to invite him and his relatives to the ceremony. They were the closest to a family we had here, and I knew they would be pleased to attend. I was wrong. They welcomed the news in total delirium, hooting and laughing. Amit and his brothers slapped Mukunda's shoulders, telling Hindi jokes I didn't understand, except for the fact that they made the women in the house smile and blush with embarrassment.

  "We will be giving you a glorious bachelor party, Indian style," Amit declared to Mukunda, in English, for my sole benefit, no doubt.

  The six brothers present wagged their heads in assent, flashing white teeth as they grinned.

  "Fabienne Sahib should not be attending the party," Amit added, bowing to me in apology. "It is being held only for the men. Breaking the tradition would be bringing bad luck upon the marriage."

  "And what does the woman do while the groom is having all that fun?" I couldn't keep irony out of my voice.

  Amit didn't seem offended. "She is staying home, hiding from the groom, making herself beautiful. She is also meditating on what it means to be becoming the wife of a god."

  "A god?" It sounded extreme.

  "Yes, Memsahib. When you be wedding Mukunda, he is becoming Shiva in your eyes."

  "Really?" I smiled with indulgence. In fact, I knew that any human being in Hindu philosophy was regarded as the abode of God Himself, thus the motto of the ashram, "Love God in each other." The very mantra I repeated every day, "So-Ham," meant "I am that," that standing for the part of us that is God, in an attempt to identify with the divine part of our own being.

  So it was agreed that Mukunda would attend the bachelor party. I would spend the night at the ashram, glad for the opportunity to gather my thoughts in peace and prepare for the most important day of my life.

  We left Amit's place and drove to the SilkPalace where we picked out a ruby red sari, eight meters of heavy silk embroidered with a wide band of thick gold brocade and matching choli. The second sari, also red but made of a lighter grade of silk, had a fiery print on the edges and would be used in the ritual. Mukunda found a white silk shirt embroidered with gold threads, matching wide pants and scarf, and an immaculate turban, which looked in the box like an impossibly long and narrow length of silk, folded on itself hundreds of times.

  "I'm afraid I'll have to ask Amit to teach me how to wrap this thing around my head." Mukunda frowned, feeling the white silk with slender fingers.

  Remembering the tradition of offering a present to the ashram on our wedding day, we also purchased two bolts of bright vermilion cotton fabric, which would be used to make swamis' clothes.

  By the time we came out of the SilkPalace, the sun had lowered on the western horizon. The last chanted verses of the evening arati still hung in the air, along with the aroma of spices from the kitchen. I was famished. Mukunda left me at the ashram with all the goods for the ceremony except for his clothes.

  After dropping off most of the implements at the office, I deposited my wedding clothes and ornaments in the dorm and gladly joined the ashramites in the refectory.

  After dinner and night chant in the courtyard, I returned to the quiet dorm and sat on the hard bed. It felt strange to think it would be the last time I slept here. I would miss the room, the atmosphere and the smell of the meditation hall, as well as the ever‑present chanting. I would even miss Kora.

  As if on cue, Kora came through the door. Something about her had changed. She had lost some of the arrogance. Her white cotton dress looked fairly modest and her makeup and perfume subtler than before. She looked as if she had been crying.

  Kora glanced at the red and gold sari displayed on a nearby bed. "I hear you are marrying Mukunda tomorrow." Even the edge in her voice had softened.

  "Yes, it's true." I stood up, suddenly uneasy at the idea of spending the night with a murderer, who admittedly wanted me dead.

  Kora seemed different than on our last encounter, however, more domestic cat than tiger. "I hope you two find happiness together." I heard no irony, no bitterness, just sadness in her voice. "Nice sari, by the way."

  "Thank you." I fingered the wedding sari displayed on an empty bed. "We bought it at the SilkPalace."

  "No." She looked embarrassed. "I mean the one you're wearing. It's a good color on you."

  "Oh! Right." I had forgotten I still wore Mukunda's blue sari from the morning Darshan. So much had happened since then.

  "I wish I was in your shoes, marrying the man I love... I mean Shankarananda." Kora's sigh echoed in the silent night enveloping us.

  "I feel sorry for you, Kora. But you can't go around murdering people and expect to be happy in return. Karma doesn't work that way, you know." I pulled the suitcase from under my bed, set it on the mattress, then started packing my clothes.

  "Yes, I'm finding that out." Kora came to my side, wide green eyes searching mine. "Have you told anyone about me yet?"

  "No." I held her stare. "Don't worry. Your dark secrets are safe with me." I reached for a pile of shirts from the shelf.

  "Please, don't tell anyone." Kora sounded desperate. "That's all I ask." She looked like a trapped butterfly, flapping its wings but unable to fly away.

  I took pity on her. "Relax. I won't. You have my word on it. But I wish you'd understand that life is too short to dwell on evil thoughts." I closed the suitcase and set it beside the bed.

  Kora's eyes clouded over. "You know, I thought about what you said the other day, in Shankar's tent, about our karmas being linked."

  "Yes?" I turned to face her.

  Kora hesitated. "I believe there is some truth to it. I think Shankar and I are being punished for killing you and Mukunda a long time ago."

  I looked up in surprise. She knew more than I had given her credit for.

  Kora looked down, as if ashamed, staring at her big toe. "I want to change my ways... I don't want to be reincarnated as a tiger. I want to marry Shankar in my next life, not be his hostess, or his pet."

  "I hope you do." My heart went out to her. "I'm glad you're starting to understand. If you make amends, your next life won't be quite so bleak."

  Kora's foot tapped a wicker basket on the floor. "I was hoping you'd let me prepare you for the wedding, polish your nails and paint your hands and feet with henna. Tomorrow, I could do your hair and help you dress."

  I smiled. "Thanks, Kora, but you don't have to."

  "Please don't say no. I would consider it an honor." She picked up the basket and set it on her bed. "I brought my stuff from the beauty shop." She started taking the contents out. "Making people beautiful is the only thing I do well. Consider it a wedding present."

  "I don't think this is such a good idea." I didn't want to tell her I didn't trust her enough to leave myself in her hands.

  "But there is no one else to do it for you, and I would welcome the opportunity to make amends." Kora's green eyes pleaded. "Besides, a wedding without a mehndi ceremony would be bad luck."

  Although I wasn't a stickler about traditions, I realized it might be important to Mukunda or to Amit's family, and a cleansing experience for Kora. Besides, I was too nervous to sleep yet, and I could take care of myself if she tried anything hostile. "All right."

  Her face brightened. "Thank you, mate."

  I changed into my night T-shirt and let Kora do my nails, which she painted a bright ruby red to match the wedding sari and other ceremonial ornaments. While she worked, Kora told me of her dreams and nightmares from another time. All the while, I marveled at her change of heart, wanting t
o give her the benefit of the doubt but never trusting her completely.

  After the lights went out, signaling curfew, Kora lit a few candles and continued her ministrations. While I actually relaxed in her expert hands, she massaged my feet. She really knew her art. No wonder Mukunda had fallen prey to her sensual tricks. The woman was good.

  After mixing green henna powder with water, Kora filled a small leather cone with the greenish mud. It looked and smelled like ground spinach. As if decorating a cake, she started designing on the sole of my feet intricate mehndi patterns in the shape of fish scales, grids, flower petals, and swirls. I wriggled my toes when she released my foot.

  "This is the actual mehndi that gave its name to the pre‑nuptial ceremony." Kora's eyes didn't waver from her work. "The bride gets her palms and feet decorated to ward off evil spirits." She smiled.

  "I appreciate your help and your company, Kora. Odd as it sounds, I'm going to miss you." I heard a dog bark, deep into the night, and wondered what Mukunda was doing.

  Having finished the mehndi on my feet, Kora continued with the hands. She worked silently for a while then said, "Fabienne, I know you are not a virgin or anything..." She had a small embarrassed smile. "But if you'd like, I could tell you a few tricks from my Kama Sutra classes for your wedding night."

  This ought to be good, I thought. "Go on, by all means," I said aloud, repressing an amused smile.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Shakti and Shiva, energy and purity

  I lay awake most of the night, prey to excitement and remnants of fear, then finally slept through the wake up conches and drums, and through the Guru Gita as well. When I awoke, the sun filtered between the slats of the wooden shutters, and I heard Kora stir.

  "What time is it?" I jumped out of bed. The wedding was scheduled for ten.

  "Relax, Fabienne, it's only seven." Kora stretched like a cat. "We have plenty of time."

  "I guess I've lost my ashram routine." It had been a week since I had awakened before sunrise.

  After I rinsed the dried henna from my hands and feet, the artful designs dyed into the skin stood out in reddish brown.

  Kora insisted that I sponge bathe in the buttermilk she had provided, according to the tradition. "To make your skin soft," she explained.

  I felt so jittery, I was glad to let Kora take over. Using her extensive supplies, she massaged cream on my face. After dusting powder and blush on my cheeks, she applied blue eye shadow and mascara to enhance the sapphire of my eyes. "Can you ever forgive me?" Kora bit her lower lip as she drew the arc of my eyebrows.

  "I will never forget, but I will forgive you, in time," I conceded.

  "Thank you for giving me a chance to prepare you." Kora painted above my brow-line a serpentine succession of red and white dots ending in a swirl below the temple. "I hope God forgives me some day," she said, drawing a perfect red bindi on my forehead.

  As I didn't respond, she brushed bright lipstick on my lips.

  Kora's expert hands fixed my hair with a crown of white flowers and a strand of pearls pulled up at the center of my forehead and falling on each side in a graceful curve. I wore the necklace Baba had given me, and she didn't mention that it had once been hers.

  Finally, Kora helped me drape the impossibly long and heavy sari around my waist. Tucking the pleats straight, she pinned the end on the shoulder of the choli, so it would stay in place during the ceremony. I kept waiting for a sign of the old Kora to break through this new attitude, but to my surprise, none came. She did a wonderful job, and the results in the small mirror were stunning.

  When the time came to leave the dorm for the garden pavilion where the wedding would take place, I really looked like Shiva's wife incarnate. "Thank you," I told Kora, delighted. "You performed a miracle."

  Kora smiled with pride. "Don't mention it, Fabienne, I had a good subject and I enjoyed the work."

  "Thank you again." I squeezed her arm warmly.

  Kora didn't accompany me outside as she wasn't dressed yet, but I felt her stare following me on the path. Other girls, sighting me as they also made their way to the pavilion, called gaily and escorted me through the gardens, chatting all the way with excited laughter. I felt precious and beautiful in red and gold, smooth skin against silk, glass bangles tinkling on bare arms, mehndi designs decorating my palms, and ruby toenails sticking out of my sandals.

  My light perfume mingled with the fragrance of the flowers in my hair and the smell of camellia and ginger blossoms along the path. I felt clean, light, happy and pure, like a virgin led to be sacrificed on the altar of eternal love. It was my wedding day, the happiest day of my life. God, I hoped Mukunda would show up! I hadn't seen him since the day before, and I already missed him.

  *****

  From where I sat, surrounded by Amit's wives and female relatives, I saw Mukunda negotiating the bend of the garden path, perched on a black bejeweled Arabian horse, a skittish animal chomping at the bit. Accompanied by Amit and his brothers on foot, the groom looked like a maharajah with his retinue. Although I had seen the white silk clothes in the shop the day before, he hadn't tried them on, and I wasn't prepared for such a regal effect. It suited him.

  When Mukunda dismounted, the gold trim of the long silk scarf floated gracefully around his tall frame. The white turban made him look even taller. Its silky folds softened his face, accentuated the dimples in his cheeks as he smiled, and enhanced the golden tan and blue eyes. I was going to get what I wanted the most in this life and felt like the luckiest woman in the world.

  Mukunda smiled appreciatively as he took his place beside me on the cool tile. I wanted to talk, but the formality of the ritual forbade it. We just stared into each other's eyes, smiling, keeping everything inside, while sitting under strands of flowers hanging from the ceiling. The musical strings of a single tamboura competed with the songs of birds. I heard Shankar trumpeting not far away. More guests arrived, sitting on the perimeter, leaving the central square free for the ceremony.

  When the old Brahmin priest appeared from behind a curtain, which I suspected hid his sleeping quarters, he smiled and sat facing us. Bare‑chested, head freshly shaved, wearing the white cord of his caste on the left shoulder and a simple white lungi, the Brahmin bowed and we saluted in return. Intoning the first Sanskrit verses of the ritual, he then lit the aromatic sandalwood gathered in a wide copper vessel and sprinkled the logs with oils and scents. The sacred fire hissed and spurted, releasing fragrant smoke.

  Repeating in turn each verse chanted by the Brahmin, for the next two hours we threw in the fire, one by one, the many symbolic ingredients we had bought from the market the day before. They popped, hissed, or flamed brightly, adding new sounds, colors, and smells to the ritual.

  Then we stood and walked around the sacred fire seven times, both holding one end of a silk scarf. Later during the ritual, as two tall ashramites held up the fiery red sari, we circled it slowly, repeating after the priest sacred words in an extinct language, never touching, never even looking at each other, each remaining on the opposite side of the thin fabric while circling. To conclude the ceremony, we came together to place a flower jaimala around each other's neck.

  Then Mukunda motioned to Amit who sat nearby. To my surprise, Amit produced from the pocket of his Nehru jacket a pair of gold rings and gave them to the Brahmin, who touched them to his forehead in blessing before we exchanged them in front of him…A serious breach to Hindu tradition, but a meaningful gesture for both of us.

  In the midst of my happiness, I thought I saw Kora watching from the side. I almost didn't recognize her. She wore simple white pajamas and looked subdued and teary-eyed, but whether from shared happiness, spite, or self-pity, I couldn't tell. When I smiled at her, she rose and left.

  The priest finally bowed, signaling the end of the ceremony. Mukunda gave him the traditional donation in an envelope, which the Brahmin accepted with a smile before mingling with the colorful crowd.

  "We've survived the
hardest part." Mukunda laughed as if releasing the tension accumulated since the day before.

  I wanted to hug him but couldn't. Not now, not here. I felt stifled by the rigidity of ashram rule, which forbade physical contact. Ascetic life didn't suit couples in love. I smiled, admiring the smooth gold band on my finger. "How did you know my size?"

  "Lucky guess." Mukunda's face grew serious. "Or maybe the memory of holding your hand in mine is so vivid that I can tell just by looking. You like it?"

  In the noon sun, I blinked tears of joy. "It was so thoughtful of you. I love it. Thank you."

  "It's twenty-four carats gold," Mukunda explained, smiling. "A little soft, but very pure."

  "Here you are, Sahib!" Amit's grinning face popped out of the crowd. "Aren't you being hungry? Don't be forgetting to eat, you'll be needing your strength."

  A steady flow of guests and ashramites left the garden pavilion. We followed them in the direction of the refectory, where Mukunda had generously offered a special lunch. A rare exception to the ashram protocol, the bride and groom were allowed to sit side by side during the meal. Men and women otherwise occupied separate sections, as usual.

  The sweet and spicy food tasted good, but the traditional silence didn't suit us very well. I wanted to talk and touch and laugh, even kiss and cuddle, but we would have to wait until late at night for that, when we could be alone at last. I ate little, knowing that the evening feast at Amit's place would bring more delicious dishes.

  After lunch, Baba received us in the courtyard, obviously delighted to see us finally united. He knew we belonged together.

  "So, my friend," Baba said, addressing Mukunda. "Does your bride make you happy?"

  "She certainly does, Baba." I saw Mukunda blush a little. "Thank you for calling marriage to my attention a few months back."

  Baba waved away Mukunda's words. "You two would have met eventually, with or without my help." The grave brown eyes stared from behind the glasses. "Tell me, how is everything at the Dam?"