As he spoke, Kaustav picked up one of the figures and handed it to Corey, who examined it with great curiosity. The dolls, as he couldn’t help thinking of them, were solid brass and fairly heavy for their size. They were identical, each standing about eight inches tall. They were presumably male, standing on little pedestals shaped like lotus petals. They stood frozen in a dance-like posture, one foot flat on the pedestal, the other flexed and resting on the ball of the foot. Their arms were raised over their heads and spread wide, hands open. Their stylized faces had an impassive look about them, lips curved slightly in smiles, eyes staring unblinkingly.
They were wearing identical and quite-elaborate outfits, cut and sewn from fine red silk, with gold lace accents—trousers, shirts, long pleated skirts, and what looked like tiny shawls. They also had little red turbans on their heads and sported “jewelry” made of rhinestones, secured by thin red threads tied around their wrists and necks.
“They’re cute,” Corey said. “They look like twins.”
“Yes, they’re traditionally dressed in matching costumes. And they’re in dancing poses, as a gesture of adoration.”
“How can you tell which is Chaitanya, and which is Nitya—?”
“Nityananda. That’s a good question. To be perfectly honest, it’s never occurred to me. You’ve stumped me. Of course, one tends to think of them as a single entity.”
“These costumes and accessories were made especially for them?”
“They were made in India, for figures of this approximate size. It’s an industry unique to India, I should think. As you can see, the raw materials aren’t particularly high quality or expensive. But labor is still very cheap in most parts of India. Some man or woman spent a good deal of time cutting out and sewing these clothes and assembling these trinkets in exchange for a wage of a few rupees.” Kaustav opened one of several drawers in the lower section of the mandir. “Here’s where I store their other outfits. I change them periodically. These are for special occasions.” He showed Corey two identical ensembles, in sheer black silk embroidered with silver threads and incorporating some complicated patterns of beadwork. “They’re fancier than the everyday wear, as you see.”
“Good God. The little dudes have a bigger wardrobe than I have,” Corey joked.
“But nothing like that very handsome three-piece suit you’re wearing, if that’s any consolation,” Kaustav replied.
Corey gave the dressed-up figure back to Kaustav, who carefully replaced it next to its twin on the shelf. Corey had already seen the large bronze statue that took up most of the space inside the mandir.
“I take it the big guy is the one you want me to make jewelry for?” he asked.
“Yes. The large one, the patron of the household, so to speak, is Vishnu. Let me take him over to the desk so you can get a better look at him in the light coming in through the windows.”
“Is it heavy?” Corey asked as, with visible caution, Kaustav picked up the statue in both of his hands and carried it across the room, to the desk.
“About thirty pounds, I think. There,” Kaustav said with obvious satisfaction as he set the statue down on his desk blotter. “It was cast using the lost wax process, so except for the base, which is hollow, it’s solid bronze. What do you think of it?”
“It’s really beautiful.”
The statue was a little over two feet tall. The tiered platform base incorporated a stylized lotus blossom, a motif that Corey recognized as a common feature of Asian artworks. The god Vishnu stood upright, perhaps a bit stiffly. He was barefoot and bare-chested, but his lower body was draped in some sort of a thin garment, which was secured around his hips with knotted sashes and fell in pleats and folds to below his knees. Vishnu had four arms. His front left hand rested on a club, which the god leaned upon as though it were a walking cane, his wrist cocked at an incongruously jaunty angle. The front right hand was raised, with the open palm turned toward the viewer. The rear pair of arms, each of which was bent at the elbow, held up two objects that Corey’s couldn’t identify. Vishnu was already tricked out in impressive assortment of jewelry—bracelets, anklets, a collar, earrings, and a tall conical crown set on his head and adding considerably to his height. All of this was rendered in a dark honey-colored bronze, which looked almost golden in the light that fell into the room through the large windows.
“You’re going to have to pardon my ignorance,” Corey said. “I have no idea what those things he’s holding are.”
“Those are his traditional attributes. As you can see, he’s leaning on a gada, a club or mace, which isn’t just a weapon. It’s also a symbol of authority. And he’d holding a chakra, a solar disc, and a shankha or conch, which represents the syllable ‘om,’ the first sound of creation. He’s got the so-called ‘sacred thread’ draped across his torso, from his left shoulder down to his hip. That’s a symbol of high caste. Buddha is often shown wearing one, and so, of course, are Hindu divinities.”
“I’m sure that hand gesture he’s making must mean something.”
“That’s the so-called abhaya mudra, the ‘do not fear’ gesture.”
“So he’s reassuring us?”
“Exactly.”
“Very kind of him. Well, now if somebody asks me about this project, I’ll be able to make small talk without disgracing myself.” Corey studied the statue’s face. Vishnu had almond-shaped eyes, a long straight nose, and extraordinarily seductive-looking, pursed lips. “That’s quite an expressive face he’s got. It’s hard to read the expression, in fact. Is he smiling at us, to reassure us, or is he smiling to himself because he knows something we don’t?”
“A little bit of both, I think.”
“Either way, he seems friendly enough.”
“I don’t think you’ll find him intimidating.”
Corey moved around the table to examine the statue’s back. Vishnu’s broad shoulders and bare back, with the sacred thread draped across it, flared out above a pair of perfectly hemispherical buttocks.
“Nice ass.”
Kaustav burst out laughing. “Shame on you, Corey.”
“Sorry. But he does have a nice ass. And, in all seriousness, it’s remarkable how the sculptor has suggested that it’s only a very thin, pleated layer of fabric draped over his buttocks.”
“Technically, that’s a special garment made out of golden silk, called a pitambara, which only Vishnu wears. Although it’s not unlike the dhoti, which is basically a wraparound skirt which men wear in many parts of India.”
“Do you ever wear one?”
“Oh yes. They’re quite comfortable. Draping them correctly is admittedly a bit of a specialized skill. Worn right, a dhoti rather resembles a pair of slightly baggy trousers. Put on sloppily, it looks like a large man-diaper.”
Corey laughed. “You’ll have to give me a demonstration sometime.”
“I’d be delighted to. You’d look good in a dhoti. But we’ll have to enlist Renesh’s services. He’s an expert at pleating and draping them.”
Corey continued to examine the statue, running his hand over the bronze, which was cool to the touch. “He’s already got all this jewelry carved directly onto him,” Corey pointed out. “What, exactly, did you have in mind?”
“Additional pieces that can be put on and off him, not necessarily covering up what I guess we’d call his ‘built-ins.’ Bracelets, anklets, a necklace, and a chain or girdle around the waist are the usual items.”
“It’s too bad he’s already got earrings. They’re rather oddly shaped.”
“They’re meant to be in the form of sea monsters. Again, that’s part of Vishnu’s traditional attire.”
Corey ran a fingertip around one of Vishnu’s wrists. “You’ll want all of these pieces of jewelry to fit snugly and yet be able to be put on or taken off easily, I assume.”
“Yes.”
“And we don’t want to risk scratching or abrading the surface of the bronze.”
“I hadn’t thought of that. Br
onze is quite durable, but yes, now that you mention it, that is a consideration.”
“It’s not going to be a problem. I can avoid sharp edges or rough surfaces, where the jewelry comes in contact with the skin.” It occurred to Corey, even as he spoke, that it was kind of odd to be referring to a statue’s “skin.” But he was already beginning to think of the statue of Vishnu as a small human being—as a client, for all practical purposes. “I could even make two little ornaments that could fit over these notches, in the earrings.”
“I hadn’t thought of that. I like the idea.”
“And, if you really want to go all the way, we could do something similar with the crown he’s already got on.”
“If I’m not boring you with all these technicalities, that style of conical cap or crown is called a kirita mukuta.”
“Bored? Hardly. I find all this really interesting. What I was thinking was, I could design a supplemental crown, maybe something in open work, that could fit over this one. He should have some jewels on his head, you see, to go along with the rest.”
“I think that’s a splendid idea. I wish to spare no expense, Corey. I want these pieces of jewelry to be of the finest quality—fit for a god, so to speak.”
“I understand.”
“Maybe you think there’s something immoral about spending money on such a project, when there is so much poverty in the world.”
“I’m hardly in a position to make such judgments, Kaustav. Remember, I work in a jewelry store in Beverly Hills. And not just any jewelry store, if I may be so immodest, but one of the finest. We cater to what used to be called ‘the carriage trade,’ a very upscale and exclusive clientele. To be blunt, I’m not about to bite the hand that feeds me, as the saying goes.”
Kaustav seemed relieved. “I’m glad you don’t have, shall we say, egalitarian scruples. You see, I am undertaking this project in fulfillment of a vow. I believe that Vishnu answered my prayers, and I promised him that, if he did so, I would express my devotion and gratitude by doing several things, including adorning him. As a non-Hindu, you may find all this rather peculiar.”
“On the contrary. I think it’s interesting. I’d like to learn more about your culture and your beliefs.”
“I also promised myself that, when the project is completed, I will write a check to some charity, matching the amount I end up spending on the jewelry. I suppose that was my way of assuaging my conscience,” Kaustav said, with a boy-caught-raiding-the-cookie-jar smile, which Corey found quite endearing.
“I don’t think you need to apologize or to be assuaged.” Corey was studying the statue of Vishnu again. “Were you thinking of having the jewelry made in gold or silver?”
“Which would you recommend?”
“Silver, actually, because I think it would go better with the color of the bronze, without competing too much with the color of whatever gemstones you’d like me to use.”
“Ah. Speaking of gemstones, if you’ll excuse me for a moment, Corey, I have something I want to fetch, to show you.” Kaustav smiled a bit impishly. “I have to go to my safe, which, for extra security, is hidden away in a particularly unlikely location, here inside the house.”
“I won’t peek,” Corey promised.
Kaustav was gone for a few minutes. When he returned, he was carrying a stack of flat boxes, which he set down on the desk.
“Take a look at these and tell me what you think of them,” he said as he opened one of the boxes.
The interior was lined with black velvet, peppered with tiny indentations, into each of which was placed a small, sparkling gemstone. There were three rows of ten each—thirty stones in all.
“Oh my,” Corey exclaimed. He leaned forward to get a closer look. “Do you know what these are?”
Kaustav laughed. “Well, I hope they’re diamonds. That’s what I’ve always been told they are. I know they’re small and not particularly valuable, but they’re still diamonds. Unless you’re about to tell me they’re fakes?”
“Oh, they’re diamonds, all right. They’re rose diamonds.”
“I’ve heard that term, although I’m not sure what it means.”
“The rose cut is somewhat archaic. It went out of fashion for a long time, although now there’s a renewal of interest in it. As you can see, they’re flat on the bottom, as opposed to the kind of cut common today, which always has a pointed bottom—what we call the pavilion, in the trade. The flat bottom almost inevitably results in less brilliance. That’s why rose diamonds in old pieces of jewelry sometimes have pieces of foil placed under them, to enhance the reflection.”
Corey pulled a small leather case from his pocket. He extracted from it a jeweler’s loupe, which he raised to his eye.
“Do you carry that around with you?” Kaustav asked.
“Always,” Corey admitted. “Or rather, always when I’m on the job or whenever there’s any prospect of a job. It’s one of the essential tools of my trade, after all.” He was inspecting some of the gems at random. “I have good news for you. These may be small, but they all seem to be of excellent quality. And they’re exceptionally well cut. By the way, they all look the same size, at first glance, but in fact they’re not completely uniform. Some are slightly larger than the others, and a few of the cuts are different. There are some Brabant-rose diamonds mixed in among the Holland roses.”
“What’s the difference?”
“The Holland rose has twenty-four facets arranged in two rows of equal depth. The Brabant rose has twelve, usually, like these, and the top row is shallower than the lower row. And here are two which are the odd men out, so to speak. They’re the rose recoupée cut, which has thirty-six facets. Altogether, they’re quite impressive as a set. Have they always been loose, like this?”
“I believe they were once set into a necklace, of no great artistic worth, which was melted down for the gold. This happened when my grandparents were about my age. They’ve been stored in that box ever since. The diamonds, I mean, not my grandparents! You have to understand, Corey, that in India many people like to accumulate and stash away assets in the form of gold and silver coins or other precious-metal objects, as well as jewelry and loose gemstones.” Kaustav paused. “Would these be suitable for adorning the statue?”
“Very. They’re the right size. And with so many of them to work with, they can be distributed among the individual pieces of jewelry.”
“And these?” Kaustav opened a second box. This time, the lining was a deep blue velvet, to match the dozen blue gemstones the box contained.
“Tell me these aren’t sapphires.”
“You tell me,” Kaustav teased him. “You’re the expert.”
“They are,” Corey reported, after once again availing himself of his loupe. “They’re small, of course, and frankly they’re not of the highest quality. But they’re still very nice. This safe of yours is turning into a veritable Aladdin’s cave of treasures. What’s in those other boxes?”
“More loose stones that my family has kept locked away, gathering dust. Some of them are no doubt too large to be suitable for the statue. However, here’s something rather unusual.” Kaustav opened a small box. It contained more diamonds, nestled in a satin lining, which may once have been bright blue but had long ago faded to a pale grayish ice blue. There was a large stone in the center, flanked by two slightly smaller ones on either side. Six more stones, identical in size, were lined up in a row below. These diamonds were all square cut, and they all had a similar, markedly yellow hue.
“Holy fuck. I mean, pardon my language,” Corey blurted out.
“I’ve been told they are all occluded, to some extent, and not all that valuable as a result.”
Corey was eagerly examining the large central diamond through his loupe. “Well, yes and no. They’re comparatively impure, if you’ll pardon the expression. But they’re extraordinarily well matched, from a colorist standpoint. They’ve got the most remarkable yellow color. It’s more like a warm amber, actuall
y.”
“They once belonged to a maharajah. Who led a rather dissolute life, by all accounts. The provenance, and the lurid stories associated with him, add a few dollars to their value. Or so I’m told.”
“If you want to use these for the statue, they’d make magnificent focal gems for the crown, the necklace, and the girdle.”
“I’d like you to make use of all of these stones, if you can.”
“I’m beginning to envision a blue-and-yellow color scheme, contrasting with the white diamonds, of course. What do you think of that?”
“You’re the artist.”
“I think we should go for an overall look that’s opulent but not flashy. Subtle—to the extent that so many stones can be subtle.”
“You would, I assume, be able to purchase any additional small gemstones that you needed?”
“Yes. I have a couple of excellent sources. I might need a good number of really tiny, comparatively inexpensive stones to fill out the design.”
“I’ll advance you whatever money you need to obtain them.”
“This promises to be a really exciting project. I should be able to create something truly extraordinary for you.”
Their discussion had reached the stage Corey usually dreaded, during which he had to come up with an estimate of the price. In his experience, the wealthier a client who wanted custom work done was, the more likely she—and it was usually a woman—expected to get a great deal for very little money. He took out a notepad and pen and began to compile a list.
“Let’s see—we’re talking about four bracelets and two anklets.”
“Yes. And a necklace, a hip ornament or girdle, and the earrings you mentioned,” Kaustav said casually. “As well as the crown.”
“Right.”
“I was thinking, Corey. Could you fit a narrow decorative band around the upper part of the shaft of the mace? To match the bracelets, perhaps?”
Jewels for Vishnu (Siren Publishing Allure ManLove) Page 10