He did not know that her father was an Ngagpa, a lay Nyingma lama, who had had a prophetic dream in which a female thunder dragon was courted by a hangul, a Kashmiri red stag. When he told the Peling Tukse about his mother’s ancestry in Kashmir and her interest in tantra, the young Peling Tukse nodded sagely as if he had been told something significant.
He did not believe in mysticism and prophetic dreams, but the Bhutanese did. Bhutanese Buddhism still incorporated the ancient shamanistic practices of Bon. Unknown to him, the Peling Tukse directed the monastery’s seer to draw up astrological charts and perform ancient rites of divination. The seer declared his marriage to Tshering to be highly auspicious and of great benefit to all human beings.
He was sceptical, but Aviva suggested that a marriage to a local woman might help him integrate into Bhutanese society. Despite their friendliness, the Bhutanese were very protective of their culture and foreigners were excluded from certain social circles. He understood that the Bhutanese rarely married foreigners and only did so if the foreigner adopted Bhutanese customs. He was being offered a rare opportunity, but he could not be as coldly pragmatic as Aviva (she had wondered if the Peling Tukse wasn’t also being pragmatic – to have a billionaire brother-in-law would certainly help the monastery and his branch of Buddhism). Still, he gave her permission to do a security check on Tshering. There wasn’t much to tell, just some school and university records, all of which pointed to a high IQ and a well-balanced social conscience.
It seemed that the marriage was being arranged and being Indian, he found he had no specific objection. In fact it was a relief, he was just too busy to go through the Western courtship process, so he allowed it to happen.
The next time he met Tshering it was over a formal dinner at his converted monastery. In many ways it was an interview rather than a Western style date. He needed to make sure she understood what she was getting herself into. He was blunt. Of course he wanted children, but he also needed a partner who was more like a politician’s wife - charming and discrete. She took it all with remarkably good humour, softly suggesting that her studies were in preparation for a career in either diplomacy or the civil service. He understood that she was gently hinting that her price would be to take an active role in some of his charitable work, expressing a special interest in education and promoting Bhutanese culture, perhaps establishing her own foundation. She asked polite and surprisingly informed questions about his theoretical work but steered the conversation back to things they had in common as soon as he stumbled on the complex physics - especially returning to the topic of ancient Buddhist culture of the Himalayas and the historical and modern pressures from outside forces. He understood that she was expertly charming him, showing off her social intelligence with carefully modulated flattery and conversational skill. And it was working. He wanted to see more of her.
Their next meeting was on her terms. She returned home to discuss the issue with her family and invited him to lunch. It was a four-hour drive along narrow winding roads from Thimpu to her hometown of Trongsa, which gave him a perfect opportunity to see more of the countryside. After getting lost (not even his own Shunyata satnav system would work, which, along with the ancient architecture, helped create the illusion that he had travelled back in time to medieval Bhutan) he eventually found his way to the family home nestled in a verdant valley. He had seen many traditional Bhutanese houses before and this one was a particularly fine example, although it was still a shock to see the brightly coloured and graphically detailed phallus encircled by a dragon painted on the side of the house.
Her family must have heard him drive up because they were all lined up greet him. Tshering was first in line, next to four women, each dressed in their best and brightest kera and toego, and finally an older man smiling broadly with a boy looking like he wanted to run off and play. Another shock came when Tshering introduced them, because she explained that her father Tenzig had two wives, Tshering’s biological mother Zhangpo and a much younger second wife, Drolma. He was then introduced to Tshering’s younger sister, fifteen year-old Sigyel, her younger half-sister Tenzin, aged nine and finally her half-brother, the restless Dorje, aged six. Tshering must have seen his eyes widen with the surprise because she gave him a reassuring smile that suggested two things: that she was not the least embarrassed and that she would explain it all at the right time.
After a rowdy traditional lunch with much laughter, she led him outside for a walk along a small creek under a cloudless, midsummer’s day rich with the scent of Bhutanese white pine. She engaged him in small talk about her childhood doing chores on their small plot and playing with her friends in the forest. It all seemed rather bucolic and idyllic.
“There is one other thing you should understand about my childhood,” she said with a seriousness that suggested an important change of topic. “Would it matter to you that I am not a virgin? Very few girls around here are, you know.”
“No, no, I, no…” he spluttered with embarrassment as they sat on a fallen trunk on the side of a path. “I’m not… I mean… When I was at university I…”
She smiled politely and without a hint of embarrassment continued. “In Bhutan it is customary for young people to have sex before marriage. There is no shame attached. It is called bomena. In English it is called night hunting, although that is not the proper translation.”
“I’ve heard of… Are you saying you…?”
“When I was younger… My parents knew of course. It is an open secret.” She looked at him directly, holding his gaze. “Some houses have no separate bedroom, so it sometimes happens in the same room.” She was teasing him by trying to shock him. “This can lead to some humorous mistakes. It was how my mother met my father, and her mother before her and so on. One night he stayed until morning, which meant he had to marry her. I was always selective, not all girls are, they hope to trap a man by falling pregnant, or they accept the social pressure to follow tradition. I have allowed three boys to climb in my window, the first when I was fourteen, the traditional age. It is common around here, in the east and north. Are you shocked?”
He shook his head and told her of his parent’s study of tantra and of their visits to tantric temples. He understood that the Himalayas had some unique customs.
“This is good. My mother’s family originally came from the Chinese side. They have the same custom, except the women never marry and take as many lovers as they like. They called it zou hun, the walking marriage.”
He was confused. “But children?”
“Are raised by the mother’s family, the maternal uncle assumes the role of the male guardian. This is something you must understand. My family is matrilineal and they have practiced traditional non-monogamous arrangements. I had an aunt who had two husbands. This is my mother’s land. My father moved here when they joined.”
“Joined? You mean married?”
“They are not legally married under civil law, they are joined under custom, and it was her choice to bring in another wife and consort, as her disciple. You must understand that because my father is Ngagpa, my mother acts as his consort. We trace our lineage back to the Guru Rinpoche and he had several consorts. My mother follows the secret oral tradition of Yeshe Tsogyal, his primary consort, herself a fully realised Buddha. My siblings and I are the product of such a union. This is a side of Bhutan that is kept hidden from foreigners, but you should know that I have received training from my mother.”
He nodded because he understood something of what she implied.
She took his hand. “In case you were wondering, you may return tonight. My window is at the back, to the left. Tonight I share it with my younger sister Sigyel. Be careful which bed you choose because she will gladly accept you into hers. She has already received visitors.”
He was startled and she laughed. He wasn’t sure if she was teasing him. “Are Bhutanese girls usually this forward?”
“Eastern girls, yes,” she replied calmly. “Now listen, it is up
to you if you wish to be discovered in the morning. You must leave before dawn if you are not ready to marry. But if you leave, do not come back. You have tested me have you not? Now I am testing you.”
There was something comical about creeping back up to the house and clambering in through the open window after spending some of the evening drinking rice wine at a tavern. He was well aware that Drukpa Kinley, the venerated patron saint of Bhutan, was a notorious womaniser and drunkard, but he had not expected to re-enact his exploits.
It was clear it had all been arranged because a box had been carefully placed under the window so he could reach. Tshering had even marked her bed (a futon on the floor) by leaving a candle glowing. She had warned him that Sigyel would be in the room and he hoped she had fallen asleep, but he did not expect to see her sharing Tshering’s bed. Was this another part of the test?
He hesitated until he heard Tshering whisper, “just undress and climb in.” He fumbled with his clothes as she folded back her traditional check doona. In the candlelight he could see both Tshering and Sigyel naked, with Sigyel wide-awake.
“I could not dissuade her. It is customary for sisters to share night visitors.”
She was right about setting a test. She was clearly expecting him to embrace her customs and to prove his manhood in the Bhutanese style. They watched him unabashedly as he fumbled with his clothes. He could not help himself become erect. Absurd as it was, the situation was intensely arousing. He undid the cord to his traditional Bhutanese cloak and it fell open. Tshering smiled. “Come then dragon, enter your cave.” He heard Sigyel giggle and thought it must be some kind of private joke. He climbed in tentatively and they accepted him willingly, wrapping him in their soft, warm bodies. He was nervous but he remembered something his mother had said about honouring the goddess by pleasing women. Perhaps it was his years of celibacy by neglect, but he was surprised by his stamina. He managed to please both Tshering and Sigyel twice (the second, longer round after a suitable period of rest in which they talked and dozed).
He was awoken by laughter and clapping. Suddenly the whole family was in the room as dawn was breaking. The bed sheets were unceremoniously pulled off and Tshering’s father exclaimed in mock outrage, “who is this thief of the night entering my daughter’s cave?” before breaking into a deep belly laugh.
Her mother was even less delicate and stood him up to check his manhood, “and a suitable dragon it is too.” He flinched because it seemed as if she was about to reach for it.
“Mother,” snapped Tshering as her younger sister Tenzin put her hand over her mouth and giggled, her cheeks blushing a deep red.
Her mother laughed joyously and reached to hug Tshering, joined enthusiastically by the second wife Drolma.
“So, now I have a new brother, hung like a Kashmiri stag,” said Sigyel proudly. “He satisfied us both.”
Rather than be shocked, Tshering’s family seemed pleased at this report.
Tshering silenced Sigyel and pushed the family out of the room. Sigyel was in no hurry and fussed about dressing. Tshering hugged and kissed him and he melted into her body. “Welcome to the family, you’ll get used to the complete disregard for privacy. At least we don’t live in a one-room peasant’s hut. Could you have performed with my father snoring just a few beds away?” she said laughing.
He could not help himself. Tshering smiled and lowered herself onto the bed as Sigyel continued to calmly brush her hair. He did not wait and entered Tshering with a passion he had never felt before. He barely heard Sigyel walk quietly out of the room.
Following tradition, astrologers calculated the most auspicious date. It was a traditional Buddhist wedding performed at her brother’s monastery. Her family was well respected and hundreds were invited (including many of his own family).
Suddenly doors that had been closed opened.
Initially he was disoriented at the speed of events, but Tshering was patient and understanding. She helped him realise that his life was out of balance. As the weeks went by he quickly began to turn to her for advice and he found her to be an astute judge of character. She helped him negotiate the intricacies of Bhutanese politics (especially in understanding the factions: the traditionalists seeking to preserve Bhutanese custom; the business interests dependent on Indian patronage; and the young moderns, increasingly turning to the West).
And whilst all this was happening they talked long into the night about Bhutanese Buddhism and she began to teach him tantric techniques of meditation, breathing and yab-yum. When he thought she was ready he told her what he had planned. He thought she would be baffled but she seemed curiously unaffected.
“But this is what the great yogis and yoginis did,” she laughed. “They told tales of other worlds and other beings, of teleportation, levitation, of telepathy over great distances. This is not strange to us. Perhaps Western science is finally catching up.”
He laughed too, because he had grown up with stories of the extraordinary powers called siddhis and the men and women who had mastered them. He had never thought that void physics might be the legendary magical powers of the Himalayan mystics.
It was not too long after that Tshering announced she had become pregnant.
13
Nuku and Prax
“Wake up Nuku.” A bright light flickered in her eyes.
“Huh?”
“Dawn is about to break.”
Nuku started to raise herself from her sleep. “Ouch, fuck.” She grimaced as she pressed against her bruised ribs. She had not had a good night’s sleep. She stood slowly and peered into the darkness. She couldn’t see much. A mist had settled on the mountains and visibility was low. “I need a shit,” she mumbled. “You’ll have to lead me to the waterfall.”
Her guardian lit up and began to move to her left. She stumbled on a rock and nearly fell. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she cursed.
Five minutes into her blind journey she stopped. “Wait, wait, I can’t hold on.” She squatted and relieved herself. “Okay, continue.”
Another fifteen minutes and they reached the waterfall with the mist turning a golden grey with the sunrise. She plunged into the water, the cold shocking away her sluggishness and general grottiness. It was at this moment she wished she had soap or at least access to the fragrant oil of the jamoon tree. There was now enough light for her to check her body. It was as she had feared. A bruise under her left breast, a large one on her right thigh, the older one on her leg from the sleech bite, as well as several scratches and a few smaller bites. In short she looked a mess. She shrugged. There was nothing she could do about it now. She had to make up time if she was to get to the monorail on schedule.
She made her way back to her cave, packed and then headed off at pace. She planned to make a small diversion into a forest grove to forage for food. If she was lucky the birds might have left her some schnapples and cluster nuts: not exactly appetising but sufficient.
She hoped the mist might clear but instead it turned into a steady drizzle. It was a notoriously wet region caused by the warm, humid air of the peninsula meeting the colder mountain air.
Prax looked at Cynthia’s body wrapped in sheets. “Rise and shine,” he said touching her shoulder.
She turned, opened her eyes and smiled groggily. “Morning mentor.” She was pleased with herself. She hadn’t expected him to respond to her request so immediately and, well, so effectively. She stretched her legs and kicked away the sheets, letting one leg flop to the side allowing him to look at her naked body. She unconsciously stroked her upper leg, leading his eyes to her vulva.
He frowned. “What is the effect of oxytocin?” he asked sharply.
She was shocked and blushed.
“This is not an affair of the passions. You must remain detached at all times.”
She sat up quickly, red faced. “Sorry mentor.”
“Don’t apologise. Be aware. Now go and shower, have breakfast and pack. I’ve spoken to the capital and they’ve agreed to interview y
ou. Be ready in half an hour.”
She got up and almost ran to the door she was so embarrassed.
“You forgot something.”
She turned and he tossed her sarong at her.
As she left he sighed. She was going to be a handful. She was all fire and passion, and she had been wrong about her menarche. If she had paid enough attention she would have realised she was already in the middle of her first oestrous. If he had not practiced retention it was highly likely she would have fallen pregnant.
It was a half-day’s walk around the mountain. Low mists hung to the peaks, but on this side the sun was out. They kept a slow but steady pace as they traversed the purple alpine grasses dotted with bright wildflowers. Swarms of leaf insects were lifting into the sky on their journey to find nectar and play their part in the process of pollination; a herd of striped geesh goats grazed a distant field.
“Remind me of the purpose of our order,” he asked her.
“To gain mastery of our minds,” she replied.
“And?”
“Attain ataraxia – equilibrium.”
“Yes…”
“The mind attains its optimum when it is balanced, neither stressed nor seduced by the sensuous pleasures.” He looked at her and she blushed. She continued. “It is the middle path of the Buddha and Epicurus, of Abhiniva. We neither avoid pleasure nor seek it. In solving this contradiction our essence becomes pleasure…”
“Calm abiding,” he added. “And what are the obstacles?”
“Attachment and aversion; lust and disgust; striving and resisting; push and pull.”
He nodded. “What else did you notice about your state of arousal last night?”
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