"San Diego, California," he answered simply. "But in the three years I've lived here, India has become home. I have friends, business relations..."
"A wife, children?" She worked the electric clipper around his ear.
"No, no, none of that." He laughed again. "As a matter of fact, I was wondering whether it'd be all right to take you out to dinner after work, if it's not asking too much. Not that the town has a lot to offer, but mainly for the company. We could take a walk on the riverbank afterwards."
Kora raised her head, caught a gleam of lust in his eye and smiled. "Better take a look at that hairdo before you decide," she said playfully, handing him a hand mirror and turning the chair for him. "Do you like it?"
She watched as he appreciated her handiwork. She had outdone herself. The stylish parting and the short length enhanced the square line of his jaw, while his natural wave softened the look. Nothing like being inspired by a gorgeous subject…
His smile told her he liked it too. "Perfect!" Mukunda gave back the mirror. "You're a genuine artist. My invitation still stands."
"I'd love to have dinner with you," she beamed. "We're almost ready to close. If you'd wait just a mite, I'll fetch my purse and meet you outside." For a fleeting instant, Chad's devastated face appeared in Kora's mind, but she erased it easily to wink at her new conquest.
Chapter Eight
Kama Sutra, the art of Tantric sex
In front of the beauty shop, Mukunda opened the passenger door of the Mahindra Jeep and waited for Kora. The fresh memory of her oh‑so‑perfect breasts and red fingernails grazing his hair sent tendrils of heat through his body. Behaving like a gentleman would prove difficult, but he'd try.
Kora walked toward him deliberately, her hips shifting the pink fabric of her calf-length western dress. The satiny skin of her bare arms looked darker than before, more exotic, begging to be touched. Impractical high-heeled sandals exposed painted toenails as she picked careful steps, crossing the short expanse of dirt and gravel. She smiled prettily and sat, looking too sophisticated for the old Jeep, like a ruby in a brass setting.
Mukunda felt her eyes on him when he settled into the driver seat and turned on the ignition. Opening her purse, Kora offered him a cigarette.
"Not for me," he chided. "That stuff'll kill you."
"I don't want to live forever." Kora pushed in the lighter on the dashboard and fitted the filtered end of her cigarette into an opal and gold holder. "Do you dance?" She asked abruptly when he shifted into gear.
"Sometimes," he said, above the purring of the engine and the crunch of gravel. "But there's no dance club in these parts. You'd have to go to Mumbai for that."
She lit the cigarette and inhaled a long drag. "Great! Let's go sometime. I love to dance."
Mukunda laughed. So, she expected a long-term relationship. He felt uneasy. Despite his attraction and willingness to like the girl, something indefinable bothered him, something cold and calculating, something that chilled his blood. Too late to pull back now, though...
In the village, they parked the Jeep on the main square and walked along the small shops closing for the day. The shoe‑repair wallah, sitting cross-legged on a rag, looked at their slippers with an expert eye as they walked by. He hammered a rivet into a leather strap, while in front of him on the sandy ground a dozen pairs of worn leather sandals lay in a proud display. The grizzled man wore glasses, a definite sign of wealth and respectability.
They quickly passed a street dentist storing away dentures and a wide assortment of instruments reminiscent of the Middle Age. His neighbor, the ear-cleaner, used the small red turban on his head as a pincushion for various picks and prods. On the same sidewalk, a skinny barber armed with razor and scissors gave the finishing touch to the regal moustache of a plump police officer, handing his patron the all-important mirror for a final evaluation.
They stopped by the sugarcane juice stand to wash away the dust of the short ride. Mukunda ordered, and Kora emitted excited cries of wonderment when the turbaned wallah cranked the antique iron wheel powering the device. Mukunda was acutely aware of Kora's grip on his arm. The heady perfume of her unbound hair overpowered even the ginger garland around her neck.
Within a few seconds, the archaic contraption of sturdy iron bars squeezed a foot-long stalk of green sugarcane into clear juice that flowed to fill a dirty glass. The wallah discarded the husk in a basket then smiled toothlessly as he offered the glass in sticky fingers. Apparently unbothered by the unsanitary glass, Kora sipped with delight while watching the old man repeat the process. Mukunda drank deeply, surprised that Kora would feel so relaxed in such a primitive setting.
The heat had abated and the shadows of the surrounding buildings grew, claiming the temple square. The couple made their way on foot, past a horse carriage, a black Contessa parked in front of the temple, a dozen bicycles and a few rickshaws. The pink restaurant where Mukunda had met with the local farmers stood against the early sunset, surrounded by palms.
Mukunda remembered the day he first saw Kora. His impression of her had not changed. She looked like someone who never had to work. He was willing to bet the four-karat diamond, dangling from a gold chain between her breasts, wasn't a fake.
Kora's presence in this out-of-the way village baffled him. It didn't make sense. What could possibly attract her to this hole? The girl belonged in a polished society, a cosmopolitan milieu, New York, Paris, but not Ganeshpur.
"I heard the dress code was very strict at Shree Gurudev," Mukunda ventured. "I'm surprised they let you wear this. Although I personally find it delightful."
"Thank you." Kora smiled easily, like someone accustomed to compliments. "They don't approve, so I am careful within the ashram's walls. I was reprimanded a few times." Her big blue eyes lined with kajal seemed to plead for forgiveness.
"I can't imagine why." Mukunda couldn’t repress a grin.
"Oh, some Miss Goody-two-shoes found my pants too tight, once." She shrugged. "Another time, my dress was too transparent, and just the other day, I was caught not wearing a bra."
Mukunda gave a soft, appreciative whistle.
"Most of it is jealousy, I think." Kora pushed a rebellious strand of hair away from her face. "Sometimes I throw a shawl on my shoulders to avoid problems when crossing the garden, but I still dress the way I want. I have a nice figure and beautiful clothes. Why should I dress like an ugly prude?"
"Heavens forbid!" Mukunda exclaimed, thoroughly amused.
They selected a table on the front porch of the restaurant to enjoy the evening breeze. A flickering candle set into the neck of an empty bottle of Campa Cola created a somewhat romantic mood, melting the sunset shadows into soft amber. A cacophony of birdsongs from a nearby banyan reached Mukunda's ears.
"So, are you eager to go back home when the dam is finished?" Kora's avid tone startled him.
"Home? Oh, you mean San Diego?" Mukunda smiled.
The restaurant owner approached the table with a jovial smile. "Hello, how can I be servicing you and your exquisitely charming friend tonight, Sahib?" The fat man's gaze brushed Kora's cleavage.
Mukunda had to clear his throat before ordering chai and two of the most expensive vegetarian thali, the traditional meal served on a metal tray. "They are the best in a twenty mile radius," he explained, wondering whether he should have consulted her before ordering for both of them.
But Kora didn't object to his male initiative. "Don't you miss your family?" The sun had dipped behind the horizon, and the candle projected changing shadows around her black eyelashes and pouty lips. She bent to the flame to light another cigarette.
"I miss my folks during the holidays sometimes," Mukunda conceded. "Otherwise, there's e‑mail and the phone. We're all busy anyway."
"What does your father do?" She drew on the cigarette.
"Play golf, mainly." Mukunda was toying with her, and he had the uncomfortable feeling she had been doing the same with him ever since they met.
&nbs
p; "No, I mean..." She lowered her gaze.
"I know what you mean." He gave an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry. He's semi-retired. My older brother took over the plant in SiliconeValley."
"Computer chips? How interesting." Her clear eyes stared straight into his, unflinching.
When the tea arrived, Mukunda poured for Kora with a flourish, Indian style, then for himself. Kora excused herself to go wash her hands. The sizzling sounds coming from the open kitchen and the potent smell of spices whetted Mukunda's appetite. While he waited, he wondered whether or not Kora realized how much sensuality exuded from her whole being. It showed in the way she walked, talked, looked at him with a slightly open mouth, in the way she played with her bracelets, held the cigarette holder, blew the smoke high in the air, and in the way she crossed her legs. Here she came back, all smiles and languid charm.
She sat down, had a sip of chai, then returned the metal goblet to the table. "Won't you get involved in the family business?"
"Not a chance." Mukunda chuckled. "I get my thrills from building huge projects: dams, bridges, freeways. I tame nature, rivers, wide spaces. After the initial design, I usually oversee the job in the field, where it becomes a team achievement. Works for me..."
Kora’s crystal laugh reminded him of a birdsong. "You are an unusual man."
"Not really, but let's talk about you," Mukunda went on. "How do you imagine your future?"
"Oh, I don't know." She made a vague gesture with her cigarette before stubbing it in the pockmarked ashtray. "Probably a husband, a family, a nice house with a swimming pool, the ocean nearby." Her eyes became dreamy.
"In Australia?"
"No, not necessarily. Of course, it will depend on the man I marry, but any place other than Australia sounds better to me."
"Because of your stepfather? You didn't tell me how he died."
"No, I didn't." The finality in her tone surprised Mukunda.
Kora smiled, apparently to soften the shock, but Mukunda felt uneasy. He sensed that hard edge again, the cold, calculating grip. She was hiding something from him, and people as uninhibited as Kora rarely hid innocent feelings.
The meal came. With a healthy appetite, Mukunda ate the curry vegetables, the papadums, puris, relishes, the fancy rolled pataa leaf stuffed with fruit and nuts, the curd, and the mountain of white rice piled up on his tray. Kora only nibbled at her food and did not touch the rice.
"I've wanted to try paan since I arrived in India," she declared with pleading eyes. "Do you think this place would have it?"
Mukunda frowned. The betel nut delicacy could be mildly intoxicating, in rare cases even laced with opium or cocaine. "It can turn your teeth red-black and it's addictive," Mukunda said, in hopes of discouraging her.
"Only if you indulge over a period of time," she countered. "I heard it also has digestive qualities after a meal, not to mention a definite aphrodisiac power. You should try it too." She looked at him coyly, playing with the ginger garland around her throat, daring him.
Mukunda felt heat creeping up his thighs. "No thanks, I don't need it, but be my guest and try it if you like." Now that Kora had made her intentions clear, he was tempted to have sex with her. But how many partners did she seduce that way? God knew what deadly diseases she could carry. He had no condoms, and none were available here. Besides, Mukunda liked to be in control, not a puppet in a pretty woman's hands. As contradictory emotions fought in his mind, Mukunda realized that the hidden coldness he felt in Kora bothered him more than anything else.
After ordering the finest sweet paan masala the restaurant had in stock, Kora popped it in her mouth and chewed the spicy bit religiously. She seemed to relish it, rolling her eyes in appreciation, even managing to spit the juice and remaining fiber over the patio railing with elegance, adding another reddish blotch to the stained earth below.
From her purse, she drew a small handkerchief, dabbed at her mouth then reapplied her lipstick with an expert hand while checking her face in a small hand mirror. "You promised me a walk by the river." Raising one hand to her breasts, she added, "It should be so romantic."
The drama wasn't lost on Mukunda who smiled acceptance but vowed not to fall into her snare, no matter how difficult it might be.
During the short ride, Kora leaned back in the seat, letting the night wind play in her silky blond hair. Mukunda was glad for the coolness of the night and the damp smell of the river. It calmed his turbulent thoughts. By the time they reached the water's edge, he felt in control once again.
Kora kicked off her shoes to walk at his side, barefoot on the grassy shore. At her feet, dark water lapped and rippled in silvery moonlight. Faraway voices and the moody harmonies of a sitar floated on the breeze. Somewhere upriver, a party was in full swing. They stopped, facing the NarmadaRiver.
Kora broke the silence. "Do you know that during their initiation, after shaving their heads, the new swamis take off all their clothes and run naked into the river?"
"Really?"
"That's what I heard. The ritual is secret. No one's actually seen it. I think it’s meant to symbolize their renunciation of all material things." She scowled then added, "I could never be a swami."
"You can be anything you set your mind to, Kora," Mukunda said seriously.
"Maybe... But I'm not ready to renounce anything yet. I wouldn't mind a ritual bath, though. The water looks so inviting..."
Before Mukunda could react, the pink zipper was undone, the straps slid down her arms, then the dress lay in the grass at Kora's feet.
"Holy shit!" Mukunda forgot to breathe, admiring the perfect curves of her naked body bathed in moonlight. Firm, round breasts jutted out, like on the statues of a Tantric temple. The long shapely thighs ended on a smooth belly, with a mound of blond curls forming a soft triangle. He gasped.
"Ohm Namah Shivaya!" Kora spoke the sacred mantra from time immemorial. Arching her arms above her head, palms pressed together, she slowly waded into the black waters.
Her sinuous back was as flawless as the front, satiny skin on firm buttocks gleaming in the moonlight. Mukunda felt lost. His resolve weakened as the seconds ticked. With a supreme effort, he wrenched himself away from the sight. He wished he could enter the cold water to extinguish the fire that burned at the center of his body, but looking at her now would mean his defeat for sure. Besides, the last thing he wanted to do was take off his clothes.
Mukunda walked toward the Mahindra Jeep without looking back, then sat in the driver seat, looking out over the dark water, listening to the radio, waiting. In his mind, he saw Kora as a black spider with many arms reaching for him. He felt trapped. Somehow, he knew he should drive off, but his good manners forbade it. After a few minutes, he chided himself for yielding to unexplained fears. Maybe Kora was just a sweet innocent child falling in love with him. Then again...
"Are you all right?" Kora inquired sweetly when she returned, a while later.
To Mukunda's relief, she had her dress on, but it clung to wet skin. Knowing that she wore nothing underneath was outright torture. "I think I should take you back to the ashram," he managed to say, stiffly. "It's getting late."
"Too late for that." He detected a hint of satisfaction in her voice. "The gates are already locked. They won't open until morning. You'll have to give me shelter for the night, unless you want me to sleep outdoors."
Mukunda's blood flared again. How would he survive a whole night in her close proximity? But he couldn't possibly abandon her outside. "Get in." Tightening his jaw, he started the engine.
Kora stepped into the car, then Mukunda raced blindly on the deserted dirt road, mad at himself for letting this woman control him. The Jeep screeched to a halt in front of the isolated house. Mukunda stepped out, slammed the car door, grabbed the two bottles in the back seat, and kicked the swinging front door wide open.
"Are you angry at me?" Kora almost sobbed, following him into the dark house.
Mukunda found the switch. Light flooded the living room,
with its far wall of rudimentary kitchen appliances. Rough sisal rugs covered the tile floor. Although considered luxurious by Indian standards, the place looked shabby, and Mukunda felt embarrassed at lodging a refined guest.
"Please, talk to me," Kora pleaded. "I can't stand your silence. Forgive me if I did something wrong." Her wide eyes filled with tears.
"No, it's not your fault," Mukunda said gruffly. "I'm just mad at myself. I should have known better."
"Please, let's make peace." She raised a hand to touch his arm.
Mukunda stepped back. "Don't touch me," he warned. He was afraid of what would happen if she did.
"I'm sorry. Could I have something to drink?" She indicated the two bottles still in his hand.
"The Toddy needs to be refrigerated," Mukunda commented, irritated by her demand. He walked to the old‑fashioned icebox sitting at the kitchen end of the room.
"The Arak doesn't," Kora offered, turning on the CD player, looking for a record.
"That's a strong drink," Mukunda objected, over the harmonies of an Indian opera now emanating from the boom box. The refrigerator door closed with a thud.
"Australian women aren't weaklings." Kora settled on the couch and crossed her legs high, revealing the smooth outline of a thigh.
"As you will." Mukunda shrugged and fetched two glasses. "You take the bed and I'll sleep on the couch." He poured two generous drinks." Hopefully the strong liquor would help him relax. Right now, he felt so high-strung he couldn't even sit.
Kora accepted the offered glass then reclined languidly on the rattan sofa, sipping on Arak like on sweet syrup. Mukunda stood in front of the dark window and gazed at the stars, glass in hand, wondering how he could possibly find sleep while Kora lay in his bed a few yards away.
"It's very nice of you to put me up like this." Kora's soft voice melded with the music.
Mukunda didn't answer. He heard the click of a cigarette lighter and could feel Kora's eyes drilling his back. Emptying the glass in one gulp, he made a face as the rough alcohol burned his insides, then he refilled the glass almost to the rim. He drank the second glass slowly, feeling anger and turmoil mellow down to the soothing lyrics of Rabindranath Tagore.
Ashes for the Elephant God Page 8