Ashes for the Elephant God

by Vijaya Schartz

  I watched Kora amble into the dorm, a wide smile on her face. Her green eyes held a fire I had never seen before. She looked beautiful in the deepest sense, radiant. For the first time since I'd known her, my heart went out to her.

  "Fabienne, look," she called, holding her left hand high for all to see.

  My heart stopped at the sight of the sparkling diamond adorning her ring finger. It could mean only one thing. Thanks to the silence button on my shirt, I didn't have to talk.

  "Guess who's getting married after the monsoon?" Kora bragged in a bubbly voice.

  The other girls exclaimed and cooed, "You? Really? To your mystery man? What's his name? Please, tell us all about him. When did this happen?"

  Kora glanced at me with a smile of triumph. "Mukunda proposed a week ago. Tonight he gave me the ring."

  I couldn't believe it. She was marrying MY Mukunda! For the sake of spirituality I was prepared to give him up, but not to her! The news hurt me beyond imagining. Stunned, I dropped on my bed.

  Kora saw my bewilderment and pushed her advantage. "We'll be married right after the monsoon."

  Someone asked, "Why not in May, like everyone else?"

  "Mukunda is needed at the dam until then." Kora admired her ring, polishing it on her long red skirt.

  The other girls teemed with questions. "You must be so excited. What about your honeymoon?"

  "Mukunda wanted to go hiking in the Himalayas, but that's not my cup of tea. I demanded to go to Sri Lanka instead."

  I knew she meant the resplendent island, the tourist paradise, but I thought of the name's deeper meaning. Ancient Buddhist tablets in Tibet mentioned Sri Lanka as a mythical paradise, hidden in a secret valley of the Himalayas.

  I wailed inside, holding my tears for when no one could see them. How could life be so unfair? Oh, Mukunda, I'd love to hike the Himalayas with you.

  *****

  When May came, with its procession of festivals, I had surrendered to my fate and pushed aside all thoughts of Mukunda. He loved Kora, and I followed the spiritual path. Gradually, the tumult of my heart abated.

  Devotees came from all over the world, many to get married by bare-chested Brahmin priests in white dhotis and a shoelace-like cord looped over the left shoulder. But marriage wasn't for me. I would remain here long after they'd left.

  The overflowing ashram dorms had been supplemented with white shamiana tents with their pyramidal roofs, spread on the vast garden lawns. Every lunch was a culinary feast. The courtyard buzzed with activity by day, the gate remained open at night, and chanting in the temple never ceased.

  I volunteered for night chant, feeling more peaceful in a smaller group than in the daytime's overwhelming crowd. Besides, the cooler temperature made the night more pleasant. On the second night, just as my throat started to get sore and I thought about taking a tea break, someone in khaki slacks and safari shirt entered the circle of light illuminating the temple and sat among the men, facing me. Mukunda smiled and bowed slightly, his light blue eyes piercing me like a javelin.

  All the feelings I had suppressed for the past weeks flooded back. I bowed in response to hide my confusion. My cheeks flushed, my heartbeat accelerated, I stumbled on the simple words of the chant. An abyss opened under me, threatening to drag me into its turbulent vacuum. I stared, struggling to hide my elation, unable to slow down my chaotic thoughts. How could any man have such effect on me?

  At the end of that chant, during the soft string harmonies played on the tamboura and leading to the next chorus, I discreetly stood up, leaving my asana on the floor for when I returned. I needed to get out. His presence was too much for me to bear.

  Once outside the temple, I leaned against a column for support, waiting for my heartbeat to slow down. A pool of moonlight bathed the front yard.

  "Hi! My name is Mukunda." The deep, melodious voice caressed my ears. "Remember me?" The tone carried happy notes, as if he were glad to see me.

  Eyes closed, I didn't dare turn around, even less talk.

  "I noticed you a few weeks ago," Mukunda continued, his voice getting closer to my ear. "You wore a silence button, so I didn’t talk to you then. I see you're not in silence anymore."

  As I turned to face him, my irrepressible smile met his.

  He asked, "Would you care for a cup of tea? Chanting is thirsty business... But I don't even know your name."

  "Fabienne," I said shyly. "My name is Fabienne Béranger."

  "Fabienne," he repeated slowly, looking deep into my eyes. "Delighted to finally hear the sound of your voice. What a charming accent. Where are you from?"

  "Paris, France."

  "How interesting! What made you decide to come to India?"

  We walked across the street, to the tea-shack open twenty-four hours during the seven-day-and-night chant. The small open stall had wooden slat walls on three sides and a torn canvas roof, faded by the rains and bleached by the sun. The trembling light of a candle at the far end revealed an old woman in a dirty sari, crouching beside a small stove. She smiled at us and rose. "Namaste." She bowed in the traditional greeting.

  The red bindi on her forehead, the sign of her married state, showed through the perfect triangle formed by her hands as she saluted. I suddenly became aware of my own bindi. For the first time since I joined the ashram, I regretted wearing the sign of my spiritual commitment. It meant "unavailable."

  "Namaste." Mukunda returned the woman's greeting and started a conversation in Hindi.

  The old woman laughed and answered in the same language, wobbling her head, indicating an empty table. As we sat across from each other, she brought two metal goblets, the pot of chai from the stove, and two large cookies, then quietly returned to her crouching position at the back of the stall. The fragrant brew would be welcome. In the temple, the chanting had resumed to the accompaniment of drums and tambouras.

  What was I thinking, having tea with someone else's fiancé in the middle of the night? But the simple thrill of talking to this charismatic man eclipsed every bit of guilt I had. Besides, I knew Mukunda from another life. I was sure of it, now.

  "Do you believe in reincarnation?" My blunt question made him raise an eyebrow.

  "It's hard not to, in a country where the principle demonstrates itself every day." His eyes drilled into mine, making me feel like the only soul on this planet as far as he was concerned. He sipped some tea, breaking the spell. "Why do you ask?"

  Despite the relative coolness of the night, I burned from head to toe. "I had dreams, visions, supernatural experiences. Did anything like that ever happen to you?"

  "I've had intense recurring dreams." He spoke slowly, measuring his words. "Especially in the past few months."

  "An Indian woman?"

  Mukunda nodded.

  "Does she have a name? I mean... that you were aware of in the dream."

  "Yes." Mukunda sounded hesitant.

  "No, don't tell me. Just write it down if you have a piece of paper." If my intuition proved to be true, I wanted no doubt about it.

  Mukunda looked at me in mild surprise, then understanding dawned on him. He dug in the wide pockets of his safari shirt and came up with a business card and a pen. He turned away from me and wrote something on the card.

  When he was finished, I said, "Lakshmi."

  He stared at me before handing me the card. Here it was, in a strong handwriting, the name of my previous incarnation. I shivered in recognition.

  "The young man in my dreams has dark skin and long black hair. His name is Mukunda. We bathe in hot sulfurous springs surrounded by a jungle."

  Mukunda released a long breath. "Ganeshpur used to be a jungle with hot springs. If you are not reading my mind or playing some sick game, we could have known each other before, right here. That would explain a lot of things." He tapped the card on the rough table.

  "I don't play games." Ruffled by the insinuation, I drank some sweet tea to cover my annoyance. "What kind of things would it explain?"

&nbs
p; "Our irresistible attraction to this place, to each other." His eyes dared me to contradict him.

  "I never said I was attracted to you." I bit into the chocolaty cookie.

  He smiled. "No, you didn't say it."

  I felt naked under his stare. My hand burned to touch his over the expanse of rough wood, but I stopped myself. "You are engaged to Kora, and I must follow my path."

  "Right…dharma." Mukunda looked down at his hands breaking a piece of the cookie.

  The tiny shred of hope I had about a possible relationship collapsed in that instant. Dharma, sacred duty, bound him to Kora. They were engaged. Against their love and my own duty I didn't stand a chance, which was just as well since my destiny lay elsewhere. "Can we at least be friends?"

  "It may be difficult." Mukunda forced a smile. "But I hope we can. I'm not willing to let you go so easily, now that I found you."

  "What brought you to the ashram tonight?" I needed to know.

  "The hunch that you'd be here." He paused. "I figured you'd prefer the peacefulness of the night chant, with the swamis and the Bhramacharyas. I noticed you sat with them in the courtyard the other day. Late night's also the only time I can get away from the dam right now."

  "What about Kora?"

  "We have an understanding."

  I wondered what he meant by that, doubting very much that Kora would appreciate our present conversation. As if calling me back, the chant in the temple reached a crescendo. I rose. "I better go back to the temple now."

  "So soon?" Leaving a few rupees on the table, Mukunda led the way outside. "Would it be all right if I came back tomorrow? Maybe we could piece together our past memories."

  "I would like that very much." I thought my chest would burst with excitement. "I'll be covering nights in the temple all week."

  Mukunda bowed slightly. "Namaste, Fabienne. I'm looking forward to seeing you again."

  "Me too." I bowed in return.

  We never touched. Mukunda hopped in the Mahindra Jeep parked by the gate and waved as he revved up the engine, then took off like a demon. When I re-entered the temple to resume my shift, I felt so energized I kept chanting until dawn without weakening.

  *****

  The next evening, brimming with expectancy, I couldn't wait until my shift started and joined the chanting in the temple early. Soon, however, my mind wandered. I caught myself surveying the wide entrance gaping on the moonlit night. Each chant seemed to go more slowly than the night before. I wanted to hurry it in my haste to see Mukunda again. Midnight came…still no sign of him. I didn't want to take a break for fear that he'd interpret my absence as a rejection and turn back.

  Hours passed in monotonous chanting. My chest knotted inside, and tears flowed freely from my eyes as I struggled to keep the rhythm of the chant. I welcomed the cleansing pain of his rejection, realizing how attached I had become after a single conversation. It was for the best. Nothing good could have come out of such a friendship. Our connection in this lifetime would forever be shadowed by muddled memories of another life.

  Mukunda didn't come to the temple that night nor the following, and I resigned myself to the fact that our friendship would never be. Since he belonged to another, any kind of relationship with him would be improper. Our ancient love should never be revealed.

  By Friday night, peace had finally returned to my agitated mind. On Sunday morning the saptah would end, and I would return to my regular routine, safe and sheltered from outside influence, free to dedicate my life to the search for the Self that was God.

  Serene and rich in the knowledge of a love that could have been but would never flourish in this lifetime, I closed my eyes to concentrate on the vibrations generated by the chanting. The combined sound of music and mantras transported me to another dimension, a higher plane of consciousness, a place of serenity and fulfillment.

  On the canvas of my vacant mind, Brahmin priests performed a ceremony. Dressed in a red and gold sari, holding the end of a scarf, I followed Mukunda who led me around the sacred fire. He wore the white silks and turban of a groom, and when he turned toward me and smiled, his forehead was streaked with ashes on a yellow and red tika. A golden tan emphasized his clear blue eyes. In the background, chanting enlivened the air.

  A loud percussion of the drum brought me back to reality. Angry at myself for allowing my mind to fantasize instead of purifying itself in the chant, I opened my eyes then closed them immediately. The hallucinations altered even my wakened state. When I tentatively opened my eyes again, the vision stared back at me with insistence, a radiant smile illuminating his face. The turban was gone, but Mukunda wore the traditional white silk symbolizing the purity of Shiva. On his forehead, streaks of sacred ashes warned off evil thoughts.

  We stared at each other through the end of the chant, then Mukunda bowed deeply, motioned to the arched door with his eyes, rose, then walked discreetly to the gaping entrance. My gaze followed him to the door. I remained seated for a while longer, assailed by conflicting emotions, wondering whether or not to follow. Intuitively, however, I knew he had pure intentions. Leaving my asana on the marble floor, I followed him outside.

  "Sorry for not coming when I said I would. God only knows what you must have thought." His eyes searched mine, asking for forgiveness.

  I couldn't help feeling relieved and smiled.

  "We had a few problems at the dam." He started walking slowly toward the gate.

  I kept in step with him. "Anything serious?"

  He turned at the question. "Rather serious. We discovered that a subcontractor used flawed concrete on several of the secondary levies protecting surrounding villages."

  We reached the tea-shack, sat at the same table, and ordered lemonade. The same old woman served us with a mysterious smile meant to let us know she knew what we were up to. Mukunda said something in Hindi that made her laugh, then she left us alone.

  "Why in heaven would a contractor do something so stupid?" I couldn't believe such irresponsible behavior.

  An indulgent grin split Mukunda's face. "You haven't been here long enough to understand the concept, I guess. It's refreshing to find righteous indignation." His face turned serious again. "For most of them it's greed, corruption, ignorance... Mixing more sand with concrete is cheaper."

  "But wasn't there an inspection?"

  "The job passed it." Mukunda paused. The sound of chanting drifted from the temple. "Probably the contractor bribed some government employees to close their eyes. Corruption is a way of life in this country." Sadness colored his voice.

  "What can you do, now that everything is ready to go?"

  Mukunda wrinkled his forehead, causing fine silvery ashes to fall on his white silk shirt. "We've been busy reinforcing the causeways. It may not be enough, though, and we didn't get permission to evacuate the valley."

  "Can't you stop everything?"

  "I tried." He sighed. "But danger or not, it looks good on paper. The government experts call my concerns unfounded and advised filling the reservoir on schedule."

  "This is insane."

  "I know, but it has become a matter of re-election for several government babus. They can't wait another year." Mukunda stared at the rough wood of the table, scratching the edge with one nail.

  "What are you going to do?"

  "We're doing the best we can, hoping it will hold, praying for a mild monsoon." Head bent, Mukunda fell silent.

  I shivered, remembering newscasts of raging floods killing thousands every year at monsoon time. The very dam supposed to protect the area suddenly looked like a dangerous false hope.

  We sipped the sweet lemonade.

  "But enough about my problems." He gave me a smile. "I came to hear your story."

  I told him about my brother's death, the dreams, visions, and coincidences that led me to India, the mystical experiences, and the memories of a previous life. He didn't laugh at my claims but shared his own dreams and visions, which admirably complemented mine. We understood each
other. It felt right, comforting.

  "But, Fabienne, you are young, so full of life, an actress, a vibrant being," Mukunda said with fervor. "How could you be happy renouncing the world?"

  "The world you talk about doesn't seem to make you very happy, does it?" I smiled to soften my words. "Before I met you I was ready for an ascetic life. Now that I know you, I see no other choice. Besides, I love India."

  Mukunda stared at me with such despair I thought he would cry. "Karma," he mumbled. "I wonder what evil we did in former lives..."

  We finished our lemonades listening to the chant, left the tea-shack, then walked along the deserted road under the full moon. Silvery rays caught the white of our clothes, making us glow against the blue night. We sat on a low wall, side by side, feet dangling, hands almost touching. We talked for a long time, laughed a lot, and exchanged views about India, about life in general.

  "You must love Kora a lot," I ventured timidly. "How do you see your life with her?"

  Mukunda guffawed, a short, tense outburst. "A house, here or in California depending on the jobs, and a few kids, I suppose. I love kids." He turned to face me. "But we shouldn't be talking about Kora. Tonight is just for you and me."

  Soft moonlight cast silver highlights on Mukunda's blond hair. He looked calm, but I could feel fire raging under the surface. For some reason, his imminent wedding didn’t seem to please him. I wondered why but didn't ask.

  When Mukunda walked me back to the temple, I felt a great loss at letting him go.

  "I probably won't be able to come back tomorrow," he apologized, regret in his voice.

  "I understand. Too many lives depend on your work. I feel privileged for sharing these moments with you." I forced a smile.

  "I will remember it as long as I live, Fabienne." His eyes bore into mine.

  "So will I," I managed to say, holding his stare.

  Mukunda raised one hand, and for an instant I thought he would touch my shoulder, but instead he brought both hands to his forehead and bowed.

  "Namaste, Fabienne. May God smile on your life."

  Since the tight knot in my throat prevented me from speaking, I only bowed in return.