Kora felt trapped. Cold shivers coursed down her spine. "What if I refuse?"
"Then the wedding is off." Mukunda almost acted as if... But he couldn't possibly know... Kora hadn't told a soul about her false pregnancy.
"Can I at least think about it?" She needed some time to regroup.
"You have two days." Mukunda gave her a hard stare, then walked away without another word.
Stunned by the ultimatum, Kora watched Mukunda’s retreating back and inhaled the fragrant garden breeze to clear her mind. She had to think fast. Should she fake a sudden miscarriage? No. An obstetrician would detect that fraud too. Kora hated herself for not anticipating all the eventualities. The plan had seemed foolproof. Should she have stopped taking the pill to get pregnant from Chad or whoever? Of course not. Kora never wanted a child, and the bairn's DNA would have been living proof of her treachery. It was too late for that anyway. Life was getting rather complicated.
If Mukunda revealed her scheme, Kora could be kicked out of the ashram. What would she do then? Return to Australia and face life in jail for the murder of her stepfather? Never.
Fabienne had not slept in the dorm last night. What if she had gone to Mumbai to tell the authorities what she knew? Would Kora have to dodge the local police as well for arson and the murder of Chad? The very thought of spending any time at all in the filthy bowels of an Indian prison chilled her blood.
Unless she went native, disappeared in the anonymity of the sheer human mass, among poverty and disease, sleeping in the slums, prostituting herself, living like an outcast, Kora saw no escape. But she couldn't live like that and she knew it. In order for her to keep a semblance of human dignity, Mukunda and Fabienne had to disappear from the face of the earth before they could expose her. Only after their deaths could Kora plan a new strategy. But if Kali weren't going to help, Kora would have to do the job herself. Tigers had to kill to survive, she reminded herself.
Feeling tired, she rose from the bench and slowly walked toward the dorms. Killing Fabienne without direct intervention had proven almost impossible so far, and getting rid of Mukunda without raising suspicion would not be easy, since he usually avoided her like cholera. Kora had worked herself into a corner and didn't know how to break loose. How many lives would she have to obliterate in order to save her own? How long could she keep it up without getting caught?
Another question nibbled at the edge of Kora's mind. What if Fabienne were right? What if karma really existed and the four of them were linked? Would killing the other two bring upon Kora and Shankar a disastrous end? Had it happened before, provoking Kali's wrath? What if killing them meant suicide?
*****
Two days later, Kora had still not seen Fabienne, neither in the dorms at night, nor on the ashram grounds. Since the French nuisance didn't sleep around, Kora started to seriously wonder whether Fabienne had gone to the police in Mumbai. While feeding Shankar and sharing her fears and concerns with him, Kora turned at a small sound and saw Mukunda's silhouette filling the gap of the open tent flap.
She quickly pushed back her hair, hoping that the eye-drops and makeup would not conceal too well the red eyes and dark circles from crying and lack of sleep. She could use a little pity on his part.
"It's been two days, Kora. Did you make up your mind?" Mukunda's righteous face foreshadowed a difficult confrontation.
Kora straightened with as much dignity as she could muster to give her rehearsed performance. "I will not subject myself to this humiliating examination. If you don't trust me, I feel that we shouldn't get married." The tears that filled her eyes then came from self-pity, but Kora used them to her advantage. "I refuse to wed a bully who orders me around with no consideration for my feelings." She dramatically removed the ring from her left hand and threw it at Mukunda's feet.
"I thought so..." Mukunda nonchalantly picked up the sparkling diamond ring and stared, absorbed in its contemplation for a moment, then smiled at Kora. "What about the child, Kora? Aren't you a little concerned about our child's condition? About your own health? Many things can go wrong when you don't monitor a pregnancy."
Kora remained silent, letting tears of rage roll freely down her cheeks.
"Are you ready to raise the child on your own, then?" Mukunda seemed to enjoy her disquiet.
Not trusting herself to talk civilly yet, Kora bit her lower lip.
"You never were pregnant, were you, Kora?" Mukunda stared her in the eyes, but Kora didn't flinch. "So why would you want to marry me? You know I don't love you and you certainly don't love me. So what is it? I don't understand. Money? You have plenty. Companionship? We have nothing in common."
Kora was sobbing now, all the while plotting plan B. "I'm sorry I lied to you. Honey, please understand. I need to get married, disappear, change my name, until it's safe for me to travel again, preferably incognito, and establish myself in another civilized country."
"What are you talking about?" The genuine surprise on Mukunda's face gave Kora renewed courage.
"Some very influential people in Australia want me dead or in jail, for a crime I didn't commit." She sobbed a little more. "I have too much money, you see, and powerful enemies. Those who killed my stepfather are now after me. I'm hiding from them here and can never go back."
"Jesus Christ! And that's why you tried to ruin my life? I know at least a dozen men who'd be glad to oblige. Why pick the only one who doesn't want you?" Mukunda stared harshly.
"Maybe because he was the only one who could possibly interest me and give me the lifestyle I'm used to." Kora wiped a tear.
"What about Chad? and Uli? and the others?"
"They were just a pastime..." Kora stopped, suddenly realizing the implications. "How'd you know about them?"
"Fabienne." Mukunda's smug face suddenly made sense.
"I hate you! I hate you both!" Then the whole truth hit Kora with the force of a jackhammer pounding her brain. "You and Fabienne? When did you see her?"
"Every night since the mudslide." Mukunda grinned at her.
"Every night?" Kora started laughing hysterically. Fabienne had not gone to the police. "So, the French saint became a whore. She crossed the line after all, didn't she? She did not hesitate to sleep with her roommate's fiancé, given a chance."
"I can't expect you to understand." Mukunda's voice sounded edgy.
"Oh I understand perfectly. What else did she tell you?" Kora needed to know the extent of the damage.
"That you took birth control pills every morning."
Kora swallowed hard. How could she predict those two would ever share information? "What else?"
"Is there anything else I should know, Kora?" Mukunda's threatening stare made her shrink.
"Go to bloody hell! Both of you!" Kora turned away from him, unable to stand his sight anymore.
"You know what, Kora? I'm glad we thwarted your plans. I'm glad I took my life back from you. Fabienne and I can be very happy together, now. I feel sorry for you."
"Sorry for me?" Kora emitted a small laugh. "That would be the first time anyone felt sorry for me."
"I think Fabienne feels sorry for you too."
"Yeah, right. Get out, before I order Shankar to crush you like a gnat."
Shankar trumpeted at the mention of his name.
Mukunda smiled, bowed curtly, shoved the ring in his pocket, then disappeared through the tent flap.
In the silence that followed, Kora went to Shankar and stroked his flank. "What now, Shankar? I got myself in a bloody mess! These two are going to talk eventually. Fabienne promised to keep my secrets, but I can't really trust her, can I? I can't believe I lost control of my life. For the first time since my stepfather raped me, I feel totally helpless."
While Kora cried softly against Shankar's flank, the elephant reached and blew his trunk in the crook of her neck.
"Stop it, you big oaf." She laughed amidst the tears, kissing the elephant's rough trunk.
Chapter Twenty-three
D
arshan, encounter with the divine
At Mukunda's request, I wore the blue and gold sari for our morning audience with Baba. After removing our slippers, we stood beyond the courtyard entrance, last in the line of students, mostly westerners, waiting to talk to the holy man. All had brought a gift and carried in their eyes the hope and the nervousness that accompanied coming face to face with an enlightened being.
I felt warm and could barely contain my excitement mixed with apprehension. Mukunda looked like a mountain of serenity, balancing with great poise upon his head a huge woven basket overflowing with fresh fruit. The symbolic offering of sweet mangoes, avocados, coconuts, green and yellow papayas, and red bananas, in exchange for wisdom, was of course more practically destined for the kitchen.
To honor the native custom, Mukunda had renounced the safari suit in favor of white cotton pants and a long white scarf, the ends of which hung on his bare chest. I liked the effect, although I had to struggle to keep my eyes off the smooth muscles of his tan skin.
From under the shade of the massive basket, Mukunda smiled. "Don't worry, we'll be fine. I've a good feeling about this."
"How can you be so sure?" I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, unable to calm down.
A hush in the courtyard among the swamis, Bhramacharyas, and ashramites already seated, signaled Baba's appearance. I peeked around a column to see him enter, while the devotees bowed, foreheads touching the ground, intoning a loud "Sadgurunath Maharaj Ki Jay!" As the Siddha settled in a lotus position on his turquoise pillow, I realized the importance of the moment, and my heart almost stopped. This was my doing. Why did I have to suggest this audience? What if Baba disapproved of our union?
Behind the tinted glasses, Baba's lively eyes lined with black Kajal darted toward the courtyard entrance, searching for the first student to come forward and ask for guidance. Ever so slowly, the line in front of us trickled down. I waved away a few flies attracted by the smell of ripe fruit. The morning sun felt good on my face. Birds chirped gaily in the camellia tree. We waited longer than expected, and I worried about Mukunda, who still balanced the heavy basket on his head and refused to set it down.
Finally, the last ashramite in front of us entered the courtyard. I held my breath, all the time spying between the columns hiding us from Baba's view. The Darshan just before us didn't take long at all. After a few words, Baba sent away an obviously relieved young man who smiled and bowed profusely as he filed out of the courtyard. We then walked toward the Siddha, side by side.
When Baba's eyes set upon us, his face lit up, and he exploded into a resonant cheer. Motioning us to come forward with unusual enthusiasm, he brandished his walking stick in the air, in a show of pure joy. The guru laughed, calling Mukunda's name and speaking animatedly, although we were still too far to catch every word.
We hurried barefoot on the cool mosaic tile. As soon as we came close enough, Baba said in English, "So, my friend, you finally found a wife?"
I was dumbfounded and hid my surprise in a respectful bow. How could the holy man possibly know?
Mukunda deposited the enormous basket at Baba's feet, bowed deeply, then answered with a radiant smile, "Yes, Baba. I think I found the right one. If you approve of our decision, of course."
Baba looked straight into my soul for a confirmation that didn't need words. Too euphoric to speak calmly anyway, I smiled and bobbed in agreement.
Baba wagged his head. "Acha!" He grinned in obvious delight. "How about tomorrow? A Brahmin friend of mine is coming to visit. I'll ask him to perform the ceremony."
I couldn't believe it! A week ago I wanted to shave my head, and now I was getting married tomorrow! Things seemed to be running ahead of me in a delightful direction, but I felt totally out of control.
Mukunda's eyes opened wide. He swallowed hard and repeated in a daze, "Tomorrow?"
Baba didn't seem to notice the effect of his announcement and went on with congenial animation. "But you have to understand," he said to Mukunda, "that you two have been looking for each other a very long time. I'm sure you realize by now why I renamed you Mukunda."
"Because it was my name before?"
"Acha! And so that Fabienne would recognize it." Baba winked at me, then told Mukunda, "Now that you are reunited, don't waste your happiness, my friend."
Mukunda grinned at the old man. "Thank you for everything, Baba. Have no fear, I'll love Fabienne for the rest of my life."
"And beyond..." Baba smiled at me. "Ask Swami Satiananda for the list of ingredients needed for the ceremony. You will need to go shopping." The holy man rose in an astonishingly fluid motion for his age, then walked decisively toward the door of his lodging. After two steps, however, he turned around and faced us with mirth in his eyes. "Tomorrow will be a very auspicious day!" He left briskly, shaking with laughter all the way to the door.
"Sadgurunath Maharaj Ki Jay!" The devotees' salutation accompanied Baba's departure while delighted smiles welcomed the news of the joyous event.
*****
We now stood on the side of the road, beside the Mahindra Jeep, pouring over the hand-written list of ingredients needed for a Hindu wedding ceremony. It was three pages long.
"How can we possibly get everything together in such a short time?" I heard panic in Mukunda's voice as he scanned the list. A sheen of sweat coated his pectoral muscles.
"A trip to Mumbai would take too long," I pointed out. "Then again, weddings happen in the country all the time, and most villagers never travel to the city. How do they do it?"
Mukunda's long finger indicated a large section of the first sheet. "We can probably find these groceries and the various implements for the sacred fire from the market or from the spice-wallah."
"Right. It's market day in Ganeshpur. We can catch it if we hurry." I stepped into the Jeep.
Mukunda smiled as renewed enthusiasm supplanted worry. "Can you believe it?" He sat at the wheel, and turned on the ignition. "I still can't." He shook his head then looked at me lovingly. "Tomorrow, Fabienne... I'm so glad you suggested this Darshan."
Passed the state of shock, I felt myself flush with excitement. "Tomorrow! Wow! I can't imagine... Everything is going so fast."
As the car started and we passed the beauty shop, I saw Kora staring through the open door. I shuddered, remembering her grizzly confession. The subdued look on her face showed something akin to interest. Then, beyond all expectation, she smiled and waved at me. I didn't wave back, just stared.
Shrugging off every thought of Kora, I perused the list on the way to the village, trying to organize the busy day ahead. "This sounds almost like a recipe: rice, fruit, nuts, spices... What do they need all these groceries for?"
"They are thrown one at a time into the sacred fire as a sacrifice during the ritual."
"Sounds fine to me. Better than killing goats… And where do we find so many fresh flower garlands?"
Mukunda smiled. "Amit's family could help us with that. We'll stop by his house on the way back."
"How convenient!" I couldn’t help a little sarcasm. "I knew having so many women at his fingertips brought substantial advantages."
Mukunda laughed. "Yes, at times there is something to be said for the accommodating nature of Indian wives."
"From a male point of view, of course. But don't expect me to follow suit." I rolled my eyes in mock outrage. "I may have lived in India before, but twenty-six years of French upbringing spoiled me forever."
"I wouldn't call it exactly spoiled." Mukunda grinned. "I rather enjoy the French accent, your strength, independence, and all."
"Thank you."
I smiled, congratulating myself for the hundredth time about finding the one man who could both love and understand me. I returned to the list in my hands. "What about the red silk sari for the bride, another red sari to be used in the ritual, white silk clothes and turban for the groom?"
The Jeep came to a stop on the village square. Mukunda turned off the ignition and looked at
me. "We should be able to find those at the SilkPalace, the small fabric shop near the ashram... Although the selection may be limited."
"We don't have much choice anyway." I stepped out of the Jeep. "It'll have to do."
The Ganeshpur market mixed the calls of vendors boasting their wares with the colors of a festival day, the heat of summer, and the smell of spices, flowers, fruits, and vegetables. We wove our way around hand‑pulled wooden carts of various sizes and shapes, loaded with round metal trays, cardboard boxes, burlap sacks, or woven baskets full of goods. A colorful display of glass bangles attracted my attention. They were listed on the last page, as useful but not essential.
"Better get a dozen," Mukunda suggested casually.
"Why so many?" It sounded like a lot for someone who never wore much jewelry.
Mukunda gave me a conspiring smile. "You'll see..."
Then he spoke in Hindi with the vendor, who wagged his head and regarded me with a knowing smile. I picked a selection of red and gold ones, the traditional colors of the Hindu bride, symbolizing Shakti, the divine energy, while Mukunda haggled on the price.
A man rolling a large metal tank on a cart sold water by the glass for twenty-five paise. Despite my thirst, I resisted the urge. Indians and westerners had different notions of cleanliness. I even suspected that the advertised "spring water" had come straight from the dubious fountain a few meters away.
I wished I had more time to browse, but not today. After we found aromatic spices that the wallah measured on a hand scale with old‑fashioned weights, we bought the nuts, fruit, and various vegetables, along with sandalwood, incense, and all the implements necessary to the sacred fire.
There was a flower-wallah in the village, and we stopped at his fragrant stall hung with garlands of white ginger, red carnation and yellow marigold. Mukunda bargained with the little dark man while the young son observed.
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