A River Sutra (20 page)

To my surprise Professor Shankar's prediction proved wrong. I had also thought I would enjoy my solitude when the archaeologists were gone, despite my pleasure at the presence of the trousered girls, or the two young men always smoking cigarettes, whose activity enlivened the bungalow with the restless energy of the city.

I even gave Mr. Chagla the week off.
I had not suspected that I would feel so lonely while they were away. I found I missed the noisy lunches with the young archaeologists and their infectious enthusiasm when describing the progress of their excavations. I found I missed Professor Shankar and the pleasure of talking to a companion who shared my own background of government service.
Sitting on the terrace, meditating in the darkness before dawn, I admitted to myself that I envied the archaeologists for still belonging to a world that I had given up.
Now that I had the leisure I no longer had the inclination to visit Tariq Mia. I did not want to sit with the mullah of a small village that seemed frozen in time, untouched by the events of a larger world. With some alarm I realized I was becoming accustomed to that other rhythm the archaeologists had brought into the rest house, the rhythm of my previous life.
Without their presence the days stretched aimlessly before me, and the small tasks that occupied me in the running of the bungalow did not make the time pass more quickly.
I was relieved when the week drew to an end and I could anticipate welcoming Professor Shankar and his assistants back to the empty bungalow.
The evening before the archaeologists were to return I was sitting by myself on the veranda of the rest house, able to enjoy again the river breeze in that half hour before the sun sets, when the guard coughed below the veranda to attract my attention.
"There is a woman at the gate who wants to see you, sahib."
"What does she want?"
"I don't know, sahib. She says she must speak to you."
"I suppose you'd better fetch her."
A moment later the guard returned, followed by a slender young woman dressed in a crimson sari, holding a one-stringed instrument on her left shoulder. As she approached I saw the silver finger cymbals tied to her right hand.
"I believe you wish to hear a recitation of the river, sahib. I am a river minstrel."
I asked her name and who had sent her to the bungalow. She said nothing, not even nodding her head in answer to my questions. Oddly, her reticence did not offend me. Trying to disguise my excitement, I led her to the terrace.
Beyond the terrace the sun was striking the canals on the opposite riverbank. They glittered silver in the green fields as the minstrel laid her instrument on the stone floor and walked to the parapet.
Folding her hands, she chanted to the water,

"The sages have said
Whoever praises you
At dawn, at dusk, at night May in this human form
Acquired through the suffering of So many rebirths
Approach with honor
The feet of Shiva Himself

"You grace the earth
With your presence.
The devout call you Kripa Grace itself

"You cleanse the earth Of its impurities.
The devout call you Surasa The holy soul.

"You leap through the earth Like a dancing deer.
The devout call you Rewa The leaping one.

"But Shiva called you Delight
And laughing
Named you Narmada."

She gestured to me to sit down and picked up her instrument. The clash of finger cymbals pro
•duced a gentle beat under the drone of her instrument.

"0 copper-colored water
Below a copper-colored sky
From Shiva's penance you became water. From water you became a woman So beautiful that gods and ascetics Their loins hard with desire
Abandoned their contemplations To pursue you.

"Once and only once
In the turning Wheel of Existence The Terrible One was moved to laughter. Looking from his inward contemplation To watch you The Destroyer said,

0 damsel of the beautiful hips, Evoker of Narma, lust,
Be known as Narmada
Holiest of rivers."

"0 river, born of penance
Named by laughter,
Your disheveled streams
Inlay the stone mountains of the Vindhyas Like ichor gilds the body of an elephant. And along your riverbanks
The stamens of the green gold Nipa

flowers
Tear through their enclosing petals Desiring you.
" Woodlands heavy with wild jasmine

Embrace you with their fragrance. Hearing your approach
Young plantain trees
Burst into sudden blossom. "

The sun was setting and a torrent of colors flooded the sky, playing across the minstrel's features.

"The sages meditating on your riverbanks say You are twice-born,
Once from penance,
Once from love.

Mingled the sweat of his ardor with the drops
Of love's exertions from her breasts
Creating you from the liquid of his divine desire.

"Then he changed you into a river To cool the lusts of holy men And called you Narmada,
Soother of Desires.

"Even Shiva's semen
Is cooled to stone in your riverbed Each seed becoming
An idol wrested from your blue-black

waters,
Worshipped with flower garlands In the temples on your banks."

"0 river born of love,
Named by laughter,
Your purple waters slip like a garment From your sloping banks.

For who can bear to leave a woman, her loins bared,
Having once seen the sweetness of her body?

"Leaping antelopes
Chart your course.
Birds throng the sacred trees Shading your village squares. Rose apples darken your water. Wild mangoes fall into your coiling current Like flowers in a maiden's hair."

The sun had disappeared into the horizon. In the twilight the swaying minstrel's face was indistinct.

"It is written in the scriptures
That you were present at the birth of time When Shiva as a golden peacock
Roamed the ocean of the Void.

"You reminded the Destroyer
Creation awaited His command. Fanning then his terrible feathers, Shiva brought forth this world and the mountain
Where he sits in meditation
Until the Destruction.

"You were present at the Creation
By Shiva's command you alone will remain At the Destruction."

She turned to face me and she no longer seemed young. Perhaps it was the unlit bungalow rising like the shadow of a deserted temple behind her that made her now seem ageless.

"It is foretold by the wise who know the truth, At midnight when the dark flood comes You will turn into a girl
As radiant as a column of luster.

"Holding a trident in your slender hand you will say
'Sages, leave your forest hermitages. Do not delay. The time of great destruction

" 'While the Destroyer dances All will be destroyed.
I and I alone am sanctuary.

" 'Bring your knowledge of mankind And follow me.
I will lead you to the next Creation.' "

A figure was crossing the garden. As he came nearer I saw it was Professor Shankar. The minstrel did not see him. She was swaying with her instrument, facing the river to sing Shankaracharya's hymn,

"0 Messenger of Passing Time, 0 Sanctuary and Salvation, You dissolve the fear of time itself 0 holy Narmada.

"You remove the stains of evil. You release the wheel of suffering. You lift the burdens of the world. 0 holy Narmada."

Alighting herons play upon your tranquil surface.
Fish and crocodiles are gathered in your embrace.
0 holy Narmada.

"Bards and ascetics sing your wonders. Gamblers, cheats, and dancers praise you. We all find refuge in your embrace 0 holy Narmada."

The minstrel folded her hands to the river. For a moment she stood with her head bowed above the dark water. Then, laying her instrument on the floor, she walked toward us.

I reached into my pocket for money but she moved past me and bent to touch Professor Shankar's feet.

Professor Shankar raised her from the ground. "Are you well, Uma?"
"Yes, Naga Baba. They said you wanted me to come."
I stared at the two of them in shock, unable to comprehend what was happening.
"Where do you go from here?"
"I am making my way to the coast."
Professor Shankar laughed. "To find a husband, like the Narmada found her Lord of Rivers?"
"You can see into the future, Naga Baba. You know if it will be so."
"The future reveals itself to everyone in time. Come, I'll drive you back to Rudra."
He moved forward to help the minstrel with her instrument. I stepped between them.
"You?" I demanded. "An ascetic?"
"Not any more."
"But you can't be the Naga Baba!"
I waited for him to contradict me. He remained silent, watching me through his heavy spectacles.
"You can't be the Naga Baba!" I shouted, frustrated by the archaeologist's silence. "He is in a cave somewhere, seeking higher enlightenment." "No. He has reentered the world."
I gripped Professor Shankar's arm. He did not move but I felt I was being pushed backward and my fingers lost their hold.
Professor Shankar observed my agitation with polite indifference as I struggled to form another question.
"What do you want to know?" he asked at last. "Why you became an ascetic, why you stopped. What all this means."
"I have no great truths to share, my friend," he said patiently. "I told you, I am only a man." I could not believe my ears. "Was it worth so much pain to discover something so obvious?" Professor Shankar remained silent, and again his silence infuriated me.
"Is this your enlightenment? Is this why you endured all those penances?"
He gave me an ironic smile. "Don't you know the soul must travel through eighty-four thousand births in order to become a man?"
He turned and I almost didn't hear him add, "Only then can it reenter the world."
I tried to decipher the meaning of his words as Professor Shankar walked toward the minstrel waiting at the end of the terrace.
He put his arm around the minstrel's slender shoulder. They moved across the garden toward the gate. I stood there in the darkness watching them, unable to believe he had ever been a naked ascetic, unable to convince myself he had not.
The jeep doors slammed shut and headlights pierced the jungle, throwing strange shadows across the bamboo groves. Sudden arcs of light raked the darkness as the jeep roared down the twisting path that led to Rudra. I stared at the flashes of illumination, wondering for the first time what I would do if I ever left the bungalow.
The jeep disappeared around the curve of the hill into the night and I turned back to the terrace.
The temple bells were clanging in the distance at Mahadeo. Behind me the servants were switching on the lights in the bungalow.
I leaned over the parapet to look at the river.
Below the terrace the water flowed black under a moonless sky.
At the bend of the river the clay lamps were still flickering as the current carried them toward the ocean.