The Karma of Love (Bantam Series No. 14) (19 page)

“More than I have ever wanted anything in my whole life before! So I have made plans, my precious, to which I hope you will agree.”

“I will agree to
...
anything,” Orissa cried passionately, “as long as I can be with
...
you.”

“That is what I wanted you to say,” he answered, “but there was no time to court you as I should have done.”

He gave her a little smile with the twist to his lips which she remembered so well.

“I apologise for needling you emotionally hut it was essential if we were to be married at once and have just a week’s honeymoon before we travel home.”

He sensed there was a faint cloud in Orissa’s eyes at the thought of returning to England, and he said softly:

“Shall I make you happy, my Sweetheart, by telling you it will not
b
e for long? I am to be offered a new position in India, one where I think it would be extremely advantageous to have a wife who not only loves the country but also speaks Urdu.”

“A new position?” Orissa queried. “What is it?”

“The Viceroy has told me that Her Majesty wishes to appoint me as Lieutenant-Governor of the NorthWest Provinces
!
”

He felt Orissa draw in her breath and he added:

“Will that please you, my adventurous little love?”

“You know,” Orissa said and now once again there were tears in her eyes, “that I could not think of anything more perfect, more absolutely wonderful, than to be with ... you and for ... us to be in India.”

Orissa stood on the verandah and looked into the garden.

She could not have believed that anything could be so beautiful.

Rhododendrons—crimson, pink, red, vermilion and white, swept up the hillside behind the small bungalow towards the great sun-capped mountains which lay behind them.

In the garden itself there was a profusion of flowers
of every sort and colour from the scented orchid to the sweet fragrance of the lily-of-the-valley.

The birds were singing their evening hymn of praise, and Orissa had a glimpse of a Himalayan pheasant scuttling through
the
blossom-laden shrubs, the bird with the most brilliant plumage in the world.

From the servants’ quarters at the back of the bungalow which Myron had been lent for their honeymoon, she could hear the soft chatter of sing-song voices and the creak of the water-wheel as the fat, old buffalo plodded round and round to bring the water to the surface.

It was all so lovely, so dear and so familiar that she held her breath in case it should prove to be a mirage that would vanish suddenly before her eyes.

She was wearing a turquoise-blue sari deeply embroidered with silver thread and pearls and around her neck there was a turquoise and diamond necklace.

They had both been part of her wedding gifts from her husband and on her finger also set with diamonds was an enormous turquoise, the stone which all over the East is considered lucky.

She had been married in a simple white muslin gown in the nearest Church to the Lawrences’ house. The only witnesses had been the Colonel and his wife.

Afterwards they had driven away, but the last part of their journey had been on the backs of sure-footed little mountain ponies.

Every moment their surroundings had grown more beautiful. Every twist and turn of the mountain path had made Orissa think she was drawing nearer to Paradise.

‘I am married ... I have found love ... we are together
!”
’ she had whispered to herself, vividly conscious of the man riding with her.

Now she heard his footsteps behind her on the verandah and she felt as if every nerve in her body tingled with her awareness of him.

He came to her side.

“It is so beautiful, so incredibly, unbelievably beautiful!” she said softly.

“That is what I thought,” he said, “when I first saw you.”

She turned her head to look up at him and felt she could not breathe because of the expression in his eyes.

“You despised me!” she said. “I saw the ... contempt in your face!”

“I still thought you beautiful,” he answered, “which was why it hurt me that you were involved in anything so unsavoury as an intrigue.”

“And yet you ... kissed me that night on the
.
.. ship.”

“I could not help myself,” he said, “you were so exquisitely lovely as you turned your face up to the
stars. Then, as you are well aware, Orissa, something happened we could neither of us forget.”

“I did not know
a...
kiss could be like ... that.”

“Nor did I, and afterwards when I knew that spiritually we belonged to each other, you drove me mad with jealousy.
If
you only knew how the thought of that husband in the East India Company tortured me.
”

Orissa gave a little laugh and slipped her hand into his.

“And ... now?” she asked, her eyes on his face.

He was about to reply when the bearer behind them said:

“Dinner is served, Mem-Sahib.”

Hand-in-hand they went into the Dining-Room.

They were waited on by two servants and ate the dishes which Orissa loved: trout from the streams running down from the snows, hot curries with the little bowls of colourful spices, fruits that had been picked that very morning from the trees.

It was dark when dinner was finished and they talked together for a long time.

The candles on the
table glinted on Orissa’s neck
lace and brought out the lights in her hair in which, Indian fashion, she had arranged a spray of fragrant tuberoses.

It was so wonderful to know that their minds were in accord, that they stimulated each other’s thoughts, and that there were a million subjects to explore together.

But there were also little pregnant silences when Orissa knew that heart spoke to heart and there was no need for words.

At last Myron pushed back his chair and putting his arm around Orissa’s shoulders drew her out onto the verandah again.

It was not cold. The heat of the day had passed to leave behind the gentle coolness of a summer’s night in England.

It was very quiet. The birds had gone to rest and stars bestrewed the sky, glittering like jewels against a velvet backgroun
d. Th
ere was a crescent moon high over the farthest mountain peak.

“Do you still feel small, insignificant and lonely?” he asked.

“Not any more,” Orissa replied, “not when I am ... close to you, when I know that at last
I
...
belong.

“We have always belonged to each other,” he answered. “This is not the first time we have met, Orissa, nor will it be the last. You are indivisibly a part of me as I am a part of you.”

“Mr. Mahla was right,” Orissa said softly. “He said that our Fate ... our Karma ... was written and we could do nothing about it”

“I have no wish to alter mine,” Myron said softly.

As he spoke he put his fingers under Orissa’s chin and turned her face up to his.

For a moment he looked down into the darkness of her eyes and then his mouth was on hers and he held her captive.

She knew then there was no escape even if she had wished it
.

They were an absolute part of each other and nothing could separate them.

“I love you!” he said and she heard the passion in his voice. “God, how I love you, and how much I have wanted you since the first moment we saw each other!”

“I think I knew when you
...
kissed me that I would never be
...
complete unless I belonged to you.”

“As
you do now, my darling,” he said. “You are mine! Mine, and nothing can ever separate us.”

He kissed her until she felt that the world whirled around her, that the stars fell from the sky to encircle them, and her lips were no longer her own but his.

“I love ... you,” she whispered. “I did not believe that
such...
happiness was possible.”

He could feel her quivering against him, and he knew from the new depth in her voice and the response of her lips that he had aroused a flame within her to complement the burning desire in himself.

‘
I
will look after you, protect you, and worship you, not only in this life, but in all our lives to come,” he vowed.

“It is ... Karma,” she whispered.

“The Karma of Love!”

As he spoke he drew her close against his heart and through the open window into the darkness of the bedroom.

The white mosquito netting was draped high on the canopy above the bed. It was not necessary at this time of year, but it looked like the gossamer sails of a fairy ship.

Myron stopped in the centre of the room and very gently he unclasped the turquoise necklace he had given Orissa.

Then he took the tuberoses from her hair and the pins which held it in place. The long dark strands fell over her shoulders almost to her waist.

He kissed one.

“When I held you in my arms in the cave,” he said, “your hair smelt of jasmine. It has haunted me ever since.”

She could not speak, and she felt his hands draw away the turquoise sari which fell in a silken pool at her feet.

The moonlight coming through the window enveloped her with its silver light, and she stood like a lotus bloom coming into flower.

She was not shy, the magic of Krishna had caught her up into an ecstasy of wonder, so that she was one with the mountains, the snowy peaks, the star-strewn sky, the gods.

Myron stood looking at her and held his breath. “Could anyone be so beautiful?” he asked hoarsely. “Are you real or only a dream?”

As if her voice came from a long distance, she whispered:

“I am
...
ever and always
...
only yours.”

Then his mouth took possession of her and his heart was on hers.

Barbara Cartland,
the celebrated romantic author, historian, playwright, lecturer, political speaker and television personality, has now written over 150 books. Miss Cartland has had a number of historical books published and several biographical ones, including that of her brother, Major Ronald Cartland, who was the first Member of Parliament to be killed in the War. This book had a Foreword by Sir Winston Churchill.

In private life, Barbara Cartland, who is a Dame of the Order of St John of Jerusalem, has fought for better conditions and salaries for Midwives and Nurses. As President of the Royal College of Midwives (Hertfordshire Branch), she has been invested with the first Badge of Office ever given in Great Britain, which was subscribed to by the Midwives themselves. She has also championed the cause for old people and founded the first Romany Gypsy Camp in the world.

Barbara Cartland is deeply interested in Vitamin Therapy and is President of the British National Association for Health.