The Moghul Part 68

Once, back in the time of the G.o.ds, Lord Shiva was burdened with unhappiness. He was bereaved of his consort and weary with his being.

And he wandered into a forest, where there were sages and their wives.

But the sages scorned Lord Shiva, because he was haggard, and they forsook him in his time of sadness. So he had to make his way through the forest begging alms. However, the women of these sages felt love for him, and they left the beds of their men and followed him. When the sages saw their wives leaving to follow Shiva, they set a curse on him.

Their curse was that his lingam would fall to the ground. Then one day Shiva did shed his lingam. And he was gone. Only his lingam remained, emerging upright from the earth. It had become stone, and it was of infinite length. All the other G.o.ds came to worship it, and told mankind to do likewise. They said that if it was worshiped, Shiva's consort, the G.o.ddess Parvati, would come to receive the lingam in her _yoni_, and the earth would be made fertile. And even now we worship the stone lingam, set erect with a stone _yoni _as its base. We honor them with flowers and fire and incense. Shiva and Parvati are a symbol of the creation of life." She looked at him, puzzling. "Don't Christians have such a symbol?"

"Not quite like that one." Hawksworth suppressed a grin. "I guess the main symbol for Christians is the cross."

"What do you mean?"

"Christians believe the Son of the Christian G.o.d came down to earth and sacrificed Himself on a cross. So the cross became a symbol for that act."

"Yes, I've seen that symbol. Jesuits wear them, covered with jewels.

But I never knew its meaning." Kamala paused, seeming to ponder the idea. "Somehow though it seems very static. Surely there are other symbols the Christians have, symbols more dynamic and powerful."

"I suppose Christians think it's pretty powerful."

"But don't Christians have any symbols like our bronze statues of the Dancing Shiva? Lord Shiva, in his aspect as Nataraj, the G.o.d of the Dance, embodies everything in the world."

"That's what you said to Arangbar." Hawksworth examined her and tried to clear his mind of the wine. "But I don't understand why you think symbols are so important, whatever their meaning."

"Symbols are a visible sign of things we know but can't actually see, like an idea." Kamala's voice was soft and warm.

"All right. But it's hard to imagine how one symbol could contain everything, no matter what it is."

"But the Dancing Shiva does, my handsome _feringhi_. Perhaps you have not seen it. It came out of the great civilization of the south. Let me explain it for you, and then perhaps you will understand why dance is the deepest form of worship." Kamala rose, bells tinkling, and a.s.sumed a dance posture, arms outstretched, one foot raised across the other.

Nadir Sharifs Muslim servants paused to stare in amazement. "The bronze statues of Dancing Shiva have four arms, so you will have to imagine the other two. One leg is crossed over the other and raised, as you see now. And the figure stands inside a great circle of bronze." She made a momentary sweep around her body with her hands. "On this circle are flame tips everywhere pointing outward. The circle signifies the world as we know it, the world of time and of things, and the flame tips are the limitless energy of the universe. Lord Shiva dances within this great circle, because he is everywhere. In fact, the universe itself was created through his dance. And our world here is merely his _lila_, his sport"

"You mean he created both good and bad? Christians believe there's evil only because woman tempted man into sin somewhere along the way."

"Sin? What do you mean by that?" Kamala stared at him blankly for a moment. "Whatever it is, Shiva created it. His dance created everything in nature."

"What does he look like, besides having four arms?"

"First, he has long hair, which represents the hair of the yogi, the contemplative one, and this long hair streams out from his head, to the very ends of the universe, since he has all knowledge. And each of his four arms has a different meaning. In this one, the upper right arm, he holds a small drum, signifying sound, music and words, the first thing that appeared in the universe. And in his left hand he holds a burning fire, his symbol of destruction. He creates and he also destroys. His lower right hand is held up in a sign." She held up her hand, palm out as though in a blessing. "This is a _mudra_, part of the hand language we use in the dance, and it means 'fear not'; it is his benediction of peace. The fourth hand points down toward his feet. One foot is crushing a repugnant, powerful dwarf, who represents man's willfulness, and the other is held up against the forces of the earth, signifying man's spiritual freedom." Kamala paused and looked at Hawksworth hopefully. "Do you understand? Do you see how the Dancing Shiva symbolizes everything--s.p.a.ce, time, creation, destruction? And also hope."

Hawksworth scratched his head in silent confoundment. Kamala watched him, then sighed and resumed her seat on the floor.

"Then just try to feel what I am saying. Words really cannot express these ideas as well as dance. When we dance we invoke the energy, and the life force, that moves through the world, outside its great cycles of time."

Hawksworth picked up his winegla.s.s and drew on it. "To tell the truth, I find your Hindu symbols a trifle abstract."

"But they're not, really. They merely embody truths already within us.

Like the life force. We do not have to think about it. It's simply there. And we can reach out and experience this force when woman and man join together in union. That is our _lila_, our play. That's why we worship Lord Shiva with dance, and with _kama_."

As Hawksworth watched, sipping his wine and scarcely understanding her words, he realized he had begun to desire this bizarre woman intensely.

"You haven't told me what _kama _is."

"That's because I'm not sure you can understand." She scrutinized him professionally. "How old are you?"

"I'm closer to forty than thirty."

"Time, I think, has treated you harshly. Or is it the spirits you drink?"

"What's wrong with a bit of grog now and then?"

"I think you should not drink so much. I drink nothing. Look at me."

She pushed back the hair from both sides of her forehead. Her face was flawless. "You know most Muslims despise their women after thirty, usually before, but many young officers still ask to visit me. Can you guess how old I am?"

"A woman only asks that if she thinks she looks younger than she is."

"I'm over fifty." She examined him directly, invitingly. "How much over you must only speculate."

"I don't want to. I'm still trying to figure out what exactly happened tonight." He studied her. "But whatever it was, I'm not sure I care anymore."

Hawksworth shoved aside his plates of lamb and rice pilaf and watched as the servants began hastily clearing the carpet.

In the quiet that followed he reached behind him to his chest, opened the latch, and took out his lute. Kamala watched with curiosity.

"What instrument is that?"

"Someone in Surat once called it an English sitar."

Kamala laughed. "It's far too plain for that. But it does have a simple beauty. Will you play it for me?"

"For you, and for me." Hawksworth strummed a chord. The white plaster walls echoed back the wave of notes, a choir of thin voices. "It brings back my sea legs when I'm ash.o.r.e."

"Now I do not understand you. But I will listen."

He began a short, plaintive galliard. Suddenly his heart was in London, with honest English faces, clear English air. And he felt an overwhelming ache of separation. He played through to the end, then wistfully laid the lute aside. After a moment Kamala reached for his winegla.s.s and held it for him, waiting.

"The music of your English sitar is simple, young Amba.s.sador. Like the instrument itself. But I think it moves you. Perhaps I felt something of your loneliness in the notes." She paused and studied him quietly.

"But you yourself are not simple. Nothing about you comes easily. I sense you are filled with something you cannot express." She looked at him a moment longer, and then her voice came again, soft as the wine.

"Why did you say what you did to Arangbar tonight? I was nothing to you. You violated my _dharma_. Perhaps it is true, as many tell me, that I have mastered the arts of _kama _more fully than any woman in Agra, but still there is less and less pleasure in my life. What will you do now? Perhaps you think I belong to you, like some courtesan you have bought. But you are wrong. I belong to no man."

"You're here because someone wanted you here." Hawksworth glanced around them. The room was empty now save for Kamala's two musicians. "I don't know why, but I do know you're the first person I've met in a long time who was not afraid of Arangbar. The last one was a woman in Surat." Hawksworth paused suddenly. "I'm starting to wonder if you know her."

"I don't know anyone in Surat." She swept him with her eyes. "But what does some woman in Surat have to do with me?'

"Perhaps someone thought I should meet you."

"Who? Someone in Surat? But why?"

"Perhaps she thought I needed . . . I don't know exactly."

"Then tell me what you mean by 'need'? That's an odd phrase, a _feringhi _expression. Perhaps you mean our meeting is part of your _dharma_?"

"You mean like it's a Rajput's _dharma _to be a warrior and kill?"

"_Dharma_ can be many things. It's what each of us must do, our purpose."