Read Online Song of the Cuckoo Bird: A Novel by Amulya Malladi - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Amulya Malladi
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interested you will not be shown the door at my home.
“I don’t know about the photographs you wish to take as I am a very private person and would be uncomfortable. But you are welcome to take photos of Tella Meda. The house is a beautiful piece of architecture and emanates a serenity I have not felt or seen elsewhere. It is a beautiful home with a clean soul. I hope you will see it as I do. We look forward to your visit in September, but I must warn you that the monsoon season will have taken hold of us by then and hurricanes may strike, submerging us in water.
“But I can promise you peace and excellent but simple south Indian food. Regards, Charvi.”
Mark had been touched that she called herself just Charvi and no title of “Amma,” “Guru,” or “Bhagwan” anointed her name. His friend had told him that she was just twenty-five years old but mature for her age. She even looked older, his friend had said, with some graying hair and wrinkles beneath her eyes, but she was a beautiful woman, with the goddess shining on her face.
He had not believed his friend, who had recently taken a Hindu name, but with one look at Charvi Mark became a believer. This woman was Devi, Amma, Circe, Goddess, Venus all blended into one. She was light-skinned and unlike most Indian women could pass for a foreigner easily. Her eyes were not dark but light brown, filled with mystery. But it was her voice that undid him.
When she talked about Indian mythology, the Upanishads, the Bhagavad-Gita, he was enchanted and he realized that at the age of forty he was experiencing a schoolboy crush on a woman who was believed by all around her to be a goddess.
Kokila and Chetana couldn’t keep their eyes off the white man. They both thought he was the most handsome man they had ever seen and Chetana boldly dressed up in her best half- sari to attract his attention. Not as bold as Chetana, Kokila would watch from behind doors and windows.
Mark Talbot was quite popular with the ladies of the ashram. Subhadra thought he was a wonderful man and spoke to him in her prim, accented English. Since Kokila and Chetana spoke very little English, Chetana struggled to learn as fast as she could.
But it was Charvi who fell in love with him. It was not the white skin, the tight pants, or anything else superficial that drew her to him, it was his photographs. He took pictures of Tella Meda and at the local photo studio used the darkroom to process the film himself. The house was magnificent. It looked better in his photos than it did standing in reality. The Bay of Bengal looked like a lethal water mass in one photo and a serene tropical paradise in another. This man was full of contradictions and he spoke intelligently of Indian culture and traditions. He seemed to understand religion even though he claimed he wasn’t religious.
He never judged Charvi’s role in Tella Meda, never questioned her godliness, and never implied that he thought her to be fraudulent or that he believed she was an Amma. He treated her with respect and Charvi could see the attraction he felt for her. His cologne, his voice, the smell of his soap, everything filled her with longing. Sometimes she would pass on meditation in the afternoon and instead think about him. She would lie in bed at night and wonder how it would feel to have him touch her, there, here, everywhere.
Another resident arrived two days after Mark Talbot did. Renuka was an acquaintance of Subhadra’s, and also a relative in a convoluted way. Her husband had just passed away and, not wanting to spend her golden years with her sons and their “bitchy and ungrateful” wives, she had decided to come to the ashram. Subhadra warned her that she would have to pay some kind of rent and help with the day-to-day operation of the ashram. The rent as such was meager and Renuka’s husband’s pension helped pay for it but when it came to doing work around the ashram she couldn’t seem to find anything that she wanted
“I don’t know about the photographs you wish to take as I am a very private person and would be uncomfortable. But you are welcome to take photos of Tella Meda. The house is a beautiful piece of architecture and emanates a serenity I have not felt or seen elsewhere. It is a beautiful home with a clean soul. I hope you will see it as I do. We look forward to your visit in September, but I must warn you that the monsoon season will have taken hold of us by then and hurricanes may strike, submerging us in water.
“But I can promise you peace and excellent but simple south Indian food. Regards, Charvi.”
Mark had been touched that she called herself just Charvi and no title of “Amma,” “Guru,” or “Bhagwan” anointed her name. His friend had told him that she was just twenty-five years old but mature for her age. She even looked older, his friend had said, with some graying hair and wrinkles beneath her eyes, but she was a beautiful woman, with the goddess shining on her face.
He had not believed his friend, who had recently taken a Hindu name, but with one look at Charvi Mark became a believer. This woman was Devi, Amma, Circe, Goddess, Venus all blended into one. She was light-skinned and unlike most Indian women could pass for a foreigner easily. Her eyes were not dark but light brown, filled with mystery. But it was her voice that undid him.
When she talked about Indian mythology, the Upanishads, the Bhagavad-Gita, he was enchanted and he realized that at the age of forty he was experiencing a schoolboy crush on a woman who was believed by all around her to be a goddess.
Kokila and Chetana couldn’t keep their eyes off the white man. They both thought he was the most handsome man they had ever seen and Chetana boldly dressed up in her best half- sari to attract his attention. Not as bold as Chetana, Kokila would watch from behind doors and windows.
Mark Talbot was quite popular with the ladies of the ashram. Subhadra thought he was a wonderful man and spoke to him in her prim, accented English. Since Kokila and Chetana spoke very little English, Chetana struggled to learn as fast as she could.
But it was Charvi who fell in love with him. It was not the white skin, the tight pants, or anything else superficial that drew her to him, it was his photographs. He took pictures of Tella Meda and at the local photo studio used the darkroom to process the film himself. The house was magnificent. It looked better in his photos than it did standing in reality. The Bay of Bengal looked like a lethal water mass in one photo and a serene tropical paradise in another. This man was full of contradictions and he spoke intelligently of Indian culture and traditions. He seemed to understand religion even though he claimed he wasn’t religious.
He never judged Charvi’s role in Tella Meda, never questioned her godliness, and never implied that he thought her to be fraudulent or that he believed she was an Amma. He treated her with respect and Charvi could see the attraction he felt for her. His cologne, his voice, the smell of his soap, everything filled her with longing. Sometimes she would pass on meditation in the afternoon and instead think about him. She would lie in bed at night and wonder how it would feel to have him touch her, there, here, everywhere.
Another resident arrived two days after Mark Talbot did. Renuka was an acquaintance of Subhadra’s, and also a relative in a convoluted way. Her husband had just passed away and, not wanting to spend her golden years with her sons and their “bitchy and ungrateful” wives, she had decided to come to the ashram. Subhadra warned her that she would have to pay some kind of rent and help with the day-to-day operation of the ashram. The rent as such was meager and Renuka’s husband’s pension helped pay for it but when it came to doing work around the ashram she couldn’t seem to find anything that she wanted
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