A River Sutra
Gita Mehta
Language: English
Pages: 304
ISBN: 0679752471
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
With imaginative lushness and narrative elan, Mehta provides a novel that combines Indian storytelling with thoroughly modern perceptions into the nature of love--love both carnal and sublime, treacherous and redeeming. "Conveys a world that is spiritual, foreign, and entirely accessible."--Vanity Fair. Reading tour.
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The high voice sing, “I prostrate my head to the blade of Your sword. O, the wonder of Your guidance. O, the wonder of my submission.” The next evening Mohammed-sahib confessed, “I am not as musical as you, Master. God will forgive me for not accompanying you tonight.” So Master Mohan went alone to hear the Quawwali singers. The young woman and the blind child were sitting under the podium, still there when the other spectators had gone. He waited all evening, hoping to hear the child’s.
London while working toward his accountancy degree, offered odds on the movement of two clouds in the sky outside our office windows. The exact time a peon would take to bring us tea. Whose bored wife’s eye would next begin to wander. Everything was an occasion for a wager. When I was offered the choice between managing a tea estate or going on an executive training course, the betting began again. “Avoid the estate, yaar. You’ll be an alcoholic in a year.” “Six months.” “Nine.” Despite the.
When he sold me to her. But that woman never treated me like a daughter. She just kept me in that house for those men.” “What is your real name?” “I don’t know. In that house they called me Chand, Moonlight.” “Why?” “The customers chose the name, they said my skin is as soft as moonlight.” “When we reach our destination,” the Naga Baba said gently, “you will never have to fear such men again.” And so they climbed the jagged hills of the Satpura Range until they reached the Amarkantak.
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.” The minstrel closed her eyes and seemed to enter a trance, as she swayed from side to side. “O river born of love,.
Gems that have suffocated me all day. I enter the silence of my marble bathroom. Standing under the shower I let the cool, clear water wash the caked dust from my body, the chaotic scenes of the procession from my mind. Suddenly I am paralyzed by fear. This is the last time I will embrace my children, or laugh with my brother. The last time I will enjoy the privacy of my bathroom. A servant is knocking at the bathroom door. “The barber has arrived. Your father is calling for you.” I abandon all.