Veils of Silk (48 page)

After thought, she said apologetically, "I'm sorry, I find your explanation rather abstract. Can you be more specific?"

"I shall try." Srinivasa studied the diagrams pensively. "Mars and Saturn, courage and duty, are very strong in your husband. He is a warrior, with a warrior's strength, and a warrior's weakness, which is the inability to accept that his strength has limits. He torments himself because of his own perceived failings, not seeing them as necessary steps on
the path. Jupiter, planet of faith and joy and growth, is also inherently strong, but it has been heavily afflicted for the last two years or so. An imprisonment of body, and now of spirit."

The chart had given the priest an understanding of Ian that was in some ways better than Laura's. A little afraid of what she might learn about herself, she said, "What are my strengths and weaknesses, Srinivasa?"

He smiled. "The feminine strength of Venus and the moon, of warmth and instinct and acceptance. You also have the strength of Mars and Saturn to command, but there is an imbalance of the masculine and feminine energies and a fear of your own power. A fear of all passion." He tapped the chart with his nail. "Events are now forcing you to confront the imbalance. Very soon you will begin to master the energies, though you will not be fully in balance until the birth of your son."

Laura caught her breath in disbelief. "Ian and I will have a son?"

"Yes, and…" His words were cut off when Kamala gave a warning cough. Regretfully the priest said, "Again I forgot that you do not want to know the future in too great detail. But you will not be surprised to hear that soon you will travel across the sea to a home that is very old, but new to you."

Laura nodded, a little dazed. Before today, she had vaguely assumed that astrology was a superstition that had died out in Europe and good riddance, but the Brahmin's skill was rapidly making a believer of her. He was saying things that no stranger could know, things she had not hinted at even to Kamala.

Srinivasa looked back at the diagrams and his brows drew together. "There is an ill-omened fixed star that I do not fully understand," he murmured, stroking his chin. "The planet of war will soon afflict critical points in the charts of you and your husband." Frowning, he glanced at Kamala for a moment. Then slowly, as if he was thinking out loud, he continued, "Great danger is imminent, but you will survive unscathed. "Your husband…" He pursed his lips. "Very soon your husband will be beneath the earth."

It took a moment to absorb the meaning of the statement. Then Laura realized that he had just predicted that Ian would soon die. As terror swept through her, she exclaimed, "No!"

When Srinivasa glanced up, mild surprise on his face, Laura sprang to her feet, her knee hitting the low table and jarring it so that the horoscope papers rustled across the ebony surface. "This is superstition and I won't listen to any more," she said with horror. "It can't be true and I won't believe it!"

Then she turned blindly and rushed through the arches that led into the courtyard. Ian beneath the earth, dead and cold, his strength and laughter stilled forever. No, she would not believe it, for belief was unbearable.

Yet she could not dismiss the prediction no matter how much she wanted to, for the priest had been right about so many other things.
Very soon your husband will be beneath the earth
. How soon was very soon? If the Brahmin spoke truly, there was enough time left for her to conceive a child. But how could that happen? She wasn't pregnant yet, and she and Ian were physically more estranged now than they
had ever been.

She stopped under the mulberry tree that provided shade for the courtyard and pressed a hand over the tight pain in
her chest, too confused and unhappy to know what to think. The Brahmin had referred to Ian's death as calmly as he had
mentioned the voyage over the sea, but then, the priest seemed to view death as not much more significant than changing one's clothing. Perhaps in a spiritual sense he was
right, but Laura wasn't detached enough to take the broad view. She wanted Ian alive and happy, preferably with her,but if not, at least somewhere on God's green earth, breathing the same air that she breathed. He deserved some happiness, after all he had endured.

Kamala's soft voice sounded behind her. "Laura, are you all right? I thought you would find the horoscopes amusing and perhaps enlightening. I'm sorry you were upset."

Laura closed her eyes and made an effort to regain her composure before
turning to her friend. "I'm sorry, Kamala. I hope Srinivasa doesn't feel insulted," she said in a voice that was almost even. "Perhaps he should do horoscopes only for Indians. As a European, I'm uncomfortable with the idea that the future is fixed and immutable."

Undeceived, Kamala studied her face. "Walk with me, Laura. You are troubled, and not only because of what the priest said."

Laura accepted the suggestion gratefully, and the women made their way through the palace and into the grounds. The park seemed to stretch forever, and it was a realm of peace and ever changing beauty. Elegant pavilions were hidden amidst lush greenery, little brooks made music of falling water, and the brilliance of the flowers was rivaled by the bright birds that flashed through the trees and sang to the sky.

Walking helped Laura regain her equanimity. As they crossed a bridge that arched over a small waterfall, she said, "I'm sorry to have reacted so foolishly to what Srinivasa said. His comments about our characters and problems were very interesting, but I can't believe that future events can be predicted."

"It's true that East and West view the world differently, so horoscopes might not have the same meaning for Europeans," the maharani said reflectively. "Perhaps what would be fixed for an Indian is only a possibility for you." She glanced at Laura, her almond eyes teasing. "I think you should accept the predictions of a son and a long, happy life and dismiss the rest."

"I don't know about the long life, but I don't believe that; we'll ever have a child," Laura said bleakly. "There are… problems in our marriage that make it unlikely. And it's all my fault."

"Do you want to tell me about it?" Kamala said in her gentle voice. "As a confidence from one woman to another?"

Laura hesitated, wondering if discussing their marriage with an outsider would be an unpardonable violation of Ian's privacy. But she desperately needed to unburden herself to someone wiser in matters of both the heart and the body. "If you have the patience, I would love to hear what you think. If ever a woman has been completely at ease with herself and her femaleness, it's you." Laura tried to smile. "But I warn you, you'll think I'm very foolish."

"Nothing that happens between friends is foolish," the maharani said serenely. "Come, one of my favorite spots is ahead. No one will disturb us there."

Another minute of walking brought them to a small clearing where pollen danced in the sun and the scent of flowers hung heavy in the air. Laura's gaze immediately went to the two swings that hung side by side from the branch of a massive tree. Thick ropes of twisted silk and seats cushioned to protect royal derrieres from discomfort showed that they were not playthings for children, but amusements fit for a princess.

Kamala perched on the right-hand swing, her small, sandal-clad feet skimming the velvety grass. "Now tell me why you think you're foolish."

Laura perched on the other swing and pushed her feet against the ground to set herself into motion. "One thing Srinivasa said that was certainly true is that I fear passion." As she swung back and forth, she repeated what she had already revealed to Ian. This time, the words came a little more easily.

After revealing her background, she described the curious matching of needs that had led her and Ian to marry. Kamala gave a startled glance at the mention of Ian's impotence—since it was no longer true, Laura felt that her original promise of silence was no longer in force—but made no comment beyond an occasional sympathetic sound. She simply listened, face gravely attentive, her silk sari fluttering gently as she swung back and forth.

When she finished her story, Laura asked, "What do you think, Kamala—is the situation hopeless?"

"Nothing is hopeless, Laura, and certainly not your marriage." The maharani tilted her head as she considered. "I think that in your mind, you have confused two different fears—not surprising given the example set by your parents. The lesser, normal fear is of your own longings. All innocents
are a little afraid of passion—not only women, but men, too. It's frightening to
know that one's will and judgment can be swept away by the embrace of the
beloved, and that is doubly true for someone of strong emotions, like you. Yet I
think that if you had had different parents, your fears would have been no more
than those of any young woman."

Laura sighed. She had hoped that Kamala would have some magical answer, but apparently that wasn't to be. "But I did have passionate, destructive parents. I share their blood, their flaws, and their doom—the inability to control passion. The proof is in the way I behaved about Edward."

The maharani wrinkled her nose. "I think you attach too much weight to that experience. You were an innocent then. Never again will you be so vulnerable, or so angry. The problem was not passion, but betrayal." She smiled a little. "Remember, you didn't actually hurt him, only the chair."

"I'd like to believe that I would never behave so wildly again, but the example of my parents terrifies me."

"The problem in their case was not passion itself, but rather jealousy and immaturity, which are not at all the same thing," Kamala said calmly. "Your father behaved like a child, your mother responded in kind, and like children they destroyed the object of their conflict—in this case, their marriage."

"Is it possible to have passion without jealousy?" Laura asked with honest bewilderment.

"But of course. This is exactly where your confusion lies. If your parents had loved and trusted each other enough, there would have been no problem." Kamala thought for a moment. "They must have enjoyed the childish games and fights, and it is true that such things can sometimes be amusing. But when real trouble arrived, they didn't know how to act wisely. Your father, with his melancholia, was incapable of balancing passion, and your mother allowed herself to be caught up in the same destructive dance. But your mother's second marriage was happy, was it not?"

"Yes, but I've always thought that was because it was less passionate."

"Perhaps, perhaps not, though my guess is that there was more there than you realized." Elbows around the ropes, the maharani let her swing drift to a stop. "Tatyana had become wiser. Also, her second husband must not have found jealousy amusing. He sounds like a man who knew how to use passion wisely rather than lashing it about like a child. Hence, they were able to love each other without destruction."

"It took a catastrophe for my mother to learn her lesson. Do you think I can do better than that?" Laura said wistfully.

"The key, as I said, is trust." Kamala raised her feet and leaned back against the ropes so that the swing moved in longer arcs. "Did you know that Rajiv Singh has several concubines?"

Shocked, Laura said, "I had no idea. How can he, when the two of you love each other so much?"

"It is expected of a man in his position," the maharani replied. "As is just, he spends one night a month with each. The other nights he sends for me. I could allow myself to be jealous, but what purpose would that serve? I am the love of his heart, his body, and his soul. That is what truly matters."

It took some time for Laura to absorb that. "That is a very mature attitude," she said at last. "I'm not sure I'm capable of that much maturity."

"You don't have to be—your husband is not an Indian prince," Kamala said, a gleam of humor in her dark eyes. "Is Falkirk Sahib a dishonorable man who will betray your trust, or a deceitful man who will break his marriage vows?"

Without a moment's hesitation, Laura said, "Never."

"Then where is the cause of jealousy?"

Laura frowned, her hands knotting around the silk ropes. "You make it sound so simple."

"Perhaps," the maharani said shrewdly, "you have been making it too complicated."

Laura felt the shock of recognition that occurs when an idea strikes instantly to the heart of an issue. "You said that I was confusing two different things," she said hesitantly. "Does the complication come in because my normal fears have become entangled with the disaster that my parents brought on themselves?"

"Exactly," the maharani said with satisfaction. "In this area, the West has less wisdom than the East. You look on male and female as being opposite, and think passion is a separate thing, like a wild beast that must be caged. But all opposites are part of each other, and passion is part of man's—and woman's—nature. Have you noticed how Hindu deities are always couples, one male, one female? To worship the god, one also worships the goddess. Vishnu and Lakshmi. Siva and Parvati. Krishna and Radha. Wholeness lies in balancing both. This is why images of men and women coupling, becoming one, are sacred."

"Srinivasa said that my feminine and masculine energies were out of balance," Laura said, trying to fit the pieces together into a coherent whole.

"With parents who were so intemperate, of course it's difficult for you to achieve your own balance. Whenever passion appears, you become once again a terrified child." Kamala glanced across the space that separated them, her expression earnest. "You try so hard to control yourself that the result is exactly the opposite of what you want. By attempting to suppress passion, you increase its power and make it dangerously unstable. I think that if you accept desire openly, soon it will find its natural place in your life."

Allowing the swing to slow, Laura asked, "What is a natural level for passion?"

Kamala grinned. "Ask any couple that has been wed for a long time if desire is as compelling at ten years as it was at six months. In many ways mature, married intimacy is better—deeper and richer—than youthful ardor, but it has become a normal part of life and is no longer madness. The madness only returns under certain conditions, such as separation. When Rajiv Singh and I are parted, we come together again with the same craving we had when newly wed. But most of the time, desire is simply one part of life." After a moment, she added, "Mind you, it's always a particularly nice part."