Pristine Perversion Pt. 01

NOTE: This text might be better enjoyed if you have an understanding of Brahminical liturgy, Hindu texts and classical Sanskrit literature. However, this is not mandatory as long as you can make the connect between the contradictions in the two narratives. I have added references in the footnotes to guide you.

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The morning sun is still a balmy orange. I knew this orange well, for it is the precursor to a blazing white flame that obliterated both knowledge and ignorance alike. My mind is a just blossoming flower abuzz with nascent thoughts that flutter unsteadily, not yet fully awake. In contrast, every step of mine on the firm stone steps of the pond land with resolution, scattering the wetness away.

I stand just outside the sanctum sanctorum, under the lofty tower of the temple where I am the priest and keeper of the deity and the sun himself a mere outcaste who had to offer his worship from afar.

The spring moon was a torrid yellow. In a while, he will be a pearly white river of coolness out of everybody's reach; but at the moment, he was just over the horizon, just a hand's stretch away. My heart was surprisingly calm. It was a lily abloom in the night, drinking in all that heavenly glory that the moon generously poured. My footsteps, on the other hand, were jittery and my anklets rung loud and clear even as my foot sunk into the cool wet mud of the path.

I stood outside the humble hut, it's flimsy thatch-work held up by limber bamboo poles. I was but a humble supplicant standing outside with the hope of offering worship to the slumbering deity inside.

I close my eyes and still my breath. As my mind blooms, the buzzing thoughts scatter away into oblivion. All that remains now is the chant that is not chanted[1], chanted thrice. When I open my eyes, I crouch down to being my ablutions, my actions routine but my mind aware. Thrice I sip and thrice my soul is cleansed. Three is how my breath is split, the inhalation swift, the pause dilated and the exhalation slow and taut.[2]

As I bring my palms to my lap to utter my conviction[3], I hear her muted anklets. Unperturbed I declare my intention to celebrate the light within, merely registering her presence.

I strained my eyes to catch sight of his supine form. The feeble lamp offered me little help. But what flame burns brighter than desire? He lay facing the door, facing me, his head resting on his outstretched arm while the other bent over his stomach. His still form flung a stone in the tranquil pond of my heart and a thousand waves arose. I knelt without my own volition, my eyes commanding me so that they may drink in his form unfettered. My breath was fast now as I see his straggly beard, his matted hair, his scrawny chest and relaxed then as my eyes close to swallow all that they drank in.

There was still escape, for he knew nothing yet. I could have gone back like I did on the many nights of lustful vigil. But before I could decide, my hands trembled to let my bangles announce my wantonness to him. He stirs as a thousand lotuses each with thousand petals bloom in my head[4].

She walks in now as I bring in the deities of all the waters into my pot and then sprinkle myself clean. I pause my ritual and smile at her. The modesty of her veiled face is further enhanced by her downcast eyes.

"Greetings princess. You have come early, has the king not accompanied you?"

The copper plate in her hand does not quiver as she comes close to me.

"I wanted to come alone for the worship."

I stood up swiftly as he opens his eyes. How embarrassing for a princess to be seen crouching before a commoner. As I rose, my hair slipped over my shoulder like an eager serpent with its tongue forking out in desire. My upper garment slipped, revealing one half of my bounteous bosom. The other half was not exactly covered for I had carefully chosen gauze. My eyes met the bewilderment in his with bold desire.

"Greetings princess", he mumbled in half sleep, "have you come alone this late? Has the king not accompanied you?"

My fingers trembled as I bit my lips. My entire body was taut and yet tremulous, a bowstring made of bees [5].

"I wanted to come alone for the worship."

TO BE CONCLUDED IN THE SECOND PART.

Reference

[1] — Ajapa japa or the un-chanted chant is when one is constant awareness of the chant without an explicit need to chant it.

[2] — A form of anuloma pranayama, in which breath is inhaled swiftly, held lovingly forever and then let go reluctantly.

[3] — A loose translation of the word sankalpa, a statement of the action/ritual about to performed fixing it in space and time firmly.

[4] — The Sahasrara is a thousand petalled lotus that is said to bloom when one is in complete awareness. The blooming of this "flower" is accompanied with nectar or literally semen (rethas) flowing upwards (urdhva).

[5] It is believed Manmadha's bow has a string of bees. A similar mention occurs in many prominent Hindu texts, primarily the ones that celebrate the goddess.