Guru's Grace

Guru’s Grace

  By Ruth Madison

  Copyright 2011 by Ruth Madison

  Sumitra knew what her parents were going to ask the guru. She was turning twenty-nine in two month's time and they were beyond desperate to get her married. She went along to try to be a good daughter, but in her heart she knew she could never be happy with the men her parents found and finding one on her own was close to impossible. There was one very specific thing she needed in a man and she could never tell anyone about it.

  She sat in between her parents on the hard tile floor of the ashram waiting for the guru to arrive. She had to admit it was a beautiful building. Two large open doorways and paneless windows across the length of the walls allowed the mild Indian breeze in and Sumitra could see a cluster of coconut trees that instantly made her feel like she was on vacation. There were no coconut trees at home in New York.

  The guru's seat was gold, carved to look like the sun. Beside it were tall, black marble mutris of gods. There were about fifty other people sitting cross legged around the floor. They all seemed to be authentic Indians, unlike Sumitra. She was what people back home called a coconut: brown on the outside and white on the inside. She could fake Indian for a little while, but her American roots quickly showed. Her mother had to dress her to come here today. Sumitra didn't have a clue how to put on a sari and no other dress was allowed. Her pudgy old dad was even wearing a full-on dhoti.

  People seemed really sincere. Several were prostrating themselves in front of the murtis. Most had trays in front of them ladened with fruit and flowers to offer the guru, in return for his blessings, of course. Sumitra's mother had already been eyeing the other trays to make sure that theirs was the most impressive.

  The guru arrived and took his seat. He was a heavy older man in an orange robe and he had a kind face, like how Sumitra imagined Santa Claus. He had three white lines painted across his forehead. Now that the guru was here, Sumitra's parents were getting excited. Her dad elbowed her and grinned. He had been here two years before and had been talking ever since about bringing the whole family. He said the guru's grace had caused amazing changes in his life, which seemed to be mostly to do with less ulcer pain.

  Their family got in line. Her dad carried the tray of offerings on his shoulder as they slowly moved forward. Near the front Sumitra could hear the devotees begging the guru for things. They were all speaking Indian languages: Hindi, Kanada, Tamil. But the melody of the voices still gave away the pleading. In every language that quality remained the same.

  The heat was beginning to bother Sumitra. She wanted to sit down and thought if she wasn't able to soon, she might faint. It made her wonder why she had agreed to this trip. The motherland didn't hold much for her, just long hot days of making relatives happy while dreaming of having her computer back and a bedroom to herself. Finally it was their turn and she shuffled behind her parents, following their lead to touch the ground in front of the guru and then her heart.

  Standing in front of the guru, listening to her mother beg for a good husband for her daughter, Sumitra felt unexpected embarrassment pricking at her face. When she had agreed to do this, she hadn't realized just how humiliating it was going to feel. She bowed her head and kept her hands in namaskar, but she wondered if he had some magic ability to see into her head. God, she hoped not. She didn't want the guru knowing how much of the darshan time she spent thinking about sex.

  The guru held up his hand in blessing and smiled at the family. They backed away and all three prostrated.

  ***

  That afternoon they were going to see the guru again; twice a day every day for the next week. “We came all this way,” her dad said, “We've got to get the most out of it.”

  Her mom wrapped Sumitra again and put the hem of the sari so low, she tripped on it most of the way to the ashram. As they approached the building Sumitra saw something that stunned her. There was a wheelchair sitting empty outside the hall. It wasn't an old-person wheelchair, either. It had no handles and no arms and the foot plate was one solid piece. It was black, but scuffed, and was missing its cushion. She had never seen such a thing in India. This gorgeous, latest-style wheelchair couldn't be Indian, it almost felt as though it had followed her from America.

  What was it doing here? This was some insane coincidence. She could not let herself get too excited. It would be a tease, a let-down, just like it always was. There was no purpose, no signs, and no deeper meanings. Yet, they had just asked the guru for a proper man for Sumitra, and today a wheelchair appeared. Did the guru somehow cause it? No, that was crazy. He could not possibly know, let alone arrange circumstances like this. Probably the wheelchair belonged to some middle-aged, nasty-looking guy. Maybe it belonged to a woman. Sumitra had a terrible tendency to forget that it was possible for women to be disabled too. But to see something as unlikely as this the day after the guru held up his hand in blessing over her? It was too strange.

  Her parents were oblivious to her inner turmoil as they climbed the steps into the offering hall. Sumitra was immediately on the look out for whom the wheelchair belonged to. She saw him at the back, leaning against the wall and the only reason she knew she had the right person was that he was sitting on the missing wheelchair cushion.

  He was a young man, around her own age, and his parents sat on either side. His legs were barely crossed, looking more like rag doll legs hastily arranged. Sumitra gently herded her parents to a spot where she would be able to keep observing him. Throughout the darshan, Sumitra tried to guess what his disability was. She was guessing paraplegic. She had never before seen an Indian paraplegic. Then again, the only disabled people she had yet seen in India were dirty old beggars crawling along the dusty roads.

  Sumitra doubted it was possible to find in India the kind of independent, resourceful, and self-assured paraplegic she was hoping to marry. Disability issues didn't seem to be on the radar here. Sumitra spent most of the darshan musing about how the experience of disability was different in various countries, while always keeping a subtle eye on the disabled young man.

  Then his family was going up for the guru's blessing. He began scooting his body along the tile floor behind his parents. Every single eye in the place was on him. Sumitra looked around the hall at all the stares. It must be hard knowing everyone was watching. She hated to be one of them, but she didn't want to miss this either.

  His chest was bare, as with all the men, and his legs were wrapped in a dhoti, but there were sweatpants underneath. Sumitra could hardly breathe watching his strong, naked arms pulling his legs, the feet of which kept bumping into each other. Whose bright idea was it to have all the men naked from the waist up?

  Some wore a shawl that exposed their right shoulder, but no shirts were allowed. Her father had told her once that it had to do with showing vulnerability before the guru. Now instead of proving that the man was unarmed, it just served to distract Sumitra from spiritual thoughts. Not that her thoughts were ever all that spiritual.

  She leaned forward over her crossed legs to keep watching, but he was starting to be blocked by crowds of people standing near the guru, waiting for their audience. She wanted to ask why the ashram didn't allow his wheelchair inside. Was it too much like wearing shoes in? It seemed ridiculous to make him go through this circus. Asking would alert suspicion, though. She didn't want anyone noticing that she had more than a passing interest in him. She had to appear the same as everyone else: staring out of pity, glad that his was not her karma.

  Sumitra was too far away to hear what his parents asked the guru for. Even if she had been closer, it was unlikely they were speaking in English and that was the only language Sumitra knew. As she watched him repeat his crawl back to the far wall, she felt frustrated that such a fantasti
c potential match for her was so near and yet still so far in many ways. She couldn't flirt with someone in India. She couldn't try to start something with someone when she was half way around the world from her home, let alone someone that no one in her community would see as an acceptable match. So many of her opportunities were a mixed blessing, almost worse than nothing at all because she couldn't find a way to take advantage of them.

  If this situation really were somehow caused by the guru, if this was the answer to her parents' prayer, was she supposed to continue to sit back and let the magic spiritual energy do its work? Or was she now supposed to act on it?

  When her parents gathered their things and prepared to leave, the young man and his family were still there. Sumitra said, “I think I'll stay a little and try to absorb some of that grace.” Her father beamed and patted her on the shoulder.

  Sumitra closed her eyes and, in her head, said what was probably the first prayer of her life. Please, she thought, let me have a love match.

  She opened her eyes and his family was leaving. She followed as he left the hall, walking very slowly so as not to surpass him pulling his body along the white tile floor. She noticed now that he didn't place his hands flat against the ground, but his fingers stayed curled in towards his palm. She reassessed and decided he must be a low level quad.

  She hovered in the doorway at the top of the stairs and watched while his father hoisted him up over one shoulder and grunted as he shuffled down the stairs. His mother took the black cushion from the ground. She placed it on the wheelchair and his father dropped him onto it. The mother started trying to push him, but he shrugged her off and pushed ahead with expert strokes, the edges of his hands on the rims, but not fully gripping them.

  Sumitra took a deep breath and pushed her worries out of her head.

  “Excuse me,” she called out, lightly rushing down the stairs, not sure what she would actually say once she got his attention. She didn't even know if he spoke English.

  His entire family turned around to look at her.

  “Hi, I'm Sumitra. Pretty cool in there, eh? Are you staying the week or just in for the day?”

  They were all staring at her in stunned silence. The guy was very cute up close. She met his eye and smiled. Still there was silence, and tremendous confusion showed in his face. “Okay,” she said, “Well, I hope I'll see you tomorrow morning.”

  She walked off down the path as quickly as she could with her too-long sari, grateful that her dark skin didn't show embarrassment easily.