YouLoveMe

Nineteen sixty three.  In Bob Bradley's yard. With paints he's explaining the color wheel. I'm explaining how bees don't work that hard. I'm giving a little professor spiel. Bob is delicately restoring art, Becky's in the sandbox with dirty knees, Carroll's on the steps, combing in her part, I'm in the grass, trying to trap two bees. Suppose I could go back for just one day. What would I say to the eight-year old me? Would I say that Bob and Billy are gay? Explain what I think it means to be free? Respecting the young me would be my job. I'd stand by my easel.  I would be Bob.

I'm frustrated!  I want to smite them all! I missed my boat because Peter got gas, because I couldn't understand Joseph's call. James wants three thousand for a tour--I'll pass! India feels to me like endless cheating. I hope it one day is honest and clean. But I'm here!  To rage is self-defeating. Group punishment is ignoble and mean. It's nineteen rupees for my ferry ride. Many stops, people hopping off and on. It's beautiful.  My bilious rage has died. May I die here in peace with my ire gone. I've learned from Lizzy to respect Hell's rules. Hell's for the rightly mad, not for mad fools. [7-18--Allepey, Kerala]

Suttee comes from Sati, Shiva's wife. She cursed her father and leapt into flame. Did she err, Lizzie, in ending her life? Could she have done better in Hell's dark game?   I think that she did as well as she could. Shiva in rage cut off her father's head. What she could not do, her husband did. He danced with her body when she was dead. Remember punishment is not magic. Hell is mixed, but it, too, is comedy. Nothing in the end is truly tragic. With God, All is a Divine dramedy. You cannot conjure up dragons and towers. Better to burn than to debase your powers. [7-18-24--flight to Kochi--drawn from a book bought in the Ahmedabad airport: Mahagatha: 100 Tales from the Puranas, by Satyarth Nayak]

"Two thousand dollars!  I'm being cheated!" "No!  It's a move in a bargaining game. Offer two hundred.  Don't be defeated by your moralistic need to blame." My need to hate won out.  I paid their price. I like the clothes a lot, I must admit. So.  Lizzy--may I ask for your advice? Should I rage or should I let go of it? "This is Hell.  Inflicting pain is dharma. You may curse them with painful rectal boils. Know, though, your action's subject to karma. Your butt will burn in its own flaming oils. Act if you are ready to bear the cost of hurting yourself with hate's labor lost." [7-18-24--flight from Ahmedabad to Kochi]

The Gandhi ashram's closed for Ashura. Lizzy's on the street in heels, looking smart. "Off to Gulberg," she says, "on a tour--a tour of humanity's evil heart." "Ghodse killed Gandhi.  That can't be undone. Godra, Gulberg.  You can't prevent either. But you can shoot Ghodse with his own gun. Burn both sets of arsonists.  Spare neither!" "Yes, there are fine, fine people on both sides. An eye for an eye makes the world go blind. On Heaven's throne, love not anger presides. In Heaven kind sayings rule the mind." "But this is Hell and We, too, are God's plan. Let us punish wrong as hard as We can." [7-18-24--Ahmedabad, at the second Gandhi ashram]

I descend, down to the lowest level. Lizzy is by the well, waiting for me. She twirls her sari.  "I am no devil-- I'll show you whatever you want to see." Me: "Tell me what happened to Rudabai, Widowed when Begada killed her rana, Rather than marry him she plunged to die where you stand.  Did she attain Nirvana?" Her: "I'll look her up.  She'll be on my phone. Yes, there she is.  Begada is there, too. You can see them.  I hear him moan. She's stabbed out his eyes with a spike-heeled shoe." "The myth's wrong.  In truth, Rudabai chose Hell. She killed him and never jumped in the well." [Adalaj stepwell, Adalaj, Gujarat, 7-17-24]