35053668-Empire-of-the-Soul-Paul-William-Roberts

EMPIRE OF THE SOUL
And in the centre of this powdered nether sky, the campfire glowed
like a dying subterranean sun.
‘You like . . . here?’ inquired Girdhar, head cameleer, gesturing at
this magic spectacle.
I nodded.
‘Yes,’ he added, sighing philosophically. ‘Yes. City no good. Here
you have peace. In city no peace. A man, he need peace like the
camel he need food.’ He laughed.
I asked him about his family, his life. His wife, he said, was
‘finished.’ He meant dead. ‘I also finished soon.’
‘No . . .’
‘Oh, yes,’ he replied matter-of-factly. ‘All men finish soon. Only
desert never finish.’
‘Cheerful bugger, isn’t he?’ commented Bentley.
Above us now arched a huge basalt dome studded with stars like
nails made of diamond. The table creaked with food: goat curry, a
hill of rice, raita, and spiced vegetable dishes of numerous kinds,
including an oddlooking but delicious regional speciality made from
the tender, twiglike wild beans that are one of the few edible plants
capable of growing in the barren dust of Thar. The myriad flavours
were all smoky and exotic, their taste enhanced by the unfamiliar
constellations raging overhead, and by an invigorating coolness
floating in from shadows that flapped like massive shrouds beyond
our circle of light.
Only memories of sati sounded a savagely discordant note in this
extravagant tranquillity. It was one aspect of traditional Hinduism
that I couldn’t even begin to understand. Love and fire seem to be
the poles between which many religions function, though.
Presumably Saint Francis Xavier was able to feel the love of Christ
in the flames of the Inquisition.
All actions of a woman should be the same as that of her
husband. If her husband is happy, she should be happy, if he is
sad she should be sad, and if he is dead she should also die . . .
– From Shuddhitattva (apocryphal Hindu text), c. AD 800
264