Zhanna Chalabayeva - Red Indian Sun

Тут можно читать онлайн Zhanna Chalabayeva - Red Indian Sun - бесплатно ознакомительный отрывок. Жанр: Остросюжетные любовные романы, год 2019. Здесь Вы можете читать ознакомительный отрывок из книги онлайн без регистрации и SMS на сайте лучшей интернет библиотеки ЛибКинг или прочесть краткое содержание (суть), предисловие и аннотацию. Так же сможете купить и скачать торрент в электронном формате fb2, найти и слушать аудиокнигу на русском языке или узнать сколько частей в серии и всего страниц в публикации. Читателям доступно смотреть обложку, картинки, описание и отзывы (комментарии) о произведении.

Zhanna Chalabayeva - Red Indian Sun краткое содержание

Red Indian Sun - описание и краткое содержание, автор Zhanna Chalabayeva, читайте бесплатно онлайн на сайте электронной библиотеки LibKing.Ru
First-hand experience of a Kazakh girl who lived in India. The book is about culture, traditions, and life in India.

Red Indian Sun - читать онлайн бесплатно ознакомительный отрывок

Red Indian Sun - читать книгу онлайн бесплатно (ознакомительный отрывок), автор Zhanna Chalabayeva
Тёмная тема
Сбросить

Интервал:

Закладка:

Сделать

– What do you mean? Why are you talking about this now?

– Well, once you told me about the plan to study in the West. I thought there would be such a rich woman.

I said nothing and did not answer him.

The only person who showed respect was his father. He thanked me and proudly wore watches on his hand for several days; I was very pleased to see it. After all, the watches were good.

* * *

In those days I met my husband’s second cousin named Kamlesh. It was an educated thirty-year-old married woman. She came to her native village to her parents from another city, where she lived with a rich husband and children. She was happy in her marriage. She and her husband had two children – a boy and a girl. Among all the relatives of my future husband, Kamlesh was the most conscious.

She did not communicate with relatives of my husband and himself. In a large family of my father-in-law, many relatives did not speak among themselves for many years. But in those days she broke this rule.

A few years ago, a relative of my husband committed a misdeed connected with a girl. After that, the whole family became an outcast in their own society.

Once we sat with Kamlesh on the couch and chatted nicely. Then she told me:

– Now everything depends on him. If he wants, he will make a big wedding in a restaurant.

But the young man did not want to do anything. He only said that he had no money. And besides, he said I did not bring a dowry to their house, and this was important for him.

I actually had a dowry. But did it really matter, if everything turned out this way? So I said nothing.

And the next day I, my future husband, his father, sister and child got into the car of his friend Mandip – an intelligent young man and went to the regional center – Tohana.

Right at the bus stop in Tohana, there was a small, cute Hindu temple of white marble. We got out of the car and headed towards the temple.

Bus stops in India are equipped with comfortable, wide benches, some with backs, some without backs. Nearby you can find a public restroom. Not far from the benches there are trade shops, where right in the open air in large cauldrons they fry delicious dough products, for example, samosa. Other products are also tasty, but I do not know their names. Directly behind the shop, there is a small room with tables and benches, there is also a refrigerator with drinks. Travelers sit in the cool at the tables and eat the delicacies they just bought from disposable plates, seasoning them with ketchup.

* * *

The Hindu temple is a separate world, an amazingly beautiful architectural ensemble of marble, granite, limestone, and stone. Even the smallest temple in some lost Indian village is built as a small copy of its grandiose original with the repetition of all the necessary elements of style, with statues of Krishna, Vishnu, Shiva, Ganesh, Kali. In a different way, the statues of the Indian gods are called murti, that is, the “material form of God”, otherwise it can be expressed by the word “idol”. During the installation of the statue, the clergy from the highest caste of the Indian society, the Brahmans, conduct a special pran-pratistha ceremony, during which they ask God to incarnate in this statue. Every detail of the statue, every attribute of it has a specific meaning. For example, the crescent moon in the hair of Lord Shiva is a vessel with the nectar of immortality, it symbolizes control over the mind.

In Hinduism, the spiritual principle is called Brahman. Brahman is the absolute beginning of everything existing in the universe, it is neither good nor bad, it is impassive, infinite and unchanging. It is nirgunam or qualityless. Brahman consists of three gods – Brahma-forces, which creates, Vishnu-forces, which protects, Shiva-forces, which destroys.

You enter the Hindu temple and walk on cool, white, pure marble, walk towards a smiling Indian god and smile at him too, the sweet aroma of Indian incense hangs in the air. The atmosphere of goodness, love envelops like a cloud, and your heart thaws, everything that is outside of the temple is forgotten. Then comes the understanding that you are alone with this Earth with God, that you come into this light alone and live alone, and around you only him, God, exposed in the bodies of people, phenomena and events. It takes the form of different people and circumstances, and each time it asks you its own questions.

According to Indian philosophy, the soul is ignorant. It will be reborn again and again, participating in the cycle of life and death, which is called the “wheel of the Sansara”, until it knows the truth. One soul in every life is born in different bodies – it can be a microbe, an insect, an animal, a man, at the end of rebirth a pure soul becomes a part of Brahma. In the process of circulation, the soul goes to purgatory, where it is to redeem sins for the acts committed, or, on the contrary, it finds peace for good deeds in life.

* * *

So, we went to the temple. My future husband’s sister and I stayed inside, and he and his father left after talking with the temple attendant. I and his sister and her child sat for a long time on a clean white marble floor.

What we did and why we sat there, I did not understand, there was no one to ask, his sister did not know English, except for some well-known words, and I did not know Hindi to ask her. From time to time we smiled sweetly at each other and looked at each other sympathetically, complaining about the incredible heat. A fan was driving hot air. They brought me a glass of fresh juice, which I drank with pleasure. A cool stream of cold drink was most welcome.

In India, they make juice right in front of a client. There is a small shop on the street with ladles and a juicer like a meat grinder, near the shop there are a lot of fruits. The shop assistant immediately prepares a juice from any fruit you like.

Two hours passed, and then a young man came with his father. I was asked to go to the altar. The priest hung us on the neck in a flower garland and said something in Hindi. Then each of us put a spot on the forehead with red paint. I thought it was some kind of preliminary proceedings before the wedding, because in weddings usually there are many guests in fancy dresses. But we were alone.

We moved away from the altar, and Tenardieu with disgust wiped off the red spot on his forehead, fearing that anyone could see him.

– Now everyone thinks you forced me to marry you, wipe off the paint from your forehead too, – he hissed viciously.

– What?

– I just got married to you. – He answered rudely, turned around and left the temple.

When we left the temple and got into the car, a friend of my husband, Mandip, congratulated us and said that now we were a couple.

In the evening, my newly-made husband bought a bottle of cheap wine and samosa. Samosa is like our modified samsa, just not flat, and instead of meat, there are vegetables inside.

My mother-in-law, who was radically opposed to our marriage, never for a second left us alone, and my husband’s attitude towards me always changed to a sharply negative one at her presence.

I will make a short digression and describe my mother-in-law. My mother-in-law, according to my calculations, was eight to nine years older than me, and my father-in-law was exactly ten years older than me. My husband was ten years younger than me. Mother-in-law was about forty two years old, but she looked like fifty. She did not study anywhere except in several classes of school.

Her face which used to be fresh and pretty years ago, her huge, shiny, sapphire-like eyes framed by long, terry, fan-shaped eyelashes was wrinkled, and once the lacquer-black thick hair was almost all sparse and gray. When she was angry, she was distinguished by almost bestial rudeness in behavior and forced loud laughter. She wore salvar-kameez and she covered her head with a translucent dupatta fabric, as befits all married women. Her right shoulder was always noticeable below the left because of hard work. She almost always wore the same clothes as it is normal in villages all over the world. On a thin, wrinkled neck, she wore a gold pendant on a black rope; in her ears, she wore small gold hoop earrings. As for the point on the forehead, my dear mother-in-law drew it to herself only when she went to the city to the bazaar. She had one trait that gave her charm: when she was in my presence quarreling with someone and screaming, making scary eyes, at the same time she laughed with a coquettish, unnatural laugh.

So she never left us alone. And on our wedding day, it was the same. The three of us sat in the bedroom on our bed – me, Tenardieu and his mother. It was late, but she did not leave. They talked about something in Hindi, it even seemed to me that they were cursing, trying not to show it.

We did not celebrate this event in the restaurant. There was nothing festive – neither guests, nor a beautiful sari, nor gold jewelry, nor a honeymoon. I got married in the marine blue Punjabi suite I bought when I came to India. And instead of the restaurant, Tenardieu bought cheap wine with samosa, and so we were going to celebrate together. And even this mother-in-law did not allow us to do.

– Mom, go to your room, we just got married, let us sit together and celebrate the wedding, said my newly-made husband.

– I’m not going anywhere, – his mother replied and looked at me viciously at me.

– Go, I said, – he insisted, and my mother-in-law eventually left, so we were left alone and sat silently.

My mother-in-law went and the husband poured the wine into glasses. We sat for a while and went to bed.

Night covered the village with a heavy veil. A minute ago, the voices of passers-by were heard on the street, an angry dog barking could be heard from afar, and suddenly everything died down at once.

Initially, Tenardieu quarreled with his mother and her relatives, stood up for me. He even quarreled once on the street with my mother-in-law’s sister and her family, who lived next door, and told me:

– I quarreled today with the whole family. Do not betray me ever.

– I promise.

But over time, he went over to the side of his own mother, who hated me and began to resemble a tyrant feudal, who had only me in submission. He slandered me at any suitable moment when I was not around. He came to the bedroom and tormented me with his sullen silence.

I understood that his mother was discussing me with him. What he said to me after talking with her was disgusting.

“You have the face of a person one can’t trust. I will not go with you alone for the honeymoon. I’m afraid of you. You look like a Chinese woman. Mom is afraid to let me go with you. What if you are an agent from China?”

I laughed in response. I was invited to a man, and he himself was scared. I thought it was a bad joke. The young man kept saying the same thing.

– I do not trust you. Mom says I’m too young, I’m younger than you and married being a virgin to you.

– Is it you a virgin? You tell this fairytale to your mom. And I already know all the stories about you. You yourself told me everything. That’s it, tomorrow I’m leaving. Stay with your mom.

– Leave. Take a suitcase and go on foot, if you know where to go. I will not give you a car.

– You know perfectly well that I cannot leave without your help. Take me to the airport, please.

– But it is you who wants to leave. Why should I help you?

Then he dissuaded me from leaving. As it later turned out, he was afraid that the neighbors would laugh at him.

* * *

India is a country, only one-third of which is visible to the ordinary human eye. The rest of the country is invisible. However, the indigenous population is aware of its existence. Hence, many rituals, prayers, mantras, temples, priests. There are a lot of different strange events happening on Indian soil – I don’t know what kind of power is behind these events. The priests say that India comes into the life of a certain person for one mystical reason known to her. Also, the priests add that if India does not come to a person, means the person is not ready for this yet.

Читать дальше
Тёмная тема
Сбросить

Интервал:

Закладка:

Сделать


Zhanna Chalabayeva читать все книги автора по порядку

Zhanna Chalabayeva - все книги автора в одном месте читать по порядку полные версии на сайте онлайн библиотеки LibKing.




Red Indian Sun отзывы


Отзывы читателей о книге Red Indian Sun, автор: Zhanna Chalabayeva. Читайте комментарии и мнения людей о произведении.


Понравилась книга? Поделитесь впечатлениями - оставьте Ваш отзыв или расскажите друзьям

Напишите свой комментарий
x