Auspicious Good Fortune by Sumangal Morhall

Author:Sumangal Morhall [Morhall, Sumangali]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781780990378
Publisher: John Hunt Publishing

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The Centre room felt full of warmth and welcome, but looked like a clear pool in a snowscape. Until then I would have assumed two such very different impressions could not live together in the same place, but they were perfectly in balance there. The carpet was lavishly soft, and powder blue as though reflecting the sky. The walls and ceiling were brilliant white, further brightened by ambient lighting. A Transcendental Picture, much bigger than any I had seen, looked in from the bay of the window on a low white table, making a sort of shrine area. It was set with a long white candle on one side, and on the other a gentle profusion of yellow roses in a bowl. The room itself was otherwise empty, apart from some neat stacks of cushions at the back, some well-ordered shelves of books, a modest stereo, and the scent of jasmine. The rest was apparently to be found within.

The Spanish girl and I arrived early for our first lesson in wearing a sari. My mind resisted, and I said so. Although I thought it slightly odd, I was not so averse to seeing it on other Europeans, but wearing it myself was a different matter. I had no outer connection to India, and had not even been there, so flouncing about in Indian garb felt fraudulent. It was explained that having a special set of clothing for meditation was like having a special area in one's house for that purpose: just another way of creating sanctity, in turn making meditation easier and more enriching. The boys thus wore pure white trousers and shirt; the girls wore a sari of any design or colour, except black. It would take me a while to grow into the theory, and a while longer to claim it as my own, but I agreed at least to try one on. My companion had no such qualms – to her everything was a game, so her life was in many ways more straightforward.

We were shown into a back room overlooking the yard. My new artist friend, who gave the painting class, had sent two saris for me from her own collection. That kindness itself further softened my resistance. After a few failed attempts, stabbing myself with safety pins, twirling one time too many, or wrapping the wrong shoulder, I eventually mustered enough stubbornness to fold mine in place, although not to my own self-imposed standards. The other girl was chattering and flitting about so much she practically had to have hers put on for her, but she looked dainty when it was done; even more like a butterfly. I felt quite regal in mine, and looked much smarter in the mirror than I thought I would, but such comments were kept to myself in case they sounded immodest. Already saris were growing on me: rather than acting like a uniform, they seemed to accentuate different qualities in each person.

The meeting itself consisted of familiar

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