Rajni

PREVIEW ONE Since eternity there is only Me. My vastness is profound, My peacefulness is absolute, but My loneliness incomprehensible. I have no peer, I have no mother or father, and I cannot create another Me. I suppose that it would be truthful (though quite unfair) to say that I am an impotent bastard. Since I am all that there is I am complete and whole, but the experience of such solitude gave me the sense that there must be more to Me than I understood. So to ease My loneliness, I formed this creation to experience My completeness. No one has My perspective, but many (and Oh Me, how tedious they are), think they know Me and have the audacity to tell people that they speak for Me. You know the expression “it’s lonely at the top”? You have no idea. For more than thirty-six Ages I sat alone in My ecstasy. In the choral harmonic reverberation of My silence I meditated on Myself. . . . Then I understood that I am all that there is, all that shall be, all that has ever been.Can you believe it? That was a painful realization. Then, I announced to Myself, “I’m bored.” Needless to say, that was an understatement. And in that twinkling, with no malicious forethought, I created cause and effect. What few understand is the incalculable, infinite vastness of My mind: of Me as the Totality, which means that the individual simply does not have the capacity to understand it all. It amuses Me, however, when people believe they do understand. People would do much better to experience My love, My vastness, and My wisdom, rather than try to understand it. One is achievable, the other isn’t. I created humanity so that I could experience Myself. PREVIEW TWO Rajni bent down, trying not to wretch as she faced Bhai. “They call you Bhai?” she asked. “Yes,” he choked. “You are to be my husband,” she said softly, gaining strength and confidence. “It is not proper for me to call you Bhai. I will call you Piare--my Beloved.” Rajni rose and faced Punditji. She inhaled deeply throught her nose, then exhaled slowly as she had seen Punditji do many times before. “Let us begin.” She smiled her beautiful, radiant smile. Punditji sat before the fire and firmly began the incantations for the wedding ceremony. . . . At the appropriate times Rajni dragged Bhai, now Piare, in his basket around the fire. Inside the house her sisters were sobbing hysterically along with their mother. Duni Chand, standing at an upper window by himself, was impassive. When Punditji had completed the marriage ritual, Duni Chand yelled, “Now get off my land, all of you. Pundit, if I ever see your face again I will have you killed.” “Kill me now,” said Punditji, calmly. “Why wait?” “Leave!” shouted Duni Chand. Suddenly Gita stood up, ran outside and placed her chuni over the head of Piare. She was quickly followed by her other sisters against Duni Chand’s protests. “I will never set foot in this house again!” Gita shouted. “Never again!” was repeated six times. Yet Duni Chand was unmoved, his heart hard as granite. The sun was now a yellow wafer suspended above the wine red horizon. Night was gaining the Eastern sky and would soon conquer it all. The first stars were twinkling against the deepening purple of the evening in dramatic contrast to the fading red of the sunset. The effect of the colors and the light enhanced the surrealistic quality of the moment. The sound of bells announcing the evening prayer ascended with the smoke and aromas of the gathering twilight. Punditji calmly looked up at Duni Chand as he gazed down from the window of his palace in the fading light. In a steady voice, full of authority Punditji spoke. “Hear me now, Duni Chand Raja of Patti. That day will come when you beg your daughters to return to your home. That day will come when your remorse over what you have done today consumes you. And that day will come when, despite your heartless cruelty, Rajni will forgive you. Yet until that moment, you will find no solace, no comfort, and no joy in your life. Your palace will become as dark and cold as your heart and as devoid of life as your are of compassion. Your suffering commences once your daughters have passed through your gate. It will not be assuaged until Rajni has forgiven you of your cruelty.” “No one is to aid her,” Duni Chand proclaimed loudly. “As the Raja of Patti, I forbid it and anyone found giving them any succor will pray for his death before I am finished. Now get off my land! All of you!” Punditji put his arm around Rajni’s shoulders. “Go now,” he said, “and never look back. Trust yourself to God and remember the advice of my friends this morning. If you need help, call on their guru. He will come through for you.” Punditji paused poignantly. “My job is finished.” And, for the first time in her life Rajni saw her normally stoic Pundit, ever consistent with his behavior, weep quietly. She gathered Mokum’s turban and pulled it over her shoulder. In all her fourteen years she had never lifted anything heavier than her own pillow. It would take all her strength now to pull her husband behind her. “Come, my Beloved,” she whispered. “It is our wedding night.” She walked through the gate dragging the basket with her suffering husband. Her feet, which had always walked upon silk carpets and polished marble, touched the warm dirt of the road. She turned south toward the Satluj moving very, very slowly as she made her way down toward the plain. The sun had lingered on the edge of the horizon as though waiting patiently for this moment. Now, overcome by the darkness, it surrendered quietly to the night. The darkness obscured her from Duni Chand’s sight.