The Fire of Karma

By OMA

The novel begins as a letter to her son, a complaint, or a justification. It has a testamentary and pedagogically sound, rather than confessional: My little one, I will tell you a sad story, which happened just before you were born.This novel is like an exotic fruit with a great bitter taste, from which springs a boundless desire to love and to be loved. It is the credo of a kind- hearted person who renounces at herself in favour of others. However, such an unselfish atitude is not appreciated in India; on the contrary, it is considered a weak, liable nature, which cannot achieve happiness even in mind. Perhaps if the author had been an Indian woman, she would not have been able to conceive such an orioginal work, crossed by a desire for total sacrifice of life, to the detriment of herself.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Oct 27, 2017
• ISBN: 9781456779320

OMA

I was born in Indonesia at the onset of WWll and grew up in the Netherlands. With my husband and three children I moved to Canada via New Zealand where our youngest was born. Originally, I wrote this bilingual story originally for my grandchildren, who either speak Dutch or English. I currently live in BC. Ik was in Indonesie aan het begin van de WWll geboren en groeide in Nederland op. Met mijn man en drie kinderen verhuisde ik naar Canada via New Zealand waar onze jongste was geboren. Ik schreef dit tweetalig verhaaltje aanvankelijk voor mijn kleinkinderen, die Hollands of Engels spreken. Ik woon nu in BC.

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© 2017 Oma. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse    10/27/2017

ISBN: 978-1-4567-7931-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4567-7932-0 (e)

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

Chapter 1   A Broken Heart

Chapter 2   A Bird With A Wounded Wing

Chapter 3   Hunger For Life

Chapter 4   A Kind Of A Life In Two

Chapter 5   Bye-Bye, India!

Chapter. 6   Danubian Epilogue

The

book is written in first person, the autobiographical material is in an unconcealed form, it would say that is a diary from which a calendar dating was removed.

Yet we cannot find log for the utterance and the generalized force, shaping the characters and the final significance of their lives takes that step on symbolization, which gives the status of artistic prose to a story.

The novel begins as a letter from the mother to her son, a complaint, or justification. It has a testamentary and pedagogically sound, rather than confessional: My little one, I will tell you a sad story, which happened just before you were born.

Vasile Andru

The fire of karma is a completely original novel about India, a genuine one, like no other writing on this issue. The heroine and also the story teller, Oma (or Uma) the initiatic name of the second wife of Shiva, the same Shakti, returned in another body, is none other than Oma went to India in December 1986, (with financial aid from Sweden, if I remember well), to undergo a yoga treatment, having to suffer from certain locomotor malformations.

She learns Bengali; she is initiated into Sanskrit texts, etc. But her doctor or guru, as they say, seems like a paltry profiteer. He lives on her money got from charity, also lets her pregnant (although he was married, and as we understand, he had another offspring), he is jealous, he abandons her, he often lets her at the will of fate, he follows her after she returns to her country etc.

Ion Rotaru

CHAPTER 1

A BROKEN HEART

Motto: Is it not a sign of His mercy every breath that we take?

(From the oriental wisdom)

My little one, I will tell you a sad story which happened just before you were born. Your mother wanted to bring you into this world because after the Initiation she had received in Bombay, from her Master, into the subtle world of Meditation, she had the revelation of her grandmother begging from her a new life, a better one.

When your father heard about it, he was not happy at all.

- How could you get pregnant? Why didn’t you take precaution measures before it happened? As for me, I always take something not to be so powerful… Get rid of it as soon as possible, and… We will think about our future together…

I knew he said so because he did not want any responsibility of this type, not otherwise. He had a sentimental affair with me, but… no children, he always warned me. How to kill that life which began to blossom inside my womb? Of course, thousands of abortions are made every day and almost all women are doing it, but everyone who believes in reincarnation about their future lives!

After this bitter discussion, I wrote to my Master and Lord about my sin, and He replied I had transgressed a vow taken at the time of Initiation and the only way to get it achieved is to ask for forgiveness through Meditation. I told Nadan that I really could not do it!

- I will tell you a secret… he replied. I am a heart patient…If I die what will you do?

A few days later, he told me I had to move from that guesthouse whose manager he was, to an apartment with all facilities. It would be good for me, because I was in a special condition and, besides, the guesthouse would be overcrowded because of Mother’s birthday. Mother was the spiritual patron of that town’s Ashram. I agreed dearly because I trusted and loved him.

- You also have to accept with you one servant with her child, because she is very poor, just on humanitarian basis… he smiled at me.

Once again, I agreed with him. Anyway, I thought I was his only beloved… He had a serious face during the day, rushing here and there to treat patients… Only one thing struck me the most: a short woman, with a nice body, a pretty one, used to come and go every day, to see him, and I had to admit she was also his beloved, although I had great difficulties in doing so. How many times didn’t I cry out of jealousy!

I further on noticed that one girl servant in this guesthouse began to bring him flowers too, after a few days of employment. One of the guests, an old man from Bombay, told me, that when he had complaint to the manager this girl was stealing, Nadan told him the servant was a virgin one.

I should have run away, leaving his sleepery world back, but I could not. I felt frustrated because until that age of 26, no man had told me honestly he wanted to marry me…So, I decided, after crying a lot to belong to him with all that I was…

I had my past pain, love and revenge on that love in which I put all my heart, receiving in return only suffering. I ought to learn my lesson from the past experiences, not to fall in love again. But you can not command to your heart. If an Indian girl is married to a westerner, she is like blooming flowers on a spring camp. But if an Indian man marries a foreigner, in most cases, makes up a piece of cloth out of her.

Once, I went to Delhi to meet my Master. The spiritual meetings lasted several days. The foreigners bought their hotel rooms, and until then, went shopping in bazaars. In Palika Bazar, while looking at shop windows, I met a tiny Indian, owner of a silverware, about my age and with an open mind. His name was Ganesh.

We decided together that afternoon to go to a cinema to see a movie. Said and done. As there was plenty of time until then, he told me: Look, I can tie a hair and then untie it … I don’t believe it … I replied. Yes …Watch mel! And he began to hit his fist against the hair after he anointed it with a little saliva.I got closer to see the miracle but I found myself tapped on the shoulder by a policeman. Both of us, we had to climb in the car to go to the police station. Around us gathered a lot of people and one of them pinched my shoulder like I was a whore. Above all, I had come to see a Saint and was considered a tramp. It seems that the sequence of my humiliation was just beginning. Ganesh gave them two hundred rupees and thus shut their mouth. After that I never met him, although nobody was responsible for this episode. Although I knew how women are treated in India, though I fell in love blindly.

I was a Romanian physically disabled girl, who managed somehow to come out of that hell of communist censure settled in her country, and go far away, to India, unwilling to return back, determined to do yoga for her sake. It was pretty outrageous to travel alone throughout India, although many Indians whom I met in my wanderings, believed I was an intelligent, even a Glorious lady from Romania, who travelled all alone. I was friendly and I allways had a smilling face and yet, as all these were not enough, infatuated myself with a modern brahmacharrian man… He would have been a saint, indeed if he hadn’t met in his life’s pathway ghandharvas to disturb him from his meditation lifestyle… Initially, the Ashram was a holly place of Meditation, but after its spiritual patrons died, it became a decayed paradise of pleasures and business.

What determined me to think I was wrong in my suppositions, was that every time I tortured my mind that way, I always got a fever.

Never the less, that woman made me furious due to her insistent knockings at his door… I hated her the most…

The day I had to move from his guesthouse, morning time, when, as usual, I did Yoga asanas on the roof of the house, thinking of that sweet night of love that we had together, I heard his voice at the backside. I turned my head and…No, it was not possible! He walked towards me with that woman by his side.

- I am introducing to you this girl who has a child… She wants to stay with you and help you…

However, she did not raise a finger to do so, that one month and a half we lived together… The truth was that she had no money to survive in that little Indian town, although she worked for a miserable salary of three hundred rupees per month, and for this reason, my lover had put us together, to save some money… Due to my abroad friends, I could manage to have a quiet and comfortable life in India, which means I did not live in cow dung huts or begging in the street… Moreover, he helped her on my expenses… Not a single paisa did Nadan spend on my account, although I was going to be the mother of his child…

- Her name is Laxmi… She will help you with the luggage… I have spoken, he continued on the same tone, with Kanchan Ben, the woman owner of the apartment, and she told me you could move there any time…

I doubted more and more of his words, even from the first day of my moving. She had a daughter of 12, Chinni was her name. They spoke of Nadan all the time and cleaned only because he could come and see their handwork.

He came that first day, late in the evening, and spent with us only a few minutes of his precious time. I exchanged a few words with him, while Laxmi washed something in the kitchen, and I could see through its open door, her black and big eyes, like those of an enamoured cow, following my spoken words, and I have seen in them a hell of jealousy… When she came closer, I observed their physiognomies resembled to each other. I had a mournful breakdown: If Chini is also his child?

When he went out, accompanied by her to the gates, I asked Chinni:

- How did you come to know Nadan?

- We met him a year ago… My father lives in Madras and my brother and my sister stayed with him… One day, my mum fought with daddy, she packed some of her things and took me here… From the first day we came here, we met Nadan, who is helping us even now, as you have seen…

I sighed to myself: "At least, he is not married to this Laxmi… And Chinni is not his child…"

I felt something was wrong, but I supported all the expenses because I still loved him.

On the other hand, Chinni used to steal from me badly.

I remember that one Sunday I went as usual to Gitananda Swamiji’s Puja, on one of his properties, for which he was still fighting with the government, and I had let my cupboard opened. When I was in the courtyard, I remembered I had to search if my money was still in my bag or not. It was missing. I controlled my anger, climbed quickly the flight and without uttering anything, locked the cupboard. Their joy disappeared at once…

The next day I went to his guesthouse and said:

- You told me they were not stealing, but the servant’s daughter did it many times…

- She is not a servant, he replied instantly. Anyway, they should not do that… I will speak with Laxmi…

- No, please, I said; just keep it in your mind…

I had great difficulties in providing a key for him too to enter in this castle, which had a closed courtyard, for it was surrounded by huts with all sorts of poor people. Many of these men drank alcohol all day long and after that they were beating each other.

My neighbours, especially one fat lady, two times bigger than her husband - I don’t know how this poor fellow could cope with such a quantity – showered me with all sorts of bad words when I came together with the blacksmith to try the three keys at the main entrance. In India, many people believe the foreigners are vagabonds who run after sensual pleasures, but many of the Indians are the same too. One of the keys I planned to give his majesty Nadan. I was still in his guesthouse when he counselled me to be careful with my health, now that I was in a special condition, but I could not.

When she went repeatedly to his guesthouse to see him, after we moved together, I felt very bad. However, when he announced me through her that I had to collect some of my letters from him, I could feel her anxiety and dislike over me. She left her job earlier than usual and cooked her meal very restless, without uttering a single word.

Nadan told me I had to consult a doctor for my pregnancy, so he directed me to Nalam Clinic. After the control was over, I showed him the papers and lost them through my things, as non-important garbage. However, these papers proved to be very useful when I had to demonstrate to his mistress that he had knowledge of my pregnancy,and more than that,that he was the father of my child. I had no other proof.

Maybe she told him I shouted at her from the height of my race. After coming from Nalam clinic, I had fever again. She announced him and he had to come to see me. He brought me a flower from the Samadhi and told me the greatest lie in my life for which I had to pay dearly with the loss of my mind:

- Laxmi is my sister…

In that moment the question why she dressed up so nicely when he came to us, why they spoke so softly to each other, vanished from my mind…

From that day onwards, I began to respect her, just as I respected him. I even wanted to buy for her a cooking microwave but I had not so much money for my own living, so I gave up that idea.

The next day both of them, mother and daughter, came late in the night, while I feared something bad could have happened, and prayed to God for them, because now they were a part of my life.

- Why are you so late? I asked her a bit frightened.

- Oh, we went to a temple! She answered quickly and through her eyes a light of unutterable happiness, which you could not find at a temple, flowed. Moreover, no temple was available at that late hour in the night. I think I believed her lie.

Chinni tried to tell me that Nadan had a room in town, but Laxmi interrupted our conversation, fixing her with cold eyes.

In no less than one month, I had the revelation of what she did that night. To thank him for the rare privilege to be presented to me as his sister, they had another time of love together. Most probably, she left Chinni at the Ashram’s Gate, or…I do not know.

From the day he told me she was his sister he did not come at all to see me, and he did not show up even after three weeks, when I suffered into my bed without any medicine because of malaria, without any help from his part, if not material, at least comforting words. I do not know if he wanted me to die. I was so thin that I could not stand even for a moment on my feet, and swords seemed to pass all the time through my head.

She always spoke of her brother:

- The people from Andhra are very bad… They have two women at the same time… ( Or more…This was the only truth that she told me). But my brother is like a God to me…

At last, he came in the last day of my staying in that town, for I was prepared to go and see my Master. Of course, after a week or so I had to return, otherwise who would have received me in that special condition? He only insisted that I should have my delivery abroad, at one of my lady friends! I prepared for that too, but I found no resources within my body to travel far and long. I felt so tired because of my pregnancy, now because of the malaria, that I found it too difficult to travel even up to Delhi. Only a fool man could ask a pregnant woman to have her delivery in another country, only to save his false reputation and to enjoy imperturbably with his "relatives"!

At Delhi, all my lady friends noticed my pregnancy and counselled me to go back to my country, but I couldn’t, because for many months I haven’t had my country’s visa to reside in India. That meant I was an outlaw, and more than that, I was considered a traitor to my country, for I did not keep in touch with my Embassy. India was indeed my dreamland.

Tammy from Israel told me she could take me to have my delivery there, and I was extremely happy on hearing this proposal, but only for a short while, because the next day she took away all my hopes.

"Why?" I tortured my mind. Where the hell do you want me to go? I fought with Nadan in my inner being.

On the other hand, Olivier from Canada, who used, out of compassion, to send me money to survive in India, sent me through another friend a coming invitation. However, as in the previous Summer, I went to the same Embassy to ask for political Asylum, this time they put into my passport the stamp "applied for emigration", and kicked me out.

So after one week of staying in Delhi, I returned unsuccessfully, dying of tiredness. Before my departure from the capital of India, I bought a present for him, from Palika Bazaar, and for her too, as his sister…

So long are the trips in India, by train, from one part of the country to another that I sometimes got exasperated. I always travelled second class, to save some money, meeting all sorts of people, some, very nice, the others, not at all, and thus the difficult journey became easier while speaking to each other. On such trips, in different railway stations, while some ambulant sellers were chanting their food, the sweeper boys swiped the floor in return for some paisas. This time the sweeper boy left all the garbage in front of my coach for the train just departed from that station. Could that be a sign of a coming storm? My answer at that time was no, because everything was clear in my mind: he was my lover, she was his sister and I was happy!

Nevertheless, it was not so! When I reached that house, mother and daughter were at home. I wondered why my mattress had been packed up and put somewhere into the corner. My Master’s pictures were also packed up, and many things from my luggage were missing too, for they could not possibly enter all into the cupboard. However, I was too tired to bother for anything else, but my bodily pain. I mumbled to myself: "I will die…I will die…" but she heard me and announced him at his guesthouse.

The next day, early in the morning, he came; seeming not to be impressed by my pain, telling me I have to rest and get some nice food. He instructed her to cook for me but she never did so. I gave him the gifts and said:

- Nadanji, if I die, don’t announce my embassy but cremate me here somewhere…

- Yes, he replied calmly and coldly, I can do that, but it is of no use to learn how to die, but how to live…

When I presented him the gift, his sister became suspicious. After Nadan left, she asked me if I knew what he was wearing on his head every night. Of course I did, a cap, probably to enjoy the subtle part of a sexual contact.

But on that particular afternoon she asked me directly:

- I have seen Nadan’s chapals right here, in front of the door and the door was closed… I called you but you did not reply…

- Nadan has not been here at all this afternoon… I replied openly. This was the truth.

- I do not believe this! She insisted. Then why is my little bottle empty?

I supposed she had there some Ayurvedic syrup against pregnancy.

- I know he has come…she insisted again.

I became furious:

- So, what if he had come here? He is the father of my child!

- The father of your child? What are you talking about? But I am not his sister…Three days ago we were together…

Chinni listened carefully at our conversation, but her mother shouted at her to go into the other corner of the room. Nala (nice) education for a growing up girl!

Laxmi took me forcefully into the kitchen:

- Look, these are his bottles… (Alcoholic drinks for their love moments). But - she pointed out towards that Hindu icon on the wall - this is not a God, it is only a piece of paper… For two years we have been just as a husband and a wife, living our life together and we make love once in a week…

So, I was paying and they were making love!

I think from that moment onwards my mental decay started. I could not raise my head from the mattress; it was like in a dream, when everything could be everything!

My head ached heavily, but I repeated to myself again and again: I will recover from this mess… I will, for sure…

The next day I woke up early in the morning, my eyes floating in tears. In the afternoon, I fell asleep but I think he hypnotised me and spoke with me. He asked me some questions, but not the real me replied. Slowly I began to be a little more aware of myself. I remember he asked if I wanted an Indian husband, then he told me that he was a brahmacharrya and his job was only to meditate, that was all.

- But why have you told me lies, that she is your sister? I remember asking him.

- You do not know anything of Indian relatives! He answered.

- Here - I put my hand on my stomach - something is moving…

- Yes, he said again, I told you to get rid of it as soon as possible, and you did not want to do so…Now you have to put that child in a hostel and marry…

- No, I will not do that…

Then I remember he hit me onto the top of my head with his heavy palm, but my mind became clearer, so I requested him to hit me once more. But the second one covered my mind with a black linen and I fell again into my unconscious sleep.

In this state of mind it was not so easy to see her smiling eyes throwing into my face words like these: "He told me the child is not his own…You had so many friends…"And with my little stock of memory I had to show her the papers from Nalam Clinic.

Two days after those happenings, when I came into my senses for a little while, I told her it was better to go to her husband to Madras, because