Beyond Darkness

By V. Tamaso

Beyond Darkness completes a trilogy tracing the blossoming of a woman’s identity and sexuality from childhood to middle age. Set in the 1980’s, it is the story of a mature woman who has just left her husband after thirty years of marriage. She has become a member of a Rajneesh commune in Sydney, Australia, and travels to the United States for a year where she comes to embrace independence and to accept her sexuality as natural instead of her previous feelings of shame and guilt. Her story is interleaved with the lives of her extended family and their attitudes towards her new outlook on life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris AU
• Release date: Feb 12, 2021
• ISBN: 9781664101531

V. Tamaso

Tamaso’s writing first appeared at the age of nine in the children’s section of the Sydney Sunday Sun newspaper. Among her published works are nine teenage novelettes for ‘reluctant readers’ on themes relevant to teenagers of the 1960s and 1970s, books on Australian birds, encyclopedia nature articles, short stories and poems in anthologies from UK, USA, India and Australia, and a short novel Skye’s the Limit, telling of a young girl’s fight to save a rainforest. Her writing embraces mid-twentieth century social themes from middle-class respectability through hard-drinking club and working men’s life, juxtaposed against solitary independence among nature and spiritual awakening. For the last thirty years of her life till her death aged 92 in 2020 she lived and wrote in the Rainbow Region, an area in the lush subtropics of northern NSW, Australia.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

When Sue and Bill Stapleton set off for India to visit Kevin, their eldest son, who had written to say he was living in an ashram and had changed his name, they little guessed the impact the journey would have on their lives, or that it would lead to the end of their thirty-year marriage. They had no idea what an ashram was and, when Sue found out, she was most concerned that Kevin had discarded all his Christian teachings and was trapped in some terrible heathen cult. As it happened, they soon became enchanted themselves with Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh—their son’s Master—and decided to become sannyasins themselves.

They returned to Australia as Taru and Almasto, in orange clothes with beads around their necks and a new outlook on life. However, Bill quickly became disenchanted. He didn’t want to be Almasto to his mates and family. And certainly did not want to go to the pub in orange clothes and beads. He promptly got back into civvies and hid his beads away in the back of his cupboard.

On the other hand, Sue was delighted to be Ma Prem Taru, Miss Tree of Love, and rejoiced in the feeling of freedom to just be herself as an individual rather than being identified as somebody’s wife, mother, daughter, sister, niece, cousin or friend.

Bill could see what was happening and tried to hold her tighter in the bondage of matrimony but the more he pulled, the further Taru slipped away from him. Finally she walked out the door carrying a few clothes in an overnight bag, a blanket and forty dollars.

That first night, she went to the Rajneesh Meditation Centre and slept on a piece of foam on the floor, covered with her blanket. The next day all the members were going up to the North Coast to do a four-day group and the others insisted Taru go with them.

‘But I can’t afford a group,’ she protested. ‘I’ve only got forty dollars.’

‘Don’t worry about the money,’ they said. ‘You need to do this. Just come with us.’

So for four days, in a beautiful rainforest retreat, Taru sat with various partners, looking into their eyes and answering the command: ‘Tell me who you are!’

She went through considerable emotional turmoil. Who was she really? Bill’s wife? The children’s mother? Their children’s grandmother? Wilma’s sister? George’s daughter? The boys’ sister? Somebody’s aunt? Somebody’s cousin? Somebody’s friend? All of those, perhaps, but who was she?

At times she felt she was going mad. She had nowhere to live—almost no money—no idea what she would do when the group finished. Why had she left her home, her husband, cat, dog, garden and houseful of furniture and treasures collected over the past thirty years? Why was she here with all these crazy people who didn’t even know who they were?

At the end of the group, she still didn’t know who she was but she surely knew who she wasn’t. Whoever she was, she didn’t belong to anybody but herself. From now on she was going to live her own life.

Another woman in the group, who was going to the ashram in Poona, offered Taru the use of her house on a community in Nimbin while she was away.

‘I’d love it but I’ve got no money for rent,’ said Taru.

‘That’s okay, love. The house would only be empty anyway. You can look after it for me.’

So Taru moved into a very primitive house amid a wilderness of lantana, a few old rainforest trees and a small neglected vegetable patch. The house was simply one fair-sized room with an unlockable door, lots of odd-sized windows, several without glass, and a sleeping-loft up a rickety ladder. Furniture was limited to a couple of benches, a table, two chairs, a beanbag and several cushions scattered over the floor. The loft contained a foam mattress and two old pillows. There was no electricity. An oil lamp and some candles stuck in bottles, supplied lighting while a small single-ring gas stove was adequate for cooking. Water was stored in a rainwater tank outside the door, piped into the sink and drained into a bucket to be emptied on the garden. It all reminded Taru of the early days of her marriage to Bill when they had lived in their garage while building their house.

She thought a lot about Bill. How was he coping by himself? He must be missing her badly. She understood that all his possessive behaviour simply came out of a fear of losing her but she had never been able to make him see her own needs. In many ways she missed him too. Along with the bad times, there had been some very happy ones in all those years. She missed his sense of humour, his smile, the way he sometimes winked at her across the room, his skylarking with the kids when they were little, his love of stray animals, the games of cards and other table games they had played when he was off work with an injured back.

Most of all, she missed their love-making, rare as it had been in recent months. She missed his presence in bed, waking at times and sleepily reaching out to snuggle up to him but finding nothing but emptiness. Erotic dreams happened more often now and she woke clutching her ‘private parts’ convulsed in orgasm and full of guilt that this uncontrollable lust would never let go of her.

She thought often of the children, all five of them grown-up now and gone their own ways. Kevin, out in India, and now known as Sagaro; Arthur sharing a terrace house somewhere in Sydney; Dave living with his girlfriend who had just given birth to their third child; Eddie travelling somewhere in Europe, and Brenda picking apples in Tasmania. She had no real idea how they would react to their mother leaving their father. They had always seen their parents as a staid old married couple. It would be a shock for them. Except for Sagaro! He had told her in Poona that she should leave.

‘Leave your father! I couldn’t possibly do that. We’ve been married for thirty years!’ she had protested.

Sagaro had laughed. ‘Just because you’ve been doing something for thirty years doesn’t mean you have to go on doing it,’ he’d said.

At that time Taru could not imagine any life other than being a wife and mother. Meeting Bhagwan and hearing him speak had given her a whole new perspective.

Now, looking into the old broken piece of mirror hanging on the wall, she saw an old woman with straggly almost-white hair and wrinkled face. She had always been skinny—a bag of bones almost—but lately her body had filled out to gently rounded curves. She could possibly be called slender now but would she ever attract another man? She thought not. Did she really want another man? Maybe not but she knew she still wanted sex. With a woman, perhaps? No! Never! Wherever had that thought come from? The whole idea was disgusting! She had always loved men. Growing up with all those brothers (who she later found out were really her uncles) had given her an empathy with men and she always felt more comfortable with them than with women. She hadn’t found many women she could even like, let alone love, except for Maggie her grandmother, who had reared her from birth when Taru’s own mother had died. And Wilma, of course, Maggie’s only other daughter in the middle of eight boys and whom Taru regarded as a sister.

No, if she ever had sex again, it would have to be with a man but it was hardly likely. She was living a very secluded life at the moment. She meditated, listened to tapes of Bhagwan on the battery operated radio-tape-deck she had found stowed away in a corner; laid naked in the early morning sun; weeded the vegie patch and often walked down to the creek and followed its passage through the rainforest. A long way farther up there was a waterfall. One day she would go there.

There were no neighbours within sight of the house but occasionally she glimpsed people walking by on the track below leading to the road. The nearest shop was some kilometres away. With no transport, Taru’s only way of getting there was to walk and hitchhike, a daunting prospect at first but she soon discovered that this was a common practice here and most people were happy enough to pick her up. She got lifts in beat-up old Holdens with odd-coloured doors; sat in the back of a ute with an over-friendly dog that insisted on jumping all over her and licking her face; cuddled a two-year-old girl who went to sleep in her arms; squashed in with six other people in a tiny car, and was offered odd-smelling smokes which she politely refused.

Strangely enough, nobody commented on her peculiar name or raised their eyebrows at her orange clothes and beads. Indeed, she supposed, she looked no more unusual than her hippie neighbours in their tie-dyed dresses, rainbow scarves, tattered jeans, message T-shirts and long flowing hair or dreadlocks.

Money was her biggest worry but the hippies soon advised her to go and talk to Social Security. She was surprised at the friendly reception she received and even more surprised to find that, after such a long-term marriage, if she remained separated from her husband for six months, she would be entitled to a Widow’s Pension. In the meantime they would pay her a Special Allowance. They gave her an immediate cheque and she felt very rich, secure in the knowledge of others that would arrive every two weeks.

One very hot day, she was hitchhiking home from Lismore with another woman and two small children when a late-model car pulled up for them.

‘Want a lift?’ queried the driver, a good-looking young man, very obviously a tourist.

They all piled into the car, Taru in the front next to the driver and the others in the back. They chatted happily and found that the young man was visiting from interstate and staying with friends just outside Nimbin.

In the village, the woman and children got out. Taru started to get out too but the young man insisted on driving her all the way home.

‘It’s no bother,’ he answered her protests, smiling into her eyes. ‘I’ve got nothing else to do right now.’

‘Well, thanks a lot then.’

They drove a short way along the road before he slowed the car and said, ‘Would you like a swim? There’s a great waterhole just down here. I went there the other day with my friends.’

The heat was intense and a swim sounded like a marvellous idea. Climbing through a fence they walked across a cow paddock down to a clear creek shaded by huge old trees. A waterfall dropped into a deep pool edged with moss-covered rocks.

‘Wow! It’s beautiful!’ sighed Taru. ‘And so cool!’

‘Sure. Isn’t it great? Just the place for a day like today.’

They quickly stripped off their clothes and jumped into the icy water. Taru splashed around at the edge but the young man swam across to the other bank and climbed up to a low hanging branch. Taru watched entranced as he stood above her, perfect in his nakedness like a beautifully-crafted statue. He dived from the branch and surfaced nearby to her, laughing. They gazed into each other’s eyes, smiling at the message passing between them. Coming closer, he gently stroked her cheek. Taru lay back invitingly at the edge of the water. His hands travelled down to the roundness of her breasts. Taru quivered. He ran his fingers around her nipples. Taru gave a slight moan of pleasure. He took her in his arms and kissed her, gently at first but with growing passion as Taru’s body responded. There was no holding back. Slowly and magically they made love in the shallows at the edge of the stream with a whipbird calling from the undergrowth and a curious wallaby watching from the other bank.

Later he drove her to the track leading to her house and they kissed goodbye. They had not even exchanged names. Taru went inside singing. Perhaps sex would not be a problem, after all.

Taru wrote to her father, Wilma and also a short note to Bill. She just wanted to let them know she was safe and well and that she could be contacted through the post office in Nimbin.

Her father wrote back, most concerned, and begged her to come and live with him. Taru’s stepmother had been dead for many years and George had been taking care of himself most capably but now, he wrote, he’d love to have Taru’s company.

She rang him from the public phone and explained that she needed space to be on her own for a while. He, as usual, was most understanding but assured her again that there was a home with him if ever she should want it—and did she need any money?

‘No, Dad! I’m okay! But thanks for the offer. You just look after yourself. And if I ever get back to Sydney I’ll come and see you.’

As it happened, she got back to Sydney a lot sooner than she expected. Word came to her from sannyasin friends that they were opening a Rajneesh Centre there and inviting her to go and help get it organised. She quickly packed her meagre possessions and travelled by overnight train to begin yet another new life, wondering if she would ever see Nimbin again.

CHAPTER TWO

Wilma, basking in the sun on the balcony of her luxurious home on the Gold Coast, was surprised to receive Taru’s letter and hear that she had finally left Bill. Although she had never approved of the marriage and had little respect for Bill, Wilma secretly admired Sue (she refused to call her Taru) for sticking to him for so long. Of course she knew they’d had problems. Bill never had been able to hold his grog and he was such a silly drunk, wanting to run around like a two-year-old and play stupid jokes on people. They had lived like paupers and often had to ask Wilma for a loan, all because the money went on alcohol.

Not that Wilma was against alcohol. Far from it! She liked her drink. She had a bar in her home stocked with every type of drink imaginable, always available for her friends when they called. Wilma never asked did they want a cup of tea. It was always, ‘what will you have to drink?’

Although she lived alone, Wilma entertained crowds of friends, happy to show off her beautiful home that had been featured as Home of the Week in one of the women’s magazines. It was always scrupulously tidy and spotlessly clean with no effort whatsoever on her part other than arranging a local woman to come in and clean it regularly. On the walls were paintings she had done at the Art Class, together with a group photo of all her brothers, and one of her mother Maggie and herself taken long ago. Vases, planter pots, ashtrays, coffee mugs and a tea service all bore evidence of her skill at the Pottery Class.

The huge games room housed the bar, complete with a row of barstools, a billiards table, a card table and several comfortable chairs for people who just wanted to relax.

Many of Wilma’s friends had been her customers when she and Bernie had owned a nightclub in Sydney. After Bernie had run off with that woman, the business had been sold and Wilma had started another one of her own, patronised by the wealthy, famous and infamous Sydney socialites. Now that Surfers Paradise had taken off as the place to live, these same people were flocking there.

Duncan, Wilma’s favourite brother, rented the next-door villa, which Wilma had bought specially for this purpose. It was wonderful having Duncan so close and handy. He was always available to fix a fuse when the lights failed, put a new washer in a tap and keep her tiny courtyard in spick and span condition. Not a stray leaf escaped Duncan’s broom nor did a stray weed invade the rows of petunias, poppies and begonias he planted to keep the little garden colourful. Duncan popped in each morning to give Wilma tea and toast in bed. He brought in the morning newspaper for her to read, and washed up any dishes she may have left on the sink overnight. He washed the car for her, kept it topped up with petrol, checked the oil and water and took it for its regular service. Duncan was a treasure. No wonder he was her favourite brother.

Her youngest brother Pete had also moved up here. He and Elsie lived out in the bush but came to see Wilma at least once a week. Poor Pete was never very well. Ever since he’d had that stroke years ago he’d been plagued with ill-health. Of course, that terrible wife, Amy, had been the cause of his stroke. Fancy going off and leaving a man with all those children to look after! What a blessing that he’d found Elsie, a woman he’d apparently known years ago and who was now prepared to stick with him and care for him. Not that he was an invalid. Oh no! Not Pete! He had battled long and hard to overcome the paralysis and get himself reasonably mobile again.

As for her other brothers, Wilma rarely heard from them. After their mother’s death the family had somehow drifted apart. They sent Christmas cards and sometimes remembered her birthday. When they wanted a holiday, they would come and stay for a couple of weeks but apart from that there was little contact.

Sue was the only one who had really kept in touch. She wrote letters and rang