No Accounting For Chaos Ch. 12

"You will not be expected to assist in chores around the ashram – one of the few benefits of a betrothed, especially in the final weeks. You will be treated like a princess, actually, and that alone will take some getting used to. Thankfully you won't have a mother-in-law to contend with, but there will be plenty of women worried about your welfare."

The way he said it made it sound as if she wouldn't have a moment to herself. She ate slowly, carefully chewing her food and relishing the taste. He continued to list the various rituals she could expect. There was a routine every day and she was expected to already know it. Two hours later and she looked at the pages of the notes she'd taken. She was drowsy, in spite of the nap she'd taken, and couldn't keep her eyes open.

"Monty. I'm going to lie down. I think all that rice and masala did me in. Is there much more? Can we do it a little later?"

"No. I think I'm pretty much done. Before you take a nap, though, you should check if Mahitha has anything for you."

Mahitha did have something for her – another glass of orange juice which she gladly accepted, hoping she wouldn't have to pee again very soon.

In fact she slept the entire time until they arrived at the ashram. She woke, bleary and disoriented several times, barely able to open her eyes and then fell back to sleep. Images of airport security – a private section – transferring to a limousine, barely being covered and wanting to hold her dress down...not a dress, a kaftan, blowing in the breeze, feeling the cool moist air blow across her nakedness. Barely able to stand, only with Mahitha's help, the jostling on rough roads, smells, sounds and the blurring of faces. She knew she had been stripped again but couldn't muster the strength to protest, hoping Monty would protect her from...whatever unnamed fears bubbled up in her dreams.

When she finally awoke, she didn't feel truly refreshed: her head was still cloudy. The room was dimly lit from two windows with shades drawn. The walls were a deep orange color, the furniture elaborate wood carved bureaus. She was covered by a light madras spread, and against her naked skin, very fine muslin sheets. There was no sign of Monty, and no sign he had even slept next to her. She looked around and saw she wasn't alone: a young woman sat in a chair, working with needle and thread. At her movement, the woman looked up.

"Good morning, Mawrceee." Her accent was quaint and calming. "You have slept a long while. My name is Rani and I am here to help you."

The memory of Mahitha's help the day? before rushed in and she grimaced a little. "Uhhh, thank you?" She knew it was stupid to feel modesty, putting on a bravado she didn't feel, peeling back the sheets and turning to get out of bed. She noted the lack of even the badhi.

Rani was by her side as she tried to push her way up. "Let me help you, Mawrcee. The rass can be powerful sometimes." Rani was slight, but strong. She must have been younger than Marcie, but it was hard to tell in the light. Her hair was pulled back into a tight bun, her body covered in a colorful kaftan with intricate designs. Marcie noticed the fringe – it was either yellow or gold. She knew they put a lot of stock into the fringe and wondered what "rank" Rani had. In spite of the flowing gown, Rani's breasts were evident: her chest filled out the clothing, making a tent. As she talked she helped Marcie up, letting her get her legs back. She felt almost like an invalid, the absence of her usual strength pulsing anxiety through her. Rani patted her hand and helped her cross the room to a curtain covered doorway.

Two foot prints on either side of a hole were all the evidence there was of a toilet. She hesitated, certain what was expected, but not certain how to go about it. Rani led her to the prints and indicated how she was to squat. She assumed the position, trying to ignore the wide open, innocent stare from her companion. She could feel the pressure on her bladder, but the obvious staring prevented her from relieving herself. She knew it would be futile to ask, but she went and did it anyway. "It would be okay if you left me alone for a moment so I can..." she waved her hands at her pubis.

"Oh, that is fine," the woman responded, confusing Marcie's statement as concern for Rani's time. "Take as much time as you need." She waited, a small encouraging smile on her open face. Marcie closed her eyes and imagined waterfalls, dripping faucets, anything, until the stream began to flow. Once started she knew it wouldn't stop without an act of god. She blushed at the sound it made, splashing into the hole – like a gushing elephant. The smell was more powerful than usual. She wondered if it was from the food or because she wasn't peeing into water. The rest of the room had a pleasant, floral scent – but this was sulphorous and off.

"You are worried about the smell, Mawrcee?" Rani noted her concern and wrinkled nose. "It is probably an after effect from the rass. It will be fine now." Again she patted Marcie's arm, no doubt in an attempt to make her feel calm. It only raised her anxiety a little further, as if she were being treated like a child. She covered her annoyance by looking for paper to wipe herself, and remembered again Mahitha's duties on the plane. She waited.

"You are finished? Very good." The tone wasn't complimenting her performance. Rather it was Rani confirming her understanding. She turned to pick up a bucket, filled with water. Reaching in, she cupped some and splashed it on Marcie's open vagina, letting the drops fall into the hole. Three times she splashed her, on the final time, running her open palm across her naked mons and lips.

If Rani was confused by Marcie's naked pudenda, she didn't let on. She dipped a clean white towel into the same bucket and wiped Marcie's hands. Finally, she took a dry towel and wiped her hands and her vagina, pressing up to absorb any moisture on her asshole.

"Come, it is time to meet the others and begin your preparations."

Marcie's strength had returned substantially, the sleep draining away with each breath. In the room, Rani had her stand in front of an elaborately framed mirror while she retrieved the badhi. The woman knelt and applied more cream to her genitals and nipples before tying the thong. As Marcie looked down, she could see the woman's breasts filling the space in the tunic's opening.

"You have been busy, yes?" Marcie blushed again at the woman's reference to how stained the thong was. She didn't know how to respond. A faint memory of Monty telling her she would be treated like a princess came wafting back. How does a princess respond? More importantly, where was Monty? The feeling of loss and homesickness that had been creeping around the edges of her consciousness burst in.

"Where is Monty?" She asked it quietly, uncertain what the rules were.

Rani smiled up at her as she tied the last knots. "Neta, your betrothed, is in the men's quarters, yuvrani."

Marcie couldn't tell from what the woman had just said, whether the final word was a reference to the quarters or to her. She yawned and realized she was hungry again. "Rash, Rani. What is rash?"

"Excuse me, yuvrani? I didn't understand." She had stood up looking at Marcie in the mirror. Apparently the word referred to her.

"You said the smell of my pee might have been from the rash. What is that?"

"Oh! Rass," Rani said it with slightly more sibilance – it was a sound Marcie couldn't repeat accurately. "It is a juice mixture – the start of your preparations. Mahitha served it to you on the plane, yes?"

Yes, Marcie thought with rising anger. But no one bothered to tell me I'd be drugged. She closed her eyes, knowing it was stupid to be angry, here, now. Nothing was in her control and she had to accept the situation on faith that Monty knew what he was doing. All the issues she'd been fighting: being his whore, being dependent on him – they all surfaced, but she stood back and let them roar by like watching a freight train from the side of the tracks. Her pulse slowed and she breathed quietly. "Ah. Thank you."

"Let us meet the others." Rani took her hand and walked her to a second doorway.

The women were all very comforting with their smiles and welcoming embraces. Marcie was confused again. Had they all been just sitting out here waiting for her to wake up? The true meaning of princess began to hit home. The thought finally bubbled up. I am a princess. Shit! What does a princess act like? Apparently privacy was not one of the things afforded a princess as the women made clear: one of them would be attending her at all times.

"Please, yuvrani. We are curious – why are you not covered with hair?" The young woman, whose name Marcie hadn't understood was pointing to her shaved mons. "We'll soon fix that," one of them said in a manner suggesting Marcie had a horrible disfigurement that thankfully was treatable. The others giggled nervously.

Marcie shook her head in wonder – all of the things she had fought against her adult life were turned upside down: she was expected to be nude; she was expected not to shave; she was expected to let others help her. It was almost too much, threatening to overwhelm her.

"Do you need to toilet?" One of them asked, concerned.

She shook her head and Rani assured them she had gone already.

"But I am quite hungry, if that is possible?"

They nodded. An older woman, perhaps the one in charge? Marcie couldn't figure out the relationships yet, tsted a little, but produced a plate of dried fruits and nuts.

"It isn't time for evening meal, yet, and Mamatha is concerned about you ruining your appetite." Rani whispered. Marcie took two dates and a handful of nuts, thankful to have something.

Yet another woman spoke up. "We have several hours before evening meal. Would you like a tour of the ashram?" Her English was unlike any of the others – bright and clear, British-taught, although by all appearances she looked Indian enough: dark copper-tinged skin, black hair and bright eyes. With them all wearing kaftans and their hair all tied in buns, except for their height and shape, Marcie was having trouble telling them apart.

"Yes, that would be wonderful. Thank you?" she paused on the question, hoping it would imply she wanted the woman's name.

"Nitya, yuvrani. I would be honored if you called me Nitya." The formality of the response was the first she'd heard. She paused as they filed out of the door into the late afternoon sun.

Her rooms were off a walled courtyard several dozen meters across. In the center was an ancient tree ringed in by a circular stone bench. Women sat on the bench facing the tree, others tended the gardens at the perimeter of the court. The walls were of the same white stone, obviously very old and weathered, some covered with soot others with bird shit. She took it all in, the details, the smells of jasmine or honeysuckle, she never could tell the difference; the memory of Mahitha's juices rushing back to disorient her.

The small gaggle of attendants flowed around her like an oversized cape – an open, windblown cape that left her naked and exposed – but that was the effect it created in her mind. No one in the courtyard seemed to mind this white-skinned naked woman with a human cape walking amidst them. They raised their eyes to greet her and returned to their activities.

They passed the dining hall – Marcie noted there were benches and tables enough for at least 50 people. "Is this reserved only for women?" Rani assured her they were being especially careful not to take her anywhere near the men's part of the ashram. Again, Marcie felt the eeriness of asking one thing and having it interpreted so differently.

Adjacent to the dining hall they stopped briefly in a temple – a small chapel really. Images of women and men decorated the walls; tapestries were on all surfaces. Here, too, a couple of women were kneeling quietly. The group was silent, swooshing through like a heavy breeze into the inner corridor of a long building. The hall was simple, wood posts and beams exposed, plaster walls and ceiling whitewashed and relatively undecorated.

Their footsteps made soft padding noises on the cool stone floor. Nitya offered a little history of the place at Marcie's inquiry. "This was a minor prince's summer home before the British took over," she explained. "During the colonial period, it was used by the government as a field office of one kind or another. Sundar acquired it several years ago. The ashram has made significant improvements, wouldn't you agree?"

Marcie couldn't imagine how she could agree, not knowing what it had looked like previously, but then realized it wasn't that type of question. She nodded, admiring the ironwork hinges on many of the wooden doors they passed.

"What are these rooms?" She wondered aloud.

"Would you like to see them?" One of them rushed to open the door. It was a janitorial closet.

She smiled at their obsequiousness. "Thank you. That won't be necessary. I was just wondering – perhaps they are all closets?"

The women understood it for the joke it was, tittering.

"This is the women's dormitory. Some are taking their afternoon nap, so we won't go in right now. Tomorrow morning we have some exercises to perform and we can show you the rooms then. And here," the group had moved to a different doorway – this one open and tiled. The light spilling in had a bluish white cast, in stark contrast to the dark warmth of the hallway. "Here are the baths."

They let her pass into an antechamber – a small pool was on one side, Marcie was taken aback for a moment – several women were in it. Of course they were naked, but she hadn't expected it. Other pairs of women were along the edges: one holding a bucket she filled from the pool, the other washing her hair and body. Every now and then, the sound of water splooshing from a bucket echoed off the walls. Almost all of the women were young – younger than 30 – well proportioned – not slim, not overweight. She noted how thick and black their bushes were and the variety of breast sizes and shapes. Her eye caught on one woman who had obviously been through a mastectomy. Although Marcie had seen it at her gym plenty of times, there was something different about it here. The woman was soaping herself with her partner, completely at ease and at home.

The thought that this place might provide such a level of warmth and embrace chased away some of her anxiety. She breathed in the spiced humid air and realized how grimy she felt. "Would it," she began tentatively, but changed her tone. "I am quite grimy from traveling. When would be the proper time for a bath?"

Mamatha didn't tsk this time, but nodded approval.

One of them took off her kaftan revealing such a gorgeous body Marcie struggled to suppress her gasp. There was no way to know with the tentlike garment covering them. Again her eyes were drawn to the deep triangular thicket of black hair – in this case starting practically at the woman's waist creating almost a beard. Her skin was lighter than the others, more coffee-and-cream than raspberry-chocolate.

The woman led Marcie into the pool, leaving the badhi attached. Some of the other bathers looked up; Marcie felt a little self-conscious being the only white woman in the room, but at least she wasn't the only naked one for once. If anything she was over-dressed: the badhi stood out against her clean shaven skin like an intricate tattoo. By the time she had worked all of that out in her head she was almost submerged, luxuriating in the perfumed hot water. She let out a sigh of relief and then a gasp of surprise. Her companion had turned and had begun to stroke her body, rubbing a soft sponge up and down her arms, her breasts, her legs. Marcie looked down to see her under the water, kneeling and washing her limbs, moving up to push against the leather thong and then away.

She had to work at staying on her feet; the woman's actions threatening to tip her backward. She reached down to put her hands on the woman's head, steadying herself. At her touch, the woman looked up and smiled, her smile lit up her entire face. Marcie looked confused and smiled back tentatively. With a few more rubs, the woman finished, standing up out of the pool, leading Marcie with her. She didn't know how long she could go without washing her hair, but evidently that wasn't on the program for this bath.

They didn't have any towels, apparently. Her bathing partner simply slipped into her kaftan and the group was off to the next venue.

They passed by the dining hall again – this time from the inside through a series of glass paned wooden doors. On the opposite wall, a similar bank of doors led out to a different courtyard. The glass was flawed, or perhaps designed intentionally to obscure. In any event, Marcie could see nothing but sunlight and moving figures. Whether they were male or female, dressed or not, she couldn't tell.

The tour finished through the kitchen and then to the gardens back at the courtyard.

"Meditation in 30 minutes or so," Mamatha reminded the group.

Rani her appointed guide, expanded the meaning for her. "Our time for meditation is coming soon. You will join us?"

Marcie wasn't sure what her options were. If she were really a princess, she could likely ban meditation if she wanted. But why would she want to do that? If she didn't want to attend meditation, did that mean one or more of her servants would be denied the pleasure themselves? She was nervous about participating in a rite with which she had no familiarity. She looked around to see that Rani was on her left side, and the woman from the bath was on her right.

"I'm sorry, I don't believe I remember your name?" They were walking back towards the chapel.

"I'm Leela, yuvrani." Leela took her hand and softly rubbed her fingers across Marcie's knuckles. It appeared unconscious to Marcie, but the light massage sent small pulses up her arm. Her areolas tightened slightly and that movement reminded her how exposed she was, outside, with others around; the feelings of arousal surfaced.

"Yes, I suppose I will go to Meditation."

The chapel was filled with women in their kaftans, kneeling on prayer rugs. Once again, Marcie was the only white person in the room, but now she was the only one undressed as well. She could smell her musk growing stronger. When Leela and Rani led her to a mat and left her, she felt exposed and alone. What am I going to do here? She didn't know any of the chants, or rituals or whatever they were going to do. Shit! They could sacrifice a goat...no. Not a goat – they're vegetarians...a bok choy. They could sacrifice a bok choy and expect me to do something.

Her heart rate increased and she focused on her breathing, closing her eyes and repeating her own private mantra. Within moments, the room had broken into a long droning, three chord chant. It went on forever, to the point where Marcie wasn't able to forget it. She added her voice to the crowd and let it carry her along. Eventually, a young woman took to the dais and silently quieted the group.

She began a new chant, this one a series of syllables Marcie couldn't catch. The crowd responded with a simple grunt like noise. Again, she joined in. And then there was silence. She looked around to see all of the women moving into child position. She followed. She knew this was an opportunity to quiet her "monkey brain," but the images of the past two days skipped in front of her eyes like film frames stuck in a projector: Mahitha spreading cream on her naked labia; Rani wiping her after peeing; the women in the bath; Leela's fingers. She squirmed a little but stayed quiet, hoping this would end soon.