“Yes,” I whisper and we join hands and I let myself be led back up the street. We quickly make our way towards the edge of the village. As we walk I realize there are others walking with us as well. Ramita seems to be following a woman a hundred yards ahead. I soon sense someone behind us as well. I turn to see the widow Mamata following us, a look of weary anticipation on her face. Further behind her, comes Nilaya, hand in hand with another woman. I do not know her name, but I recognize her face. Her husband passed away a few years ago, a victim of lung cancer — Joseph and I had called on them to pray over the poor dying man. Other than we women walking, the village seems deserted. No one is out and about. There is an almost eerie silence.
We walk and we walk as the sun begins to set. We reach the edge of the village and with some alarm, I realize we are stepping into the thick growth of the jungle as the sky slowly darkens. We follow others onto a narrow path and soon are deep in the gloom of the dark jungle, although it is not as dark as I would have thought. Moss hangs from tree branches and clings to trunks and as night comes on becomes luminescent, giving off a silvery glow that provides us plenty of light to follow the path.
As we make our way, the noises of the jungle seem muted as if the animals and insects have paused out of respect to our passage. We walk deep into the jungle. At one point, I sense movement at the edge of my vision and almost unable to believe my eyes, I see a Bengal Tiger’s head emerge from the thick undergrowth. It watches us with avid interest, but I do not feel fear. It is aware of us and we are aware of it — there is almost a sense of communion. I suddenly comprehend that it is a female and there is jolt of understanding, of oneness with the creature. As I pass it, the tiger nuzzles my hand as if to offer encouragement. I am filled with a sense of wonder and for the first time in weeks I believe that perhaps there is a resolution waiting for me at the end of our path.
We walk on, how long I’m not sure, time seems to have altered. Night has fallen, but how late it is, I have no idea. The land begins to rise, we are approaching hills and then the path emerges in a clearing. On the far side of the clearing, there is a rock face and I see a woman step to it and into an opening — a cave.
Ramita guides me towards it. I do not hesitate. I follow my best friend into the cavern. A narrow passage awaits us. It takes us deep under the hill. Torches mounted in the cavern walls light our way. Then we are in a large chamber. It is warm and humid. As my eyes adjust to the dimly lit room, I see steam rising from a pool of water. There are a few women already in the pool, bathing. The woman we followed in is disrobing and for the first time since our journey began, I truly feel uncomfortable. My Protestant faith has instilled in me a terrible sense of modesty.
“Before the rite must begin, we must bathe and be purified in the holy waters that Danteshwari provides,” Ramita says to me in a tone I’m sure she uses to mildly chastise Bimal. I look at her and she is already disrobing, her massive breasts exposed. I stare in surprise. Ramita smiles back at me, amused I think by my expression of embarrassment. She reaches out and strokes my cheek affectionately. “Come now, Christine. We are women. There are no secrets between us. Hurry now, we must bathe.”