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The morning after his arrival in New Delhi, the Art Dealer felt refreshed after a night of uninterrupted sleep. He was full of energy as he followed his plan and after a hearty breakfast he would set out to find the India National Museum. Entering the hotel restaurant, he noticed a group of hostesses from the crew of yesterday’s Air India flight having breakfast. Quite purposefully he seated himself at a table near the hostesses, and he was little disappointed that the beautiful Deepa was not there. Today he would have involved her in a conversation. He was still intrigued by what he thought he had heard her saying “visit me in Khajuraho”. But he soon forgot these thoughts, he needed to get on his way. He left the restaurant, took a taxi and made it to the museum. Immediately, he went to the reception office, introduced himself and requested to see the curator of religious Buddhist art. The curator, Dr. Jain, would be available in half an hour, he was told by the clerk.
Soon, Dr. Jain appeared. He was a cultivated man, with fine features and a distinguished appearance. Without much ceremony, he introduced himself and asked how he could help. The Art Dealer began: “Dr. Jain, I greatly appreciate that you are taking the time to meet me without proper introduction. I am afraid that my inquiry will be most unusual, so I beg for your forgiveness if I ask you some questions that may appear strange to you”. Dr. Jain smiled and it was obvious that he wanted the Art Dealer to be comfortable: “Please do not hesitate to explain your request. I am here to help, if I can.”
“Let me be honest, Dr. Jain,” the Art Dealer continued. “Less than two days ago I visited a well known museum in Frankfurt, Germany, where an authority which I cannot name now, hinted that there is a female Buddha and that possibly some ancient pictures or a sculpture of this female Buddha might be found in India. That is why I am here. As a collector of art depicting the female essence and an expert in the historical evolution and expression of female nudity in art, I feel compelled to follow this hint. I must admit, however, that I have not heard before of the female Buddha. Regardless, I am most interesting in seeing images of the female Buddha, especially as I surmise that such objects might be rather priceless and not for sale. I wonder if you could help point me in the right direction”. The Art Dealer obviously did not want to tell the whole truth, but he hoped that his excuse sounded reasonable enough.
Dr. Jain smiled and offered a cigarette. He took one for himself and while lighting both cigarettes, he responded: “You must know that you are not the first person coming through here in the quest of the female Buddha. For some reason there must be information in European art circles, which from time to time leads to inquiries like yours. Unfortunately, we do not have any information as to the veracity of the female Buddha. This is a very controversial matter, as I hope I will be able to convey to you”. Then he continued: “First, you should know, that throughout East, Southeast and South Asia, stories of female Buddhas have surfaced from time to time, going back actually entire centuries. Often, these stories had very strong sexual content. It is not surprising that the religious establishment tried to suppress them, just as Christianity has always tried to suppress the expression of sexuality. After all, Buddhism is a religion of purity. The image of sexual excess, or even just sexual fulfilment has always been in opposition to the purist ideas of Buddhism. Except perhaps in India and other areas of Southeast Asia, like Cambodia. There you will still find images of association of sexual expression and religion. Just take the temples of Khajuraho as an example. The depiction of the greatest sexual excess, in the west declared as pure pornography, and all this in a temple. Ancient writings confirm this association, just think of the Kamasutra.” At this point, the Art Dealer interrupted. “Oh, now that you mention Khajuraho, I must tell you of a strange happening”. And he told Dr. Jain the story of the Air India hostess, including what she had whispered to him at the exit of the plane. “I must admit”, he continued, “that I cannot banish the thought that this hostess might be a temple priestess, She did look like one”. Dr. Jain smiled. “Well, my friend, there are many beautiful women in India. Many Westerners think that Indian women might be love goddesses. I have heard that often.” He paused, and then resumed: “But I shall say this: The folklore is rich with stories about sexually powerful women, in India and in China, Japan, and Southeast Asia. Not surprisingly, many people believe that females goddesses exist, women with special powers. Women who may be normal women until they reveal their powers to others. Myself I do believe these stories; in the extreme I could even believe that your airline hostess is one of these women, she certainly knew what to say to you without knowing who you are, Or perhaps it was because she did know who you are. I would seriously consider a visit to Khajuraho.”
The Art Dealer thought about this. His feeling of suspicion seemed to be confirmed. Then Dr. Jain continued: “But one thing is quite certain, these stories and these women, if they exist, have nothing to do with the female Buddha. A real female Buddha would appear like the male Buddha, a god, or the god. The female Buddha would not seek out mere mortals. She would not hunt mortals, like the Greek gods did for there sexual pleasure. Love priestesses might do that, but never a Buddha. You know the statues of Buddha – they convey serenity, eternity, meditation, but never lust. Yes, Buddha had female consorts who almost reach the level of goddesses, but they were not Buddha, the primordial Buddha. To say that would be blasphemy. Or almost.” The curator then told the Art Dealer of Tara, a female Buddha that was revered in Tibet. He cautioned that Tara was not really a Buddha, she was a woman who had reached enlightenment, yes, but she was likely not a Buddha.
The curator also mentioned Prajnaparamita, and he showed the Art Dealer a photograph of a statue of her. The curator explained that she, too, was probably not a real Buddha, and that in India, little was known about her because she crossed the Himalayas to go to East Asia. The people in China, Japan, and even Indonesia might know more about her. The Art Dealer was drawn to the image of this female Buddha, despite the doubts that the curator had voiced. Somehow, he felt that there was something to this goddess. She had beautiful breasts like the women in his paintings, like Olympia and Venus, and she showed them. Although he knew that the photograph would not speak to him even if he asked for a copy to take with him, he intuitively felt that he must find her. Gratefully, he thanked the curator and went back to the hotel.
He took a shower and ordered room service for dinner. He did not feel like going out. Again, he was heavy with thought. With what Dr. Jain had told him, and with what where his own recent experiences. He was confused. He was certain that somewhere the female Buddha was waiting for him. Restless as he was, he went down to the hotel bar, not quite knowing what he wanted there but perhaps hoping to find the beautiful air hostess. She was not there. But the Art Dealer felt like waiting for her, so he ordered a scotch at the bar. Again, he withdrew into his inner mind, where Venus and Olympia and the Air India hostess merged into the same mysterious woman, one moment wearing a veil, then nothing at all, then the Air India hostess uniform. He felt it strongly, this woman wanted him. He responded with a potent erection. He was so much in thought that he did not notice for quite some time that somebody was sitting next to him.
“You must be absorbed in deep thought”, he heard the woman say. She was seated to his left. She was beautiful and provocatively dressed, for Indian public standards, with high heels, short skirt, a tight blouse that left no doubts as to what delights were under the blouse. She smiled at him. “I hope you are not disturbed that I addressed you. I am Deepa”, she said with a seductive smile. Momentarily, he was confused. Deepa, the hostess? No, it could not be her, even if this woman was beautiful too. He looked around as if to seek confirmation that Deepa the hostess, “his” Deepa, was sitting with the other air hostesses somewhere in the bar. Was Deepa appearing to him in a new incarnation? A goddess, he mused, would certainly have that power.
“I see, you are waiting for someone. I apologize. I thought you were alone. I do not wish to disturb you”, the young woman said politely. “You do not disturb me. It is just that I learned important things today which I must consider.” He did not offer more explanation and Deepa did not ask about it. After a while she again turned to the Art Dealer and said: “Perhaps I could make you think of other things. I could give you a very pleasurable night.” She looked into his eyes, with a melting smile. She was indeed very attractive and desirable. But the Art Dealer’s mind was absorbed with the other Deepa. He did not want her to find him in the bar with another woman. He wanted to be alone, if she came. He was wondering why both women had said their names were Deepa. A coincidence? A message? Deepa was certainly a common name in India. Again, Deepa tried: “I promise you, if you let me seduce you, you will find fulfilment like you never had before. I can read you mind and all your secret wishes can come true, every wish you ever had about a woman. Would you like that?” For a long time the Art Dealer said nothing. He was torn between letting go and follow this women into her undoubtedly desirable sexual realm, and the feeling that he should wait for the other Deepa, the one who had invited him to Khajuraho. Then he finally replied “I am sorry, I think tonight I am not in the right disposition to enjoy, even with a lady as beautiful and seductive as you are. Perhaps another night. I am sure I’ll be back in New Delhi soon.” And he added “Perhaps you might like to give me your card’. With a big genuine smile, not showing even a trace of disappointment for being rejected, she reached into her purse and handed him a card. The Art Dealer thanked and apologized again. Deepa motioned him to read the card. It read
‘Deepa, Priestess
The Temple of Khajuraho’
He turned the card over. There was no phone number. Very confused, he got up and said “Perhaps I made a mistake about tonight. I am sorry”. And Deepa quietly replied “Perhaps, but you know now where to find me.” She gave him a quick kiss on his cheek, and before he even could inhale her delicate but powerfully erotic perfume, she had disappeared. Bewildered, he charged his drink to his room and went upstairs. |
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