I was always in the forest. Dark, interweaving branches spread canopies of shade over the little cottage at whose doorway I waited. There was just enough room for me to fit my slender body in, within those narrow walls. I stood at the door and watched the waking forest. The birds were invisible to the eye but I heard them from behind the leaves.

Wild berries like drops of blood were scattered over the bushes. So red. So stark. There were no nuances of shade in that red. And those purply black berries, too, their skins crinkled with ripeness. I was awaiting something. I knew I could not remain confined within that space forever. I watched the path that led from my door. Expectation. Then, walking towards me was a tall bird with long stalky legs. Its wings shone with a golden light reflecting from its plumage. I stretched out my hands to catch it, hold it, but it turned and walked away from me, vanishing into the darkness of the forest.

Lipovsky had come to London from Germany. Karin had told him to help me if ever I were in need. He came to the house where I was living in London, but whatever he had to tell me, or even give me, could not be discussed. I was living with conservative friends, I could not talk freely. I did not go out with him. Also, there had been a bereavement in the family I was with. The house was in mourning.

The gilded bird had vanished and with it all my hopes.

Puberty Rituals

Being prepared for procreation, for motherhood. Strengthening the womb. My mother saw to it that we had plenty of eggs and sesame oil. Varieties of fish rich in oil, like shark, were cooked for us. The bitter margosa leaf was ground on the stone and we were given its acrid juices for cleansing the womb. Fertility was important. To be fertile was auspicious. If barren, you would be left out of all the rituals of marriage. You could never bathe or dress the bride or come before the couple. So I was prepared. Yet, I never married. I always remained chaste. Pure.

At home, during that period of puberty, although we were Christians we observed the ritual taboos of our culture in the North of that Island where I was born. The pillows were sprinkled with water and put out to dry in the hot sun. The dhoby washed all our clothes and we would remain in a separate room and not emerge until the purificatory rites had been carried out. I became aware of the mysteries of creation. It gave me a sense of power in myself as a woman but I knew always, yes, even then, that I must protect myself. Amrita, soma, moon-dew. The mystic birth. But as I grew older and was admired by many, my mother would not allow me to make a choice.