Your eyes fill with tears. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ you say, as, with great compassion, you fit your mouth to her right nipple and suck out all her suffering.

24

In the middle of an afternoon, when a terrible Loo was blowing, and without any thought or consideration, she’d boarded a ramshackle bus. It wasn’t exactly crowded, but most of the seats were occupied. She found one that was empty and sat down. Only then did she notice that there were no other women on the bus.

When she also realised that the other passengers all followed a particular religion – something which was apparent from their clothes, beards, shoes, even the rings on their fingers – she was overcome by an unwonted fear. She felt a numbing sensation sweep through her entire body, like pins and needles. She tried to steal a glance at her co-passengers, all men, but fear had blinded her, preventing her from making out their individual features. And the visible signs of this religion, which each seemed compelled to display on their person, began to deeply disturb the humanism she’d maintained all these years. Assailed by feelings of insecurity, she sat ramrod-straight despite the swaying of the bus.

When she turned to look out of the window, a shriek slipped out before she had time to clamp her hand over her mouth. It wasn’t just the bus – the entire street seemed to have been engulfed by this other faith. The architecture of the houses and the names of the shops; the array and origins of the products on sale; the men, women and children; the language, music, laughter, movement, gestures, designs, prayers … all of it sent a single throbbing signal into every crevice of her consciousness, a broadcast from another religion. The bus and the street it was travelling down became a separate world, pushing her deeper into the darkness.

The blood in her veins had been quickened by the knowledge that she was the sole representative of her faith on this bus – much more than by her being the sole woman. Was her religion then a stronger and more primal factor than her womanhood? She’d had no religion when she got on the bus. For she considered religion as something akin to art – both remake that which already exists in natural form. Therefore religion seemed to her to be an artificial compulsion. But as the bus pulled her down the street she felt herself being formally indoctrinated, though she remained aware that she had no personal inclination towards religious beliefs or habits. Still, she did have a connection with one particular religion, a connection that was unconditional, and ran through to the core. But her existence now was free from that period in her past which this religion had invaded. Back then, had it insinuated itself into her identity? But she was attracted to the idea of there being more than one religion. Religion wasn’t born of the intellect, it wasn’t a pursuit of mōn, and neither was it a particular set of actions, since she herself had never conformed to prescribed behaviour. And yet she had maintained a religious disposition, even without following its instructions. Actually, was religion not simply a memory? A memory of the dreams of past lives.