The night of love of the beautiful Rajput princess.
Act II of an erotic tale taking place in Rajasthan
A nervous movement of the crowd, a wake in the crowd vigorously caused by nervous police officers. A horse closing by, he carries with dignity the prince dressed with an achkan of invaluable brocarts, the head covered with a diadem encrusted with perls, a long sword suspended to his side, and protected by a ceremonial parasol of complex gildings. The crew slowly march through the crowd and penetrates into the gardens of the Maharana.
Udaipur that evening, near the gardens of the Maharana.
Multicolored women. An indescribable kaleidoscope of tempting veils, saris with multiple geometrical designs, the constant rattling of trinkets, legs, arms of copper flesh artistically crimped with jewel, necklaces, pendants, bracelets of ivory, bones, silver and gold, the unintelligible cawing of young girls, the multicolored lehangas that let foreseen fragments of appetising flesh uncovered, the smile with broad tooth of whiteness maintain by the constant raking of branch of neem, the burst of timid laughter, the tempting eyes surround by a provocative bistre of khol, the disordered overcrowding of girls, a charming undiscipline, the primitive and voluptuous beauty, the concupiscence behind the vaporous orhnis, the carnal glance of the goddess Lakshmi, the lewdness that twinkles in the rising night in front of the gardens of the Maharana, the impatient women, curious, agitated await the arrival of the bride.
There she is, escaped from her mysterious shattri that protected her from the curious glance of the men, she advances with dignity wrapped in her silk dupatta of glittering floral embroideries.
The sacred fires burn under the saffron curtains of the mandap. The priest prepares for the new grooms, the meal of rice, sesame and barley.
There they are, both of them, hand to hand while listening the priest recites vedic texts in Sanskrit. They achieve around the sacred fire, a strange dance that must seal their union forever.
Udaipur,
the Jag Mandir palace, jewel of white marble, perforated walls, hanging gardens, consoles in corbel, latticed passages, poetic boat floating on the calm water of the Pichola lake. Udaipur in my dreams also.
The night is mild. My thoughts are confused, I must be disturbed by those dreams.
A strange shadow silently distracts the horizon of my vast bedroom.
A mysterious shadow originated from a secret door dissimulated in the complex penmanships that decorate the marble and porphyry walls of the palace.
A shadow made of frivolous veils that blink nervously in the breeze of the evening. A shadow that desintegrates suddenly, leaving linen-cloths gently falling over the shiny pavement of the bedroom, a shadow that undresses itself, a shadow made of round and sensual shapes, the shadow of a woman, of a princess or a courtesan generously lends for the night to the one-night visitor by an hospitable host.
She approaches, the shadow dematerialized, the anatomy become clearer, the shapes materialised, the lascivious hipping of a naked young woman slip into all her princely splendour on the shiny pavement of the Jag Mandir. She seats on the edge of the bed, slightly apprehensive and timid, she remains there without moving an interrogative glance at me.
The secret mysteries of the Jag Mandir or the misleading daydreams of a solitary traveller.
I move slightly, just enough to express the amazement of an anxious pilgrim. To avoid startling the little beast fearful or astutely reserved, my gestures remain alleviating more than conquerors.
She stare at me with her black eyes underlined with bistre, the interrogative eyes of an astucious courtesan, of a curious little sister or even of an adulterous princess, my discrete interrogations do not manage to perceive the mysteries which haunt the secret corridors of the Jag Mandir.
Marco Polo or the imaginary journey (translated from Contes et légendes, février 1998) © 1998 Jean-Pierre Lapointe
Trame sonore empruntée aux archives du Web: Shanghai de Jean-Michel Jarre