The Powers of the Root Chakra and Other Mysteries of the Orient

The lake looked like a mirror, the water as still as glass. Two white swans glided across the silky surface. Margot caught a glimpse of her own reflection. Her curly red hair was pulled back at the nape of her neck and held in place with a green, velvet ribbon. She had been sitting near the water’s edge writing. Her most recent adventure was a romance. A beautiful princess had fallen under the spell of an evil queen and her prince rescued her. The handsome prince carried the love of his life to a weeping willow tree near a babbling brook. Beneath the tree’s billowy branches, the couple stand facing one another. The prince lifts the white gauze caftan over his lover’s head, discarding it on the ground. He puts his strong hands around her bare waist and lowers his mouth to her breasts. He playfully licks each one before laying her down on the soft grass. He lies on top of her, and gently kisses her on the mouth. He traces his tongue over her neck, slowly moving down the soft mounds of her breasts, stopping at her rock-hard nipples. Gently, he cups a breast in one hand and suckles her nipple, while his other hand is busy caressing her belly and moving slowly down toward the sweet spot between her legs. She moans with pleasure. She draws his head toward her mouth. They kiss deeply. She rolls on top of him and begins kissing his neck. She traces her tongue over his hard pecs and down his ripped torso. She can feel his hardness against her stomach and descends to his throbbing member. She grabs it firmly in her hand and begins stroking it up and down, faster, and harder as he becomes more and more aroused. She slips his manhood into her mouth and she begins sucking and swallowing. Wanting him deep inside her, she straddles him, guiding his cock with the tips of her fingers into her hidden pool of moisture. She sits up straighter, forcing him deeper. Leaning backward, she slowly rocks her hips from side to side as she caresses her breasts and starts playing with her nipples. The prince slips his thumb into her crevasse and finds her swollen clit. He rubs it slowly as she thrusts her hips back and forth, faster, and harder. She can’t hold back any longer. The princess groans loudly as she reaches climax, gushing her hot sticky juices across his pelvis. He lifts the princess off his body and lays her belly- down on the ground. The prince rolls on top and mounts her. He plunges his rock-hard cock deep inside her dark, slippery wetness and grinds his hips against her ass. She joins his rhythmic thrusts until both unleash their climaxes at the same time.

Margot had to adjust herself and glanced around to make sure no one had seen. She closed her notebook and strolled blissfully along the river that wound through the small village of Alton. Nestled in an obscure region of the English countryside, Alton was a sleepy burg. Margot passed the Fox and Hare tavern on her way to the small home she shared with her parents and six younger brothers.

The noise inside the small stone edifice was deafening. Margot escaped the carnage by drowning herself in books. She would also concoct her own tales, fueled by her yearning to travel to foreign lands and write about her experiences. If only her family had the money to send her abroad. But she knew that such a thing was not possible. Her family struggled financially, even with her father being a nobleman. At the age of nineteen, Margot knew it would be difficult to find a suitable husband, for she had nothing to offer in the way of a dowery.

She pushed this reality aside as she opened the door to her father’s study, where she would often seek refuge. In the corner, a brown leather reading chair emitted the faint scent of pipe tobacco. Three of the four walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling wooden bookshelves crammed with tomes of every shape, size, and color imaginable. Near the door was a long expanse where a table stood. Perched on the table was a mahogany writer’s desk, a birthday gift she received from her father for her nineteenth birthday. She sat in front of her portable office, opened the dark hinged top, and began to write. The tips of her fingers were black from constantly dipping her quill in thick, black ink that bleed onto the page. Margot was ensconced in an exotic fantasy and didn’t hear her father enter the study.

“My, my you appear to be stricken by something. An unseen literary bug perhaps?”

Margot didn’t hear the question and continued writing. Lord McNamara cleared his throat to garner his daughter’s attention. Margot was pulled from her trance and smiled when she saw her father standing behind her, reading her latest adventure over her shoulder. Knowing how desperately his only daughter wanted to travel, and him not being able to afford to send her abroad, broke his heart. He would do anything to avoid disappointing his Margot.

“You really would love to see these places, wouldn’t you?”

“Oh yes, father, more than anything in this world.”

“I will miss you when you go.”

Margot looked up at her father, who looked a little like the cat that ate the canary, crinkled her brow, and asked, “Father, what are you getting on about?”

“Well, I had a run-in this afternoon with Colonel Forsyth. He informed me he has been assigned to a foreign post in India. He and his family are due to set sail immediately and he can’t find anyone to act as governess to his two small children. I happened to mention that you may be interested.”

Margot’s eyes began to glisten with tears of joy. Elated, she jumped from her chair and threw her arms around her father’s neck. Pushing his daughter away to a more respectable distance, Lord McNamara replied, “There, there my dear. I am pleased that you are pleased. Now go tidy the front parlor, I have invited the Colonel and his wife to join us for tea.”

Margot looked at the walnut clock hanging near the door and saw she had a little under two before teatime. Margot cleaned the parlor and had time to change into her Sunday best before the door knocker announced the arrival of their most distinguished guests.

Not wanting to appear too eager, Margot waited at the top of the stairs. Her father opened the door and her mother led the distinguished couple into the small, but clean, front parlor. A porcelain tea service graced a wooden tea cart. Lord and Lady McNamara exchanged pleasantries with the Forsyth’s and called Margot downstairs so she could meet her destiny.

Lord McNamara introduced his daughter, “Colonel and Mrs. Forsyth, allow me to introduce you to my eldest and only daughter, Margot.”

Margot curtsied and remained silent until spoken to.

“Your father says you have quite the panache for writing stories.”

“Yes sir, I very much enjoy writing and have always dreamt of traveling to far off lands as inspiration.”

Mrs. Forsyth took a sip of tea and smiled warmly at Margot. “Why would a beautiful girl such as yourself wish to travel? Wouldn’t it be more suitable for you to find a husband?”

Margot had to bite the tip of her tongue to prevent an outburst that would most certainly prevent her from being retained by the Forsyth’s, but Margot’s father came to her rescue.

“Mrs. Forsyth, I think you would agree that a well-rounded woman; adept in music, literature, and foreign languages, brings a certain sophistication to a marriage and I believe traveling will only enhance my daughter’s prospects of finding a suitable suitor.”

Colonel Forsyth cleared his throat and agreed that a well-rounded woman was indeed a valuable commodity. “Well Miss McNamara, my wife and I think you would make a splendid governess for our family, and if you are interested, we would like you to be available to depart for India day after tomorrow.”

“If you don’t mind my asking sir, how long will we be abroad?”

“I would think a solid year at the very least. That isn’t a problem is it?”

“No sir, not at all. I can’t wait for our departure.”

After the Forsyth’s left, Margot couldn’t contain her glee. She moved about her room, packing her suitcases as if she were floating on air. India, she couldn’t believe it. There was so much she didn’t know, and so much she wanted to learn.

Colonel Forsyth had been appointed Viceroy of India by King George III. It was an extremely important job and Margot hoped it would afford her an opportunity to travel throughout India, exploring all its mysteries and wonders.

Calcutta, home of the Viceroy’s residence was 170 kilometers from the port. Unfortunately, the port of Calcutta was inaccessible for one reason or another, Margot thought it had something to do with construction. As a result, the group needed to secure transport to the train station. Margot was tasked with keeping her two charges from being whisked away by the throng of bodies in the streets. The Forsyth children were well behaved and held onto Margot’s outstretched hands for dear life. A tiny yelp escaped Beatrice’s lips causing Margot to loosen her death grip.

A bright yellow carriage stood 200 meters away. Colonel Forsyth was perched on the driver’s seat waiving to make his whereabouts known. Avoiding the undertow of flesh pressing against her, Margot fought her way toward the carriage. She held on tightly to Beatrice and John and after what seemed like an eternity made it to the safety of the carriage. As they left the docks and made their way to the train station, they passed colorfully painted elephants standing by the road. Camels could be seen pulling skids piled high with bananas, star fruit, oranges, and sugar cane. Margot had never seen anything like it. The air was heavy, the heat stifling. Smells of exotic spices filled the air as did countless pigeons. Women wrapped in sauries of vibrant silk walked to unseen destinations. Other women strolled toward the marketplace carrying baskets of goods on their heads. Margot was experiencing sensory overload. India was a riot of noise and color. In the distance, Margot spotted the black, belching smoke coming from the engine of the train that would take them to their destination. The train was packed to the gills with bodies. Fortunately, the Forsyth’s had been able to secure a first-class cabin that was theirs exclusively. The train snaked its way through the Indian countryside revealing a lush tropical paradise filled with exotic plants and animals Margot was anxious to learn more about.

The train journey ended at the station in Calcutta. The throng of bodies was as thick as it was in the port city they had just left. Fortunately, there was a small entourage of staff sent to meet the Colonel. The small army proceeded to ensconce us in a blanket of tranquility as Margot and the others were led outside. A wave of heat hit Margot’s in the face with such force it literally took her breath away. A large white carriage with an official seal emblazoned on the side provided safe transport to the Viceroy’s residence. As the carriage fought its way through the street’s vendor stall littered the streets selling everything from spices to yards of colorful silk. Margot was mesmerized and dug into her satchel to extract her notebook. She felt compelled to write. Baskets of marigolds dotted the walkways. Men sat and played games. Music wafted through the air as people danced in the streets. India seemed to be a joyful place, filled with people who reveled in all life had to offer. As the carriage rode past the city center, the people thinned, if ever so slightly, revealing a whitewashed stone wall that surrounded a vast piece of property. The lawn was lush and thick emerald green. Birds of paradise lined the outside perimeter of the white wall, making it appear to be painted with streaks of brilliant oranges and purples. A trick of the eye when the bright sunlight reflects off the sone wall. Sitting in the center of the lush emerald expanse stood a three-story building. Colonel Forsythe pointed toward the structure. “There it is the place we shall call home for the next 12 months.”

Margot exhaled, not even realizing she had been holding her breath. The building was grander than anything she had ever seen before. It was made of white marble. Arched windows graced the front of the building. Several of the rooms appeared to have private terraces. As the carriage approached the gate that would take them to the exquisite home two uniformed guards opened the gates and saluted. The Colonel returned the gesture as the horses pranced down the long and winding drive. Banyan trees lined the drive, creating a green canopy. Parrots the color of precious jewels squawked from the tree limbs. Star jasmine lined the drive, emitting its sickly-sweet fragrance. Orange trees bloomed in the distance, the smell both intoxicating and hypnotic. In the middle of the circular drive stood a koi pond exploding in a kaleidoscope of color. Servants stood in a line down the stairs leading to the massive ironwood door. Margot held John and Beatrice’s hands as she followed Colonel and Lady Forsyth into the house. Margot crossed the threshold and gasped out loud. The Colonel turned and gave a disapproving look. Margot cleared her throat and sheepishly looked down at the floor, averting her gaze. A tall man dressed in a white jacket and white pants were giving the family a tour and was pointing to the parlor, dining room, study, conservatory, and library. Margot’s ears perked up upon hearing there was a library. The tour ended with Margot being led to the nursery. Her sleeping quarters were tucked neatly away in the far end of the room and were separated with an ornately carved wooden screen. There was a knock at the door. John and Beatrice were busing themselves with a new trunk of toys. Margot opened the door and saw a small woman struggling to carry in several suitcases. Margot reached out to help her, accidentally brushing her hand against hers. From nowhere, Hajib, the man dressed in all white except for the blue turban wrapped around his head smacked her hand away and began scolding Margot. As he wagged his finger disapprovingly, he explained, “No, miss. You must never touch her. She is a serf. An untouchable. She is unclean. Even her shadow must be avoided.”

The girl coward and quickly deposited the luggage before scuttling from the room. Before she departed Margot caught the girl’s eye and she mouthed, “I’m so sorry.” She had no idea if her sentiments were understood, but she hoped it would be. Never in her life had she seen someone treated like an animal. It was deplorable and regardless of the customs, that is one she wasn’t sure she could embrace.

Dinner was served promptly at 8 PM. Typically the children would eat separately and at a reasonable hour, but tonight was a special occasion. Oblivious to the fact the family had been traveling nonstop for the past month, the local diplomatic corps and the heads of the East Indian Company decided the first night of their arrival would be the perfect time to throw a grand reception. Margot had the children take a nap in hopes they would be falling asleep in their soup. Once they were scrubbed and polished and dressed in their finest party attire Margot turned to her own closet and knew she didn’t pack anything that would be appropriate for the occasion. As if sensing her fear there was a light rap at the door. Standing in front of her was Lady Forsyth holding out an exquisite ball gown a deep burgundy red. Margot’s mouth fell open and a look of gratitude washed over her face.

“I hope this doesn’t seem presumptuous, but after such a long and arduous journey it dawned on me you may not have had time to press your own ball gown so I thought you might like to wear this one. It appears to be a bit small for me and I think it might fit you like a glove.”

“It’s lovely. I don’t know what to say.”

“No need to say anything. Just get dressed and hurry down. The guests are starting to arrive.”

Margot descended the grand white marble staircase. The balusters were gold. At the foot of the staircase was a large round vestibule with a round mahogany inlaid table festooned with a vase of colorful flowers fresh from the garden. Gusts were being greeted by servants and escorted to the back terrace. Margot weaved her way throw the gauntlet of guests and emerged on the back patio. Colorful paper lanterns were strung on wire and crisscrossed the enormous tent that covered the massive expanse of the sleek white marble. A buffet graced the farthest end of the table. Margot could see platters of mutton and other dishes she couldn’t wait to sample and hopefully savor. English food was bland in comparison to the hot, spicy foods found in India. A string quartet played in a small nook toward the front of the tent where they played unobtrusive music so guests could enjoy polite dinner conversation.

Margot led the children to a table reserved for the family and went to the bar to fetch them cold glasses of lemonade. After the toasts were made and before the dancing began Margot took the children back to the nursery and tucked them into their beds. Quietly, she tiptoed out of the room, so as not to wake them and rejoined the festivities.

Margot was absorbed in her own thoughts when she was approached by a kind-looking elderly man. He stood beside her and gazed upon the open expanse beyond. Fireflies could be seen sending their illuminated message through the air as moonflowers began to unfurl under the moon's silver beams. Margot felt quite at ease next to this elderly stranger, a strange sensation to which she was unaccustomed. Sensing her thoughts, he turned toward her and introduced himself. “Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Nishkuland Swami.”

Margot curtsied and replied, “Pleased to make your acquaintance. My name is Margot McNamara, I am serving as governess to the Forsyth children during our stay here in India.”

“What are your first impressions of my country?”

Margot thought before expressing her assessment of this strange, yet wondrous place. “India is like a wave that you have to dive into to emerge on the other side. But if you fight the wave it might devour you.”

The swami smiled with his eyes and found what Margot had said to be quite profound. He was interested to hear more.

“That was very poetic. Are you a writer by chance?”

Margot had never officially designated herself a writer and wasn’t sure how to respond. “I write, but I haven’t experienced enough of life to feel as though I can write about love and romance and travel without experiencing those things firsthand.”

“Indeed. Writers must write what they know, or their readers won’t believe the story they are being told. It is wise of you to want to explore and live life before writing about such things. How may I help you in your endeavors?”

Margot was flabbergasted. She was thrilled at the prospects of having her own personal resource on all things Indian. She said, “I would love to learn more about the culture. In particular, the different Hindu traditions.

“Very well. Your wish is my command. I think an outing to the Temple of Peace and Meditation is the perfect opportunity to teach you and the Forsyth children about the Indian practice of meditation.”

Lady Forsyth had seen Margot speaking at length with one of the guests and approached Margot and the swami to make certain everything was in order.

“Margot, I hope you haven’t been monopolizing this gentleman’s time.”

“Oh no madam. It is I who was monopolizing this young lady’s time. I was offering my services as a tour guide to children and their governess. I hope that was not too forward of me.”

Colonel Forsyth joined his wife and introduced himself to the old man. He did not shake his outstretched hand, but instead bowed slightly at the waist and brought his hands together in front of him and said, “Namaste.”

One of the officials from the East India Company chimed in and introduce the gentleman as a revered holy leader of Calcutta and was quite knowledgeable about the Hindu customs and traditions. He was apparently quite persuasive among the authorities and his reputation was beyond reproach. With so many singing the praises of the venerable swami, the Forsyth’s blessed their outing, which was the first of many during their yearlong stay.

The swami arrived at the Viceroy’s residence early the next morning. The carriage was waiting. On the way to the temple, a detour was necessary as the more direct route was blocked with people celebrating Holi. The swami explained, “Holi is a popular ancient Hindu festival, also known as the Indian "festival of spring,” which signifies the victory of good over evil. Holi celebrations start on the night before Holi with a Holika Dahan where people gather, perform religious rituals in front of the bonfire, and pray that their internal evil be destroyed the way Holika, the sister of the demon king Hiranyakashipu, was killed in the fire. The next morning is celebrated as Rangwali Holi – a free-for-all festival of colors where people smear each other with colors and drench each other. Anyone and everyone are fair game, friend or stranger, rich or poor, man or woman, children, and elders.”

Margot thought such a celebration sounded fabulous. She hoped she got to see the explosion of colors the swami described. Finally arriving at their destination, the swami led them past a basket of marigolds that sat next to a group of burning incense. Upon entering the edifice, the group removed their shoes and explored the open space. The ceiling was high and the slightest sound echoes throughout the sacred structure. In the middle of the floor were straw mats. The swami sat on one of the mats and instructed his guests to join them. The children were rather fidgety and had no intention of sitting still to enjoy the art of meditation. Luckily, the swami had already anticipated that meditation may not be of interest to the children and had arranged for a servant girl to take the children on a nature scavenger hunt of sorts. He had prepared a list of plants and flowers to hunt for a bring back to the temple. If all the items are retrieved, then there would be a splendid prize to be won. Margot recognized the servant girl as the same girl who she had accidentally touched upon arriving yesterday. The girl approached Margot and the swami before taking the children on their hunt and said something in Hindi that Margot didn’t understand. The swami interpreted. “She wanted to thank you for acknowledging her presence yesterday and she would like to invite you to visit her home where she can prepare “Prasadam”, which is Sanskrit for “Sacred food”.

Margot smiled at the girl and had the swami translate that she would be honored to visit her home and meet her family. Beatrice and John followed the girl out the back door of the temple, leaving Margot and her spiritual teacher alone. Margot asked, “Sacred food? What makes it sacred?”

The swami smiled, “Excellent question. When preparing food, the preparer is mindful of their thoughts, for that energy is transferred through the hands into the food being prepared. Prasadam is typically thought of as something that has been offered to God, which now has a spiritual benefit, and this includes food. 'Prasad' literally means "a gracious gift." The food offered with love, is food filled with energy that is pure.”

Margot had read what she could about Hinduism on the boat over and was intrigued to learn more about their beliefs and how they use energy in expressing those beliefs.

“Would you explain more about the energies you mention?”

The swami held out his hands and held his hands close to one another without allowing the two hands to touch. “A ribbon of energy connects us all. The energy of the universe is transferred through the hands and feet of humans. In the Indian culture, it is bad luck to wear someone else's shoes, as the shakti of the shoe’s owner, remains with the shoes. It is important to remember that energy can heal, but it can also destroy. Energy healers rearrange the energy of the chakra points and use shakti to heal. Shakti also plays a role in reincarnation. It is wise to be mindful of your last thoughts as your human body expires. because that will become your reincarnated form. Negative shakti energy is created when someone is too attached to another person. There is an afterlife and it is comprised of positive energy and negative energy. When your Earthly body fails, your energy rejoins the positive energy of the universe and all negative thoughts disappear.

The root chakra represents our foundation. On the human body, it sits at the base of the spine and gives us the feeling of being grounded. When the root chakra is open, we feel confident in our ability to withstand challenges and stand on our own two feet. When it's blocked, we feel threatened, as if we're standing on unstable ground.

Now that you have a general overview, you can start to unblock and balance each of your chakras.

Margot wondered which chakra, controlled creativity. She wanted to be a famous novelist and felt such a quest required quite a lot of energy. She had better learn how to fill that chakra with as much energy as humanly possible. “Which chakra helps with creativity?”

“When the root chakra is filled with the energy that resides deep within the earth the root chakra becomes a font of knowledge and creativity. To keep this well from running dry, you must never introduce another energy stream.”

Margot thought she understood what the swami was saying, but she need clarification. “Are you implying that if I were to give myself to a man that I would lose the ability to write?”

“Yes, that is what I am saying.”

“Hypothetically, if I were to have intimate relations with a man, is there a way to refill the root chakra with the creative energy I may have lost having… you know…”

“You can refill the well, but it will take several months.”

“What happens if I drain the well more than once?”

“Each time the well is drained, the longer it will take to refill each time until one time it will no longer be able to hold enough of the energy you will need to be the exceptional writer you wish to be.”

“Now let me teach you how to meditate and draw the energy from the earth up into your root chakra and throughout the other chakra points in your body. Think of them as small orbs of energy. Before we begin let us recite the following prayer:

Awaken by realizing your true self

Arise by casting off the false ego

Search by seeking the fulfillment of your heart

The observable world around you is but an iceberg floating in the ocean of your consciousness.

You were born in nectar, born to taste nectar, and should not allow yourself to be satisfied with anything but nectar.

Fear nothing of this world. Never was there a time that you did not exist, and never will there be a time that you cease to be.

Your present body and your observable environment are a product of your present state of consciousness. Breakthrough false confines and evolve. Let go of the world of misunderstanding.

As your stomach rumbles when it hungers for food and your lungs gasp for air, your heart longs for fulfillment. Your heart is your capacity to experience truth, beauty, and love. Your heart is where your highest potential lies and from where your true self is expressed.

Awake, arise, and search; the time is now.

The swami led Margot through a deep mediative journey and was lulled into a deep state of relaxation. Her mind was free from all thought. The only sensation she felt was a warm tingling feeling that started in her private parts and spread like hot honey up her body. Instead of releasing the excess energy through her crown chakra, she focused her intention on collecting and storing that extra energy in her root chakra. She felt as though she had been meditating for days when it had been a little less than an hour. Margot felt empowered and full of energy while paradoxically feeling calm, focused and in a state of complete relaxation. Her senses began returning as soon as Beatrice and John burst through the back door, revealing the treasures they had found during their scavenger hunt. The swami led the group out of the temple, the bright sunlight causing Margot to shade her blue eyes against the blinding glare. On their way past another temple. Maggie noticed a funeral pyre and people standing around the fire. The swami followed Margot’s gaze and explained, “What you are seeing is a Hindu burial. During the burial, a fire is lit. It takes an immense amount of time for the flames to consume the body. The funeral fire is lit at dawn and by sunset all that must remain is ash. The ashes are then released into the holy waters, releasing the spirit until it returns as part of our belief in reincarnation. This all-day ceremony is sacred and allows mourners time to honor the dead.”

Margot thought, what a fabulously strange place this is.

Cows roamed freely through the streets, and a large bull blocked their path home. They took the same detour they had taken earlier that morning and soon found themselves enjoying the sites as the sun began to slip beneath the horizon, bringing a welcome respite from the blistering heat. Margot was filled with so many ideas that she rushed upstairs where she prepared the children for their bedtimes and once they nodded off to sleep, she sat at her mahogany writing desk and began weaving a tale that felt as though it was being written by someone else. She was convinced the energy in the root chakra was responsible for her untapped talent. She developed a routine over the course of the next several months and was shocked the time had come for the Forsyth clan to return to England. The reality of the situation was more than Margot could bare. She toured all her favorite haunts and said good-bye to all the charismatic, wonderful people she had encountered while visiting India.

Margot led Beatrice and John up the gangplank to the ship that would carry them home. A tear streamed down her cheek as she glanced over her shoulder, sad to have to leave this place. From behind she felt a gentle hand placed upon her shoulder. She turned and saw the most attractive man she had ever seen in her life. He handed her a silk handkerchief embroidered with the initial’s CAD. Margot looked down at the initials and smiled when she saw what word they spelled, but she wasn’t deterred in the least. Margot wiped away a stray tear with a corner of the kerchief and attempted to hand it back to the handsome stranger. With a wave of his hand, he dismissed the gesture. Margot was following the Colonel and his wife and followed them down the passageway leading to the first-class cabins. Margot was pleased to see her handsome stranger was also bunking in first class. Promising, she thought. As the Forsyth’s dressed for dinner, Margot was hopeful she would once encounter the man she had met on the gangplank. The children were hungry and, on this occasion, would join their parents for the captain’s table. Margot was amazed at how ell behaved her charges have been the entire trip. She had to admit, however, that the Colonel was incredibly stern, and the children probably thought better of provoking his wrath. Margot had seen him erupt a handful of times during their stay in India, particularly when it came to dealing with the gentlemen with the East India Company.

The Forsyth’s were escorted to the captain’s table. Margot was shocked to see the handsome stranger sitting at the same table. As they approached the man and the captain both stood. The Captain introduced himself and the handsome stranger, “Allow me to introduce you to Charles Darwood, an executive with the East India Company. Mr. Darwood, may I introduce Colonel McNamara, his lovely wife, and family.”

“It is an extraordinary privilege to meet you.” Mr. Darwood extended his hand. The colonel accepted it rather limply as he had no love loss for those employed by the East India company.

The captain continued, “The colonel here just returned from a stay as Viceroy. I’m surprised the two of you hadn’t had an opportunity to meet before now.”

Charles chimed in, “I was traveling throughout the continent searching for raw goods that could be exported to England. I don’t stay in the cities when I travel for most of the time the true gems are often found off the beaten path.”

Margot caught herself staring at Charles most of the evening. She hoped he didn’t think she was afflicted with some strange jungle illness and tried to turn away to listen to the other dinner conversations taking place, but it didn’t work. As soon as she turned her head, Charles noticed and addressed her. “Margot is it?”

“Yes, that’s correct. And you are Lord Darwood?”

He almost choked on his wine as he replied, “Lord! For the love of all things holy. No, not yet a Lord, but my father is advancing in years.”

What a wretched thing to say, Margot thought. She pursed her lips together and tersely replied, “That is something you really shouldn’t joke about.”

Charles saw he had upset Margot and apologized. “I am sorry for having offended you. It was not my intention. I think your charming and was hoping to get to know you a little better during our journey home.”

“Where do you live Mr. Darwood?”

“I live in London, on Cherry Blossom Way with my son, Sam.”

Margot’s heart sank. She felt physically ill. “Oh, you’re married?”

“Was, my wife died in childbirth five years ago.”

“I am so sorry to hear about your wife. If you don’t mind me asking, who watches your son when you’re abroad?”

“He has a governess but is in desperate need of a tutor to help him with reading, writing, mathematics, music, and art. Apparently, someone with such skillsets is impossible to come by.”

“If I am not being to forward Mr. Darwood, but my services as the Forsyth’s governess will end upon our return to England. They have a splendid governess, but she was unable to travel abroad, but I was never told why.”

“Her loss and entirely my gain.”

Margot blushed. Lady Forsyth was staring a little too intently in their direction. Margot stood and instructed the children to say goodnight, it was time for them to retire for the evening.

The gentlemen stood as Margot, Beatrice and John left the table. After tucking the children in their bunks, Margot strolled a short distance to the side deck where she sat in a canvas deck chair and opened the notebook containing her first novel. She clutched the manuscript to her bosom and hoped a publisher would find her work as compelling as she thought it was, but she didn’t know anyone in publishing and wasn’t at all certain how to get her foot in the proverbial door.

As she looked out over the expansive waters she began to meditate, wondering if it would feel different meditating over water versus meditating on dry land. She was starting to explore her energy centers when she felt someone staring at her.

Margot turned and was surprised to see Charles Darwood staring a hole right through her. It was uncomfortable yet exhilarating all at the same time.

He broke the silence, “I apologize for staring, but I was transfixed on your gaze in an attempt to discover what you were so intently thinking about.”

“I was meditating. I was first introduced to the practice when we first arrived in India and I began practicing daily. Now it is extremely easy for me to slip into a peaceful dreamlike state where all worries end and only light and joy exist.”

“I would love to travel to such a place. Perhaps you would be willing to teach me one of these days. And please let me extend a genuine offer of employment to serve as my son’s tutor if you don’t think me too presumptuous.”

“Presume away. I would be honored to accept such a position. Will you be providing accommodations?”

“But of course, and I would love for you to start immediately. As soon as we dock in South Hampton you can join me, and we can travel to Hawthorn House together.”

Charles noticed the notebook Margot was clutching against her body and asked, “What have you got there?’

Margot looked down at the pages she had been filling for the past year and explained, “This is my first novel. I think it is good, but I haven’t shown it to anyone. I am hoping it is good enough to get picked up by a publisher.”

“May I read your book?”

Margot gazed into Charles’s eyes and her heart melted. “I would be honored, on one condition.”

“What might that be?”

“That you are brutally honest with your critique.”

“I promise.” Charles crossed his heart with his right forefinger to punctuate the point.

Margot took Beatrice and John to the main dining room for breakfast. Later that day the children would be joining the children’s activities director for an arts and crafts class. Margot hoped the free time would enable her to start on her next story. She already had most of it written in her head and she had to admit that since she began meditating and filling her root chakra with abundant energy, she could feel the difference. At least she thought her writing was better, but a writer was always subjective when it came to their own work.

After breakfast, Margot took the children for a stroll around the deck. From behind her, she heard someone call her name. When she turned around, she spotted Mr. Darwood. That same tingling sensation could be felt in the pit of her stomach when his face erupted into a dazzling smile. He had perfectly straight teeth the color of freshly fallen snow. His green eyes and raven black hair coupled with his wit and intelligence made him quite appealing.

Margot replied in an adult tone, “Why Mr. Darwood, to what do I owe the honor?”

“I had to stop you.”

Mr. Darwood addressed the children, “Forgive me, children. I hope you don’t mind if I steal your governess for a moment, do you?”

Both of their little faces looked up at Margot for an answer.

“You two walk ahead and I will be right behind you.”

The children were obedient, as usual, and gave Margot and Mr. Darwood the space requested.

“Margot, I was up all night reading your manuscript.”

Margot wasn’t sure she could bear a rejection so early in the morning but inhaled deeply and forged ahead.

“What did you think?”

“It was absolutely brilliant. And I’m not just saying that. I want to send it to my friend, Thomas Eagerton. He’s a publisher in London.”

“You really think it’s good enough to be published? I have written so many stories in the past that have been met with rejection letter after rejection letter. That is one of the main reasons I wanted to travel abroad, so I could experience firsthand the things I wanted to write about.”

“Your prose, the world you created, the tender romance, it was breathtaking. It will undoubtedly propel you into stardom and you will have achieved your wish of becoming a successful novelist.”

Margot couldn’t believe her ears, but she had felt differently while writing her exotic tale. She knew it was much better than anything she had ever attempted in the past, and while traveling and experiencing India helped, she knew deep down that the true transformative moment happened when she learned the power of the root chakra. If what Mr. Darwood was saying was true. Would she be willing to remain a virgin or would she risk having her newly discovered writing prowess stripped away for months in hopes the power would return? What a conundrum, Margot thought.

Sensing something was off, Charles asked, “Is something wrong?”

“Maybe, I’m not sure yet.”

“I would love to discuss your manuscript further. If it isn’t too presumptuous, may I invite you to join me in my cabin for tea?”

Margot was certain that he had more than tea in mind, but she decided to throw caution to the wind and accept his invitation.

The children were still at their art class when tea time rolled around. Margot checked her hair in the mirror hanging on one of the cabin’s highly varnished walnut walls. After powdering her nose, she closed her compact and dropped it in her beaded drawstring bag. She still hadn’t decided what she was going to do if Mr. Darwood wanted more than tea and hoped a solution would present itself.

Margot arrived at Charles’s cabin where she took a deep breath, bit her lower lip, and wrapped on the wooden stateroom door. She didn’t have to wait long before the door opened, revealing a smiling Mr. Darwood on the other side.

“Please, you in. I took the liberty of having a steward deliver tea and assorted biscuits. How do you take your tea?”

“A little milk and lemon please.”

“Sugar?”

“No, thank you.”

Charles prepared Margot’s cup of tea and handed it to her. She held the saucer and lifter the cup to her lips. There were papers strewn on the nearby desk covered in notes.

Margot motioned with the nod of her head toward the desk. “What’s all of that?”

“Those are the notes I made while reading your manuscript. It was that compelling. You are a literary genius and you have no idea how good you are, do you?”

Margot blushed. She wasn’t accustomed to receiving such accolades and wasn’t entirely convinced it was genuine.

“What makes you say that? I have had countless rejections and while I appreciate your glowing review, I am rather circumspect that your opinion may not be held by those in publishing.”

“Forgive me now for what I am about to say, but I took it upon myself to send a cable with an excerpt of your story to Mr. Eagerton and he too thought what he read was brilliant.”

“That’s impossible. You couldn’t have sent a cable that quickly.”

“I’m rather high up at the East Indian Company and I can get pretty much anything I need to be done when I need it done. One of the perks of my station.”

Charles pulled out a chair for Margot to sit. She obliged. Charles stood behind her. He stroked the back of her neck ever so gently with the back of his hand. Margot flinched. Charles pulled away and sat in the chair across from Margot.

“Why did you pull away from me? I adore you and would love to get to know you better.”

“I appreciate that, and I too adore you, but I have a confession to make. I’m a virgin and my virginity, I believe is directly tied to my writing abilities.”

Charles sat across from Margot, speechless. He started to speak, but then shut his mouth like a snapping turtle. He finally mustered a response, “I have no idea what to say to that. Could you explain?”

Margot proceeded to tell Charles about the swami and learning about energy and chakras. She then explained about the root chakra specifically and when she finished Charles looked more confused than ever. “You’re twenty. You intend to stay a virgin forever? What if I wanted to marry you?”

“Marry me! You hardly know me. And once I have had my fill of writing, then I can pursue other pleasures, but I’m not willing to risk losing everything I have gained, and I didn’t know that until just now.”

“I don’t mean to sound like a cad, but there are other ways to be intimate without interfering with your root chakra. Out of curiosity, while researching all that India has to offer, did you run across the Kamasutra.”

Margot blushed.

“Based on your reaction, you have. Do you remember anything pertaining to fellatio?”

Margot did remember something about that particular act as the wetness between her thighs grew. Margot stood from her chair, leaving her teacup and saucer on the table, and knelt in front of Charles’s chair. She unbuttoned his trousers and pulled them down around his ankles. Next, the white undergarments were removed revealing his stiff cock. She knelt between his legs and raked her long fingernails across his bare thighs. She spread his legs far apart, and kissed his thighs, getting closer and closer to his balls. When she put one of his balls into her mouth, he let out a loud moan. She gently rolled it around inside her mouth before switching to the other one. Her lips enveloped his entire sac, up to the root of his cock. She licked his shaft with the tip of her tongue. Starting at the root, she worked her way up to the sensitive underside, right under the head of the penis. She flicked her tongue quickly and repeatedly on that area and then teased him with long, slow licks up and down the shaft. Margot wrapped her lips around the entire head of his cock and started to gently suck him off. Fondling his balls with her hand, she slowly took in more and more of his member until it was deep inside her mouth. She began bobbing her head up and down, getting her hands under him and squeezing his ass. Charles began to buck his hips; she stroked the root of his cock with her hand as she swirled her tongue wildly around the head and tip of his manhood. She drove him mad with desire. He groaned and moaned with pleasure as he climaxed in her mouth. Margot swallowed his offering. It was hot and salty. Her undergarments soaked with her own juices. Who says you can’t have your cake and eat it too?