Rasha

by

Jean M. Chambers

  

Amisha smiled as she finished pinning the Saree to my left shoulder. She had dressed me in one of her many outfits she had brought with her from India.

"There." She stood back and looked at me. "You look wonderful."

"It's beautiful, Amisha. It's much more comfortable than I ever suspected. Sarees always looked so heavy and restrictive."

"The silk ones, such as the one you are wearing, are not. They are very light and the Choli is snug, but comfortable. The petticoat is actually heavier than the Saree itself. Now, let me show you how to fix your Ghunghat."

She took a long strip of material that matched the Saree I was wearing and draped it over my head, then wrapped one end around my face, covering my nose and mouth then pinned it to hold it in place. I worried that the makeup she had used to darken my skin would stain the material, but she said it wouldn't rub off. When she finished with the Ghunghat I spun around, letting the soft material of the Saree billow out. I laughed, trying to make light of the situation as the jewelry on my forehead, ears, and wrists jingled.

"Now you are dressed as a woman of India should dress."

Amisha fetched a pair of her beautifully decorated sandals. I slipped my feet into them. They were a little small by about a quarter inch, but being sandals, they fit anyway. She handed me a silken pouch that contained some of her own personal affects.

I had met her on campus and was instantly infatuated with her. She was from India and had been wearing a Saree when I first laid eyes on her. Amisha was a little older than I, but she was beautiful. I asked her out and was ecstatic when she accepted. It wasn't long before we were seeing each other nightly. I couldn't take my eyes off of her beautiful outfits.

"Why do you stare at me so?" she asked one night at her apartment.

"Because I love the way you look. I love the Sarees you wear."

"Oh," she pondered thoughtfully, "you love Sarees?"

"Yes." I admitted, "I love the way Indian women dress." I had a thing for women's clothing and wanted to be honest with her about it right from the start. Past relationships usually ended on that note. I took a deep breath. "I have to tell you. You are beautiful and I've become fond of you, but there is something I must get out in the open before we go any further. Amisha… I like dressing as a woman sometimes."

"Really?" she asked slyly.

"Yes," I blurted without thinking, "I've often wondered what it would feel like to wear a Saree."

"Well," she paused, raising her left eyebrow, "what is stopping you from finding out?"

Her casual acceptance of my secret threw me. She was the first girl I had ever told that didn't get extremely mad, think I was queer, and dump me.

"I don't have a Saree. If I had one I might…"

 

"I think I can take care of that." she giggled, cutting me off in mid sentence.

She took me by the hand and led me to her bedroom. That is how I got myself into the situation I was at the moment, standing in front of her, fully dressed in her Saree and jewelry. I felt extremely excited, feminine, and embarrassed. The jewelry on my ears, wrists, and ankles jangled when I moved. The Saree felt like a silk cocoon.

A serious glint appeared in her eyes as she stared at me.

"It would be a waste if no one else could see your beauty. Come."

She started for the door. I froze and my heart pounded.

"Excuse me?"

"I wish for you to walk me around the campus."

A knot grew in my throat and I swallowed hard.

"Amisha, I can't go out like this."

"Do not be silly. Of course you can. You are very beautiful. Nobody will ever suspect you are not an Indian woman."

She quickly gathered up all of my clothes and ran out the door laughing before I could stop her, returning several long minutes later without them, when I hesitated.

"You will not get your manly clothes back until you come with me." she laughed again in a playful manner.

"Amisha! I can't." I protested.

"Why can't you? You are dressed and look as I do every day. You said you wondered what it felt like to wear a Saree. Now is your chance to find out."

She grabbed her purse from the table and I reluctantly followed her outside. I kept my eyes peeled for anyone who might see us leaving the building. No body did.

I was very conscious of the Saree swishing about my arms and legs. It felt exciting against my skin. Students brushed past us occasionally, but paid us little attention, other than a disinterested glance. Amisha began telling me about her country's tradition and what it was like to live there. Before I knew it we were walking and chatting like two girl friends. I spoke in the best feminine voice I could muster. She suggested I try to mimic her accent and I did. To my surprise, it made me sound much less male and similar to her. Our evening walk turned out to be quite pleasant.

I lived mostly as an Indian woman the next few weeks. We met at her place every day, where she would transform me into, Rasha. During the weekends I just stayed dressed as Rasha. There was no need to change back to my male identity. Soon, I was feeling more normal in a Saree than I did in a pair of pants. The Saree, while elaborate to put on, was more comfortable. Amisha made a point of dressing as an American girl while I was dressed as an Indian. She liked that. She thought it was cute that I, an American, dressed as an Indian woman, while she, the Indian, dressed as an American. The fact that I was a man posing as an Indian woman seemed to please her even more. I didn't mind as long as I was with her. Every time we met she would have a new outfit for me to wear. Amisha traded every new, female, piece of clothing she gave me with a piece of my old male clothing. Caught up in the excitement of dressing as an Indian woman I did not ask what she was doing with my male clothes. Before I realized it, I had few male clothes left to wear. My personal wardrobe was quickly transformed into that of an Indian woman's.

She urged and prodded me until I agreed to have my nose pierced so I could were some of her traditional jewelry. I did. It was strange going out in public with jewelry attached to my nose at first, but I quickly became accustomed to it. We did everything as girlfriends. Amisha talked of India all the time and grew eager to show me her country. She wanted me to experience it for my self and suggested we go there together during summer vacation. I had never been to such an exotic place and thought it was a great idea. Amisha made all of our arrangements. I was eager to go until the day came to leave. I arrived at her place with my suitcase in hand. She was excited.

"Okay! Lets get you ready. We don't have much time before our flight leaves."

"Get me ready? I am ready."

"Don't be silly. You can't go like that."

"What do you mean? I always travel in jeans and a tee shirt."

"No respectable Indian woman would travel in pants. When I said I wanted you to experience my country I thought you understood. I want you to really experience my country, as I do, as an Indian woman."

"Let me get this straight. You want me to go through airport security, travel on an airplane, and tour your country dressed as an Indian woman? You must be kidding, Amisha!"

"No!" she said with excitement, "I'm not kidding. I've arranged everything. Look! I even have a passport for you."

She held up a worn passport booklet, displaying the photo for me to see. I took it from her and examined the photo closely.

"Where did you get this? Where did you get a passport photo of me dressed in a Saree?"

"Actually, it is not you. It is my friend, Rasha, from India, the girl whose name you have been using. I sent her a picture of you dressed in one of my Sarees for her to see because you look so much alike. I explained that we spend all of our time together with you dressed as her and you have become comfortable with the role. Like me, she too was amazed by how much alike you both look. When I told her we were coming to visit she thought you might enjoy the excitement of traveling to India as an authentic Indian woman. Just until we get there, you understand. Then, of course, you could switch back to your male identity."

I was not comfortable with the idea and said so.

"Fine!" she yelled angrily. "Ruin everything! Rasha is expecting to meet her twin sister. I went through a lot of trouble to set this up. I thought you would be excited about this. I thought you would be honored. Now I find you don't have the guts to travel as the Indian woman you've been living as for months."

A moment of reflection told me she was right. I hadn't given it much thought until then. I was pretty much living twenty four seven as Rasha, an Indian woman. Even when I went to bed I wore common sleep wear worn by Indian women. I had started attending classes dressed too, because Amisha wanted me to. The classes were large and my instructors didn't know the difference. The only time I went as my self was for tests when I had to show my ID. I didn't work, thanks to a trust fund from my parents and a scholarship.

"No, Amisha." I pleaded, "It's not that. It's just… What if I'm caught using a fake passport?"

"What fake passport? The passport is real. It is the same as mine. See?" She grabbed her passport from the table and flipped it open to show me. "Anyone can see that it is you in the photograph. No one will question it. Now stop being silly and get dressed before we miss our plane."

I started to protest again. That made her angrier. She started pulling the clothes off of me violently, purposely tearing my pants and shirt in the process. I had never seen her so angry.

"Don't worry." she said hotly, tossing the torn items aside, when she noticed my surprise, "You won't be needing them soon."

Her size was deceptive. She was very strong and worked quickly. She pushed me down onto her vanity chair and helped me quickly apply my customary makeup. Minutes later I was again the spitting image of the woman in the passport photo. Amisha told me to straighten the folds of my Saree while she finished getting our baggage together. Her violence scared me and I didn't want to upset her anymore than she was, so I meekly did as she commanded.

Forty five minutes later we were stepping up to the international ticket counter to check in for our flight. We were dressed similar. Amisha wore a beautiful green Saree and sandals with hair jewelry, bracelets, and ankle bangles. My Saree was Aqua and I too wore sandals and brass jewelry. The jewelry was heavy. The long, dangling, brass earrings Amisha had given me to wear tugged heavily at my earlobes. A delicate chain ran from the left earring to my nose ring. She said it would help remind me to stay in character as Rasha, an Indian woman. I felt conspicuous in my outfit with the jewelry clinking, until I noticed several other similarly dressed Indian women in the airport, traveling with their families.

"How are you ladies today?" the ticket agent asked.

"Fine, thank you" replied Amisha.

I just smiled and handed over my ticket and passport. My heart pounded in my chest. The lady looked at my passport, then me, to verify the photo. I held my breath. She smiled.

"Are either of you carrying any luggage that is not your own or left your luggage unattended at any time while in the airport?" she asked.

"No" stated Amisha calmly.

The ticket agent smiled at her, then stared at me. I didn't know why and felt like running.

"Does your friend understand English?" the agent asked Amisha.

"Oh. Yes, she does. She is embarrassed because her English is not so good as mine. Rasha?"

Then I realized she had been waiting for my answer.

"Oh," I feigned embarrassment, "So sorry. No. I carry no one else's luggage and mine has not left my side."

"Thank you, Rasha," the lady smiled, handing our tickets and identity back to us. "You are all set. Enjoy your trip."

I breathed a heavy sigh of relief as we walked away from the counter towards our gate. I couldn't believe I had passed inspection. The pungent sent of my musk perfume filled my nostrils. I was now officially, Rasha, a woman from India. I felt much more confident in my role.

The flight over seas was long. Using the small bathroom on the plane was difficult. The layers of my Saree got in the way. The airport we landed at in India was busy. For the first time since I started dressing as an Indian woman on campus, I felt at really at ease because many of the women in the airport were dressed as I was and I blended in with them. I couldn't help notice that it was the American women, in their short skirts, who stood out. Amisha handed her credentials to a man at the security check point and I followed suit. He studied my passport for a moment, then glanced up at me. I knew what he expected because Amisha had told me and briefly pulled my Ghunghat away from my face so he could see me. He smiled briefly, then stamped the small booklet and handed it back. Again, I had passed as Rasha. Excitement filled me as I hurried after Amisha, fixing my Ghunghat back over my face. I was following Amisha closely through the terminal when she suddenly sidestepped. I didn't. Three Indian men ruthlessly shoved me aside causing me to step on the hem of my Saree. I stumbled to the smooth floor on my knees. The men didn't even slow down or take notice. Amisha helped me to my feet.

"They are bastards. That is how they treat women here. Women are nothing to them except another piece of property."

"It's okay. Only my pride was hurt."

"Do not worry. In time you will learn to hide your pride from men, as all Indian women do."

I didn't understand her meaning. We gathered our luggage and found a Taxi outside. The ride was long and the driver drove like a madman. An hour later we stood in front of an iron gate set into the side of a high, sun baked, mud wall. Similar gates lined the street. Amisha fumbled with an old key for a moment before the gate swung open.

"Welcome to my family's home. This is where you will live. It has been handed down for generations. When my parents died, it was left to me, me being the oldest with no brothers. I have several sisters. You will meet them and their families very soon. They all live here together. Property in India is very hard to come by. Now let me show you to your room."

I followed her down a long corridor, across a court yard, down another short hall, and into a small room.

I tossed my suitcase onto the bed.

"You may sleep here for tonight."

She smiled and asked for Rasha's passport. I handed it to her and opened my suitcase to unpack. I was confused when I saw the assortment of Saree's, petticoats, Kameez, Choli Shararas, and other items inside. They weren't what I had packed. I instantly thought I had grabbed the wrong suitcase from the luggage pick up, but Amisha assured me I hadn't.

"I told you before we left America that you would not be need your men's clothes. Did you not hear me?"

"Sure I heard you, Amisha, but we are here now and I'd like to change out of these things and into my own."

She laughed softly for a moment.

"You said you wanted to know what it was like to live and dress as an Indian woman. Now you will." She saw the confusion in my eyes and resigned herself to stoop to my level and explain more fully. She sighed. "You will not dress as a male here. Tomorrow you will start life anew and learn to be a woman of India. From now on you will dress and live completely as a woman."

I was getting a little nervous and angry.

"Come on, Amisha." My voice shook. "A joke is a joke. This isn't funny. Where are my clothes and passport?"

She smiled.

"Do not concern yourself with such things. You have no need of them. Try to rest tonight. Tomorrow I have a surprise for you. It will be a very busy and exciting day for you."

She left the room, closing the heavy wooden door behind her. I gathered the bottom of my Saree up in one hand so I wouldn't trip on it and rushed after her. I heard the lock click as I reached for the handle. She had locked me in. So far, being a woman in India had not been pleasant. That was proven in the airport when I was shoved aside like baggage. Without a passport I wouldn't be able to leave the country. On the other hand, if the authorities found I had entered the country illegally, dressed as a female, I would be thrown into prison. One thing was sure. I had heard about the prisons in India and did not want to end up there. No one would believe I had been tricked into entering the country disguised as a woman. I staggered over to the bed and sat down. My mind whirled. There was noting I could do. Desperation filled me. Amisha had said she wanted me to experience being an Indian woman. I didn't realize she really meant it. And what was this surprise she had for me? Why would tomorrow be busy? After trying the door two more times to assure myself that I was locked in, I lay down on the small bed and drifted off to sleep. The trip had been long and tiring.

A gentle hand shook me awake the next morning. I rolled over to find several pretty, women standing around my bed. They were dressed in very fancy Sarees. All were adorned with lots of jewelry. They gently pulled me to my feet, jabbering like a hive of happy bees. I was in the center. A cup of tea was pushed into my hands. It was taken away after I had a few sips. They started pulling my clothes from me. I tried to stop them, but was out numbered. They laughed at my modesty, paying no attention to the fact that I was a man. I was led, naked, out the door and down the hall to a small chamber where a bath of scented water had been drawn. They helped me into it. Minutes later I had been scrubbed from head to toe. The women quickly rubbed a scented oil over my entire body, including my face, after drying me with towels. Too late, I noticed that the more oil they rubbed on me, the darker my skin became. The oil contained some type of permanent skin dye. I was as dark as they were when they finished. They led me back to my room where the women, once again, buzzed around me like bees. The tea was handed back to me periodically to sip while they worked.

They had me step into a pair of very snug, gold lace panties. The panties held my privates in place quite securely. A short, stretchy top that matched the panties was slid over my arms and buttoned up the back leaving my midriff exposed. I didn't have a clue what I was being dress for. A sheer, gold, multi layered petticoat was fastened around my waist. One of the women stepped in front of me holding a folded length of beautiful, sheer, gold floral cloth across her arms so I could see it. They all admired it, making comments to each other I could not understand. It was a Saree. The material was slowly unfolded, tucked into the waistband of my petticoat, and wrapped around my body. They were experts at folding the pleats in the front. The remainder of the material was wrapped around my body again then folded and draped over my left shoulder where it was pinned into place. The extra material hung down my back. The outfit was gorgeous. They placed a long, gold thread, hair net over my head. It was adorned with beads. I was surprised when they attached a number of gold chains to my pierced ears and nose. A beaded Ghunghat, matching the hair net, was hooked to either side of my head. It covered the lower half of my face revealing only my heavily made up eyes. I admired myself in the mirror as the women attached wide, gold bracelets around my ankles and wrists. I looked like a dark skinned Indian woman. The silhouette of my body scantily clad body was fairly visible through the material. My reflection reminded me of an Egyptian dance girl and it was impossible to tell I was really a man. When I attempted to step closer to the mirror I realized the bracelets and anklets were connected together by short, delicate, golden, chains. They allowed me only the minimum of movement. The thin chains were meant to bind a woman, not a man, but try as I may I couldn't break them. It was very embarrassing. I wanted to panic, but couldn't. The tea they had been feeding me had been drugged. I slowly started drifting into a content, hypnotic state. My arms and legs had grown weak.

A woman spoke to me from behind. I recognized the voice as Amisha's. She stepped in front of me, stood close, looked deep into my eyes, and smiled.

"You told me you wanted to experience life as an Indian woman. Today you will find out. I have arranged for you experience it first hand. Now, we must get you to the ceremony."

"Ceremony?" I asked weakly, fruitlessly pulling once again on the delicate chains that bound me.

"Yes. Ceremony. I will explain on the way."

She made a motion. The women suddenly took me by the arms and hustled me towards the door and down the hall. I was in no condition to resist. They pulled me along the corridor anyway, giggling as if they had a private joke. Amisha explained to me as she followed behind.

"Today you are to be Wed. That is why you are dressed in a traditional bridal outfit and jewelry. I apologize for drugging your tea, but the bridal chains are meant to hold only a woman, not a man. In times of old, women were forced to marry against their will. The chains were necessary to stop them from escaping. The tea, by the way, is the traditional ceremonial tea that was given to unwilling brides. It insured that the brides would cooperate. I knew you would not go through this any other way. These days the chains are worn today to symbolize the bonds of marriage. I have arranged every detail of the wedding. That is why I became angry with you when you initially refused to travel here as a woman. You would have ruined everything."

"I can't marry a man!" I slurred.

My speech had become impaired. I realized I would soon be unable to speak as I fell farther into the hypnotic state.

"Certainly you can. You must. You will. Otherwise Rasha will become one of Handi's wives and have to serve him for the rest of her life. He already has several. By the time the Wedding ceremony is over and Handi realizes you are not Rasha, Rasha and I will be safely on an airplane to America. She is eagerly waiting for me at the airport. Your fate, unfortunately, is unknown. But that is not my concern. Had you not let me dress you as an Indian woman several months ago, this would never have happened. I would never have realized you looked like Rasha's twin. I almost couldn't conceal my surprise at the time. That is when I started devising this plan to swap you for Rasha."

"You can't do this." I slurred. My speech had almost been reduced to unintelligible muttering.

"It is already done. You have no clothes other than what you are wearing. You have no passport to leave the country. Basically, you have no choice." Amisha smiled. "You are standing in the matrimonial waiting chamber for the bride. Your presence will be requested in a few moments. When it is, my friends here, will take you through that door over there and into the temple where the ceremony has already begun. The bride is expected to remain quiet throughout the ceremony, so you won't even have to say I do." She smiled and turned to leave, then turned back, lifting the beaded ghunghat from my mouth. "I almost forgot." she said, kissing me gently on the lips, "Congratulations. You really do make a beautiful bride."

Then she was gone. I couldn't think clearly enough to resist. The drug was making my mind unable to focus. The women fawned over me as if I really was a bride, straightening my ghunghat, adjusting my Saree, and jabbering cheerfully. The dreaded moment came. A woman in a beautiful Saree stepped into the room and spoke briefly to the others. I felt myself being guided towards the door. Part of me wanted to resist, but I could no longer remember why. I felt happy and content. It was my wedding day.

  

  

  

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