Preface: I was inspired to write this story by Rahul Shaha's 'Man In Saree'. It captured my infatuation. So much so, I purchased a beautiful Saree to experience one myself. Wearing one is truly an experience. Thank you Rahul for such a moving piece.

 

Saree Bound

by

Jean M. Chambers

 

I spotted her as soon as she entered the hotel lounge, where I was nursing a drink at the bar, celebrating my last day in India. I had been there for the past two weeks on vacation. She headed in my direction as soon as she spotted me. Her orange and pink, silk, Saree flowed like liquid around her body and contrasted her dark skin. Her Ghunghat completely covered her head and face. Only her magnificently made up eyes could be seen. They were outlined in dark black, as were her arched brows.

"Please! You must help me. Are you staying in the hotel" Her voice rasped as she through a look over her shoulder towards the door.

Her English was perfect showing no signs of an accent.

"I might be," I replied coyly".

"Please! Please! There is no time for jokes. They are right behind me and will be here in moments. You must help me!" she pleaded, clutching my arm.

She was starting to draw the attention of some of the lounge's patrons. I could tell by the fear and urgency in her voice that she was terrified.

"Follow me" I said, quickly sliding off my perch.

I wound my way through the tables to the doorway and peered out. There was nothing unusual going on in the hotel lobby. She clung to me like a second skin and her musky perfume filled my senses. We walked quickly to the elevator and I punched the button for my floor. Just as the elevator doors closed a small group of women dressed in Sarees and Ghagra-cholis burst into the lobby from the street. I could tell they were frantically searching for someone. Most likely my companion.

 

"What is this all about?" I queried as I bolted my room's door.

"My name is Kashmira Kapoor." She rolled her eyes out of frustration, "I mean, Jane Clifton. You see? It has only been several months and I don't even know who I am. Kashmira Kapoor is the name they have given me. I am being held prisoner, against my will. If you do not help me, they will recapture me and take me back. They will beat me for escaping. Only through the grace of God was I able to get away from them this time. If I am caught, there will be no next time."

She started sobbing hysterically. I comforted her by putting my arms around her and pulling her close. The silk gossamer of her Saree felt like a soft billowing cloud and her perfume was entrancing. I was instantly aroused.

"Whoa! Slow down. You are not making sense. Kidnapped? Held prisoner? When? Where? Who?"

I waited for her to calm down. What she said would explain why she was dressed in the native garb of a woman from India. Through the sobs she explained.

"I was touring this God forsaken country with a group when I got separated from them in the market place. Before I knew what was happening I was pulled into an alley where I was tied hand and foot, and gagged. They pulled a large burlap sack down over my body and tied it closed. I couldn't get out! I swear I tried, but I couldn't. They roughly tossed me roughly onto the back of a cart where I struck my head. That is all I remembered until I woke up. My clothes and identity were gone and I was dressed similar to this. That was several months ago. Several long months. I'd rather die than go back."

She started sobbing again. White slavery was not uncommon in this part of the world.

 

I unhooked her Ghunghat and gently pulled it away from her face. I knew immediately that she was American, except for her dark Indian like skin. Black tresses framed her face and flowed down to her shoulders . Her hair had obviously been dyed. The color was to rich and solid. Ruby red lips beckoned me to kiss them. A beautiful woman such as this, traveling alone, would surely be prey for slavers. A commotion could be heard in the hall outside my room. She looked at me with horror in her eyes. I stared at her beauty as I tried to think of a plan. Then it hit me. We were the of similar height and build, as I was a short and slim man.

"Quickly! Take off your clothes." I spat, tugging my shirt off.

"Excuse me?" she questioned, obviously not knowing what to make of my order.

"Unless you want to remain a prisoner here for the rest of your life, take off your clothes and put these on."

I threw my clothes in a pile at her feet as I tore them off. She understood and quickly disrobed down to her birthday suit.

"I'll decoy them for you. Take off that makeup, cut your hair short in the bathroom, and dress in my clothes. Quickly! I'll call the front desk and have them send a cab around to take you to the airport. You can get help and catch a flight home from there. Don't worry about me. I'll lead your pursuers on a wild goose chase, then double back. With any luck you will be long gone before they figure out what happened to you."

 

Several minutes later she emerged from the bathroom wearing my cloths. Her hair was chopped short like a boys. Not neat, but it would do. I pulled her Choli over my head and stepped into her cotton petticoat, fastening it around my waist. I didn't know where to start with her Saree. Putting one on is a complicated affair, especially for a man. Kashmira, Jane, helped. She tucked the inner top edge of the Saree into the left side of my petticoat and wrapped it around the left side of my body, then brought the it around the right side of my body in a smooth neat wrap. Holding the Saree firmly, she pleated the front with her fingers, keeping the pleats even and straight, gathering about one yard of Saree. The rest she wrapped around my body once more and draped the remainder over my shoulder, pinning it in place with a gold broach.

"This will help you move quicker without fear of losing your Saree in public. Otherwise you would have to drape the end across your arm and hold it in place." She offered.

A small silk pouch appeared in her hands. It must have been concealed in the folds of her Saree. As full the Saree was, a machine gun could have been hidden there and I would never have known it.

 

The pouch contained her necessities, including makeup. Kashmira quickly smoothed a dark lotion over all of my exposed skin, including my face, neck, hands, arms, and midriff. The lotion darkened my skin to look the same as hers.

"I'm sorry. Your skin needs to be dark like mine, or it will give you away. This is a temporary skin dye. They make me wear it to conceal my light skin. It wears off after several days."

That explained why her complexion was so dark and not light like a typical westerner.

"Several days?" I asked horrified.

"Yes. I'm sorry. As I've said, it is only temporary, but it had to be done. Your light skin would give you away immediately."

I held very still while she outlined my eyes and drew in my brows with heavy black eye pencil. Then she brushed on some pink eye shadow, cheek blusher, and black mascara. Last, she outlined and filled in my lips with a deep red liquid from a small bottle, then touched a dot of the red color onto my forehead between my brows.

"The lip color is a temporary dye also, but do not worry. It'll wear off in a few days like the skin dye. One day, these women will learn about modern, removable makeup."

"You mean my this red won't wash off my lips or forehead?" I balked.

"No. I'm sorry, again. But, think of it this way. You will be the prettiest man in the city."

It was a quick job, but she appeared pleased. A smile tugged on her lips as she draped her Ghunghat over my head and across my lower face, pinning it in place by my temple.

Quickly. Slip my Khussa on." She said pushing her gold tone slippers closer to me.

They were a bit small, but the soft material stretched enough to get my feet into them.

 

Walking across the room proved how confining the garment was. I felt like I was encased in a cocoon. The material around my legs, head, and face restricted movement and vision. She checked me over.

"A few more decorations and you will look authentic enough to pass cursory inspection."

I slid her wrist bracelets and bangles onto my wrists while she affixed her gold nose ring to my nose. My nose wasn't pierced like hers so she just clipped it in place. A glance in the mirror revealed a dark skinned Indian beauty, wrapped in a pink and orange Saree. The whole transformation took less than fifteen minutes. Kashmira clasped her hands together in delight.

"You look wonderful. No one will suspect it is not me."

I felt ridiculous and couldn't believe I had even considered doing what I was doing. Under normal circumstances I would never have thought of dressing as a woman. Going out in public as a woman from India would have been totally out of the question.

 

She bid me to be careful as I slipped out into the vacant hotel hall. The elevator door opened at the far end of the hall at the same moment I pulled the fire stair door open to reveal a small group of Indian women. They were dressed in colorful Kameez and Isha Choli Sharara outfits. Their pace quickened when they saw my pink and orange Saree and I knew they were Kashmira's pursuers. The steps were hard to navigate with the Saree frequently getting trampled under my feet. I almost fell twice before reaching the bottom. My pursuers, much more experienced than I was with Sarees, were catching up. I could hear them calling to me angrily. I'm sure they were not saying nice things.

 

The fire exit door opened after shouldering it three times. I was starting to sweat under the layers of silk and cotton. The bright sun was blinding and the heat hit me like a wall. A throng of people filled the concession lined street. Women, dressed similar to me, bartered over produce and goods. I quickly slipped into the crowd, looking over my shoulder for any sign of the pursuing women. I caught sight of them a few times. Eluding them was more difficult than I imagined. Most of the people in the market place were dressed in drab colors and my pink and orange Saree stood out like fourth of July fireworks in a night sky.

 

Running in the Saree was impossible. A quick pace was the best I could manage without tripping. Visibility from behind the Ghunghat was very limited. People cursed me as I ran into them, knocking them aside. By the time I lost my pursuers I was far from my hotel. Two hours later I slipped back into my hotel room. Kashmira was gone. I tore open the dresser drawer and the closet door looking for my clothes so I could get out of the Saree. They were gone. She had left nothing, except the small pouch that matched my outfit. It was laying on the nightstand. All it contained were the few makeup items she had used on me. The only clothes left to me were the ones I was wearing. The Saree. Her clothes. My heart jumped into my throat and I frantically searched the dresser drawers and closets a second time. With my clothes she had taken my ID and passport. The gravity of my situation hit me like a brick. I couldn't leave the country without them. Reporting it to the front desk was not a consideration and going to the authorities dressed like an Indian woman out of the question. Who knows what they would do. No matter how embarrassing it was I only had one option left. Go to the American Consulate and hope they didn't laugh me back onto the street.

 

The elevator door opened to the lobby. It was clear. Only the hotel employees and a few guests could be seen. I stepped out of the elevator, heading across the open lobby for the front doors. A neck wrenching blow caught me across the left cheek and I stumbled backwards, stepping on my Saree and losing my balance. Two Indian women caught me by the arms and roughly stood me back up as I fell backwards. My arms were wrenched behind my back. My wrists were tied together with a silk scarf, then the hem of my Saree was lifted and a second scarf was tied between my ankles to stop me from running. Crude, but effective. An elderly Indian woman wearing a dark maroon Kameez outfit stepped up to me and struck a second blow across my right cheek. My Ghunghat took some of the sting out of the blow, but my vision exploded with stars for a few seconds. After my vision cleared, I could see the anger burning in her eyes. I never imagined a woman could hit so hard. I glared at her from behind my Ghunghat. She sprayed a slew of words at me, none of which I understood, before switching to English.

 

"You were very foolish trying to escape, Kashmira. For that you will be severely punished. Even if you did manage to elude us, where would you go with no clothes, money, or identification? You could not even leave the country. It is very dangerous for a woman to be out on the street alone in the city, as you know. You would probably be held prisoner in a den somewhere and used for prostitution. You are a woman of India now. Accept it. You will never go back to your old way of life."

Two younger women had a hold of my arms while a third stood directly behind me. Several men walked past, but didn't even give the commotion the time of day. We were women. They were men. We didn't command enough respect to get attention. The older woman turned and walked towards the hotel lobby door. The woman behind me shoved me forward roughly. The hobble scarf almost made me trip. With my wrists and ankles tied and the women guiding me along by the arms, I had no choice but to follow. It was humiliating, being manhandled by women. No self respecting man would let that happen, but in my position, it was clear that I was totally under their control. I thought of calling for help, but decided it would be better to just go along with them for the moment and see what played out. The hotel desk clerks gave us a passing glance. All they saw was a group of squawking Indian women passing through the lobby. Nobody important.

 

Twenty minutes later I was led through a heavy iron gate in a wall, through a magnificent courtyard and into a palatial house. It was dark and cool inside. I was taken into a large study-like room, shoved into a chair in front of a long sedan and left alone. My wrists and ankles were still tied. I waited in silence for some time. Then I heard the clicking of high heels on the stone tiled floor outside. With my back to the door, the Ghunghat foiled my attempts to see who was coming. I didn't have long to wait. A few moments later the footsteps came up close behind me and a stately woman in a white silk blouse, black leather skirt, and pumps stepped in front of me and sat on the sedan across from me. She was of Indian descent. The only word to describe her was, beautiful. Her scent and looks were intoxicating. I was entranced by her. We sat in silence while she stared at me in deep thought.

"What am I to do with you Kashmira?" she pondered, "I thought you were happy. Have we not treated you well? You are given every thing you need. Why would you try to escape? Why would you want to?"

The silence was thick while she waited for an answer. I kept silent.

"Answer me." She said, sliding forward and pulling my Ghunghat from my face so she could see me better, "Why…"

Here eyes went wide with surprise, but just for a fleeting second. She regained her control quickly. An amused smile framed her lips as she folded her arms across her and sat back against the sedan to consider the unexpected development. After some time she spoke. Her tone had turned serious.

 

"You are not Kashmira. You are not even female, although you managed to fool my servants with your disguise." I smirked. "Kashmira is gone. Well on her way I am certain. You may not realize, but you have put yourself in a very precarious position by your chivalry. I don't know what she told you to get you to help her. Certainly not the truth. But, that is of no concern to me." She walked over to a small serving cart and poured herself a little bit of cherry, then took her seat again. Her finger ran around the top rim of the glass as she examined the liquid thoughtfully. "Kashmira was my property by contract. She owed me a great deal, which she could not repay. Kashmira, or Jane as she may have told you, committed her life, contractually to be one of my servants to repay it. Now that property, a female servant, is gone. You were instrumental in removing that property. Under our law, then, you are responsible for replacing that which you were responsible for taking. This causes a problem for you. Unless you have a female servant to replace Kashmira with." I smirked again at her implications.

 

"When I am finished you will not be smirking. That, I guarantee. Over time you will regret having interfered. By your clothes and makeup I see you have chosen to trade places with Kashmira. You wear her Saree well. You probably even think it's silk feels good against your bare skin, enveloping you, as a Saree does. But, even a beautiful thing can be a source of suffering and pain. My servants tell me you even managed to elude them, while wearing it. Not an easy task, for a man. With her makeup, carelessly applied as it is, you even resemble her. So…" She paused for punctuation and sipped her drink. "So be it. You will take her place as one of my servants." She paused for effect. "A female servant. You will be Kashmira in her stead. All of her possessions and duties are now yours. From this day forward, you, are Kashmira Kapoor. When I see you I will only see Kashmira. Legal records and papers will be created to identify you as Kashmira. To any, and all, you will be Kashmira Kapoor, a female, Indian, servant."

 

She smiled like a Cheshire cat, picked up a small brass bell from the table and jingled it. The small group of servant women that captured me reappeared. She spoke quietly to the older lady that slapped me around in the hotel. The older woman stared at me with a look of surprise upon her face. They spoke some more. The old woman surveyed me slowly from head to toe. An evil smile slowly covered her face. They spoke some more, then giggled like school girls. Priyanka finished speaking with the older woman and addressed me again.

"This," she said waving her hand to indicate the older woman, "is Amisha, my head housekeeper. She runs this household. You are to obey her without question as you would me."

Amisha suddenly clapped her hands, signaled the women to bring me along, and sped off down a long corridor. The women yanked me forcefully from my seat. I had dismissed her words as amusing threats. Now I wasn't so sure. A second consideration of them terrified me.

"Wait! You can't be serious. What are they doing? Where are they taking me? You can't do this! I won't live as a woman. I won't let them. I'm an American citizen. I'm a man!" I yelled at Priyanka.

Her eyes twinkled coldly.

"You are Kashmira Kapoor, a woman of India. My servants are merely going to prepare you for your new role in life."

She smiled and sipped her drink, visibly turning her attention to other things on her mind.

 

"Never! Never!" I yelled as I was dragged away, "I won't do it. You won't get away with this! You can't make me do this."

With hands tied and legs hobbled, resistance was useless. I was pretty well dragged to a separate building on the property where I was taken into a fair sized room. I never thought women were much of a match for men, physically. By the time the servant women finished with me, I had a new found respect. They lashed me to two posts, in spread eagle fashion, set firmly into the ground in the center of the room. I guessed the room was were disobedient servants were taken to be punished. Probably tied to the posts in a similar fashion, then whipped. My Saree and under garments were removed and I was left bound and naked for a little while. The women returned carrying an array of items. They were on a mission. Two of them set to the task of shaving all the manly hair from my body. Even my eyebrows were removed. The dark, skin dye was rubbed over my entire body to darken my skin as a native Indian woman's would be. I yelled for them to stop. Amisha told me to be silent while they finished. She said it would go much easier if I just accepted my fate. I yelled for them to stop again and received an unexpected lashing across my back that brought tears to my eyes. That was my first lesson in obedience training. I remained quiet as they massaged a black hair dye into my shoulder length hair. When they were finished it was the same color that Kashmira's had been.

 

One of the women approached me with a long, sharp needle. Amisha, the older woman, held my chin firmly in her hand.

"This will not hurt much. All women of India have it done so they may wear traditional jewelry. If you make a sound, I will whip you harder than before." she said through clenched teeth, then stepped aside.

The other woman pressed the needle to the left side of my nose and pushed it through. I screamed and screamed again as I felt a lash across my back. The older woman repeated her warning.

The woman with the needle did the same procedure three times to each of my ears. It hurt, but not as much as when she did my nose. A brass nose ring with attached chain was permanently fixed to my nose. Large hoop earrings were also permanently fixed to my ear lobes. The chain was run between the nose ring and first earring.

"Better!" scoffed the older woman, "You will make a fine looking woman. Maybe even prettier than the first Kashmira."

"Bitch!" I said, and spat in her face.

That had been a mistake. Fire burned in Amisha's eyes. She walked purposely to the wall and retrieved a short, thin bamboo pole and gag. Amisha forced the gag firmly into my mouth. I was scared. The other women stepped back and whispered amongst themselves. They laughed quietly amongst themselves.

 

"Are you strong enough to be a woman, Kashmira? I hope so, because I am now going to punish you like one."

She stepped back and swung the bamboo pole, hitting me flat across the nipples. I was in agony and wrenched at my bindings to no avail. The pole sang several more times as she swung it, lacing me across the breast. The pain was incredible. Then she stepped in front of me, swinging the pole in an arc, down, then up between my spread legs. The pole struck me in the bare groin and I screamed even harder, but the gag muffled my agony. Again and again, she struck me in the groin several more times. I was at the point of blacking out when she stopped. She was very cruel.

"Women don't have a penis, but I assure you, it hurts just as much. Who knows? Maybe your manhood will be removed and I will truly punish you as a woman."

She laughed, as did the others. I was more than ready to cooperate. I felt sorry for Jane, imagining her in the same position, alone, no one to help her, being tortured into submission day after day. It appeared that I was to suffer the same fate.

 

"Now, then. Who are you?" the old woman asked after taking the gag from my mouth.

"Rober…"

The cane whistled and struck me in the privates again. I wanted to cry.

"Who are you?" asked again.

"Robert…"

The cane whistled and struck me in the privates twice this time, and harder. I did cry.

"I did not hear you." She smiled, determined to get the response she wanted to hear.

"Kashmira" I whimpered.

"Kashmira, who?" she said, striking me again, brutally.

"Kashmira Kapoor!" I cried, "Kashmira Kapoor! I am Kashmira Kapoor."

"I want to hear Kashmira's voice say it."

I recalled Jane's voice in my mind and tried to imitate it.

"I am Kashmira Kapoor" I said imitating Jane the best I could.

"Kashmira's voice!" she said through clenched teeth as she struck me twice.

"I am Kashmira Kapoor" I said, again, surprising even myself.

I actually managed to sound similar to Jane.

"From now on, when you speak, you will speak as Kashmira. Any other voice will not due. Ten lashings, like what you have just been given will be your punishment. Thirty, if you try to escape. Your manhood would not survive thirty, so you should seriously reconsider any thoughts of escape you might have. The women will release you now, Kashmira. I expect you to cooperate fully while they finish transforming you. You will know your place as an Indian woman should from now on. I've only given you a small taste of what will happen if you do not. I will not mention it again."

 

The remaining women helped me down a corridor. The beating had drained my strength. The youngest of the group, Sashim, quietly offered me some advice.

"Life can be good if you obey, Kashmira. Taking Kashmira's place may not be a bad thing for you. You will understand when you see your personal wardrobe. Priyanka hand picked all of Kashmira's things. Kashmira was Priyanka's personal servant. Priyanka took her many places to act as her personal assistant when she traveled. I suspect, if she likes you, she will wish you to do the same."

"Personal…"

"Please," she interrupted me, "remember to speak as Kashmira always. I do not like to see anyone punished."

I started again, using the best Kashmira voice I could manage. It was a fairly passable imitation.

"Personal assistant? What are the duties of a Personal Assistant?"

"Think of it as an Aide, who acts as a Secretary and oversees all personal needs."

So. I was to become a Secretary. A female Secretary at that. I needed to escape as soon as possible, before I was unable to.

 

I was taken to Kashmira's rooms. My rooms. It was like a suite. In a hotel, complete with personal bath. Life would be like a prisoner living in luxury. Very good, if you didn't mind being a prisoner. A slave. Sashim went to the closet and opened the doors to reveal Cholis, Choli Shararas, Salwars, and Sarees made from some of the finest, fanciest materials I had ever laid eyes on. The floor was lined with fancy Khussa of many styles and colors. The other women removed all Salwars from the closet and took them away. I was told Priyanka gave strict orders that I was to never wear anything even similar to pants. Sashim selected a gold embroidered Saree and matching petticoats. Another servant selected several accessories and a pair of gold sandals to match. I was expected to wear a lot of items. Stepped into a pair of silken under pants, then one of the other women fastened a bra around me. It was snug and felt uncomfortable.

"Please, Kashmira, step into these." Instructed Sashim.

"They are…"

"Please, Kashmira. Your voice." She interrupted again.

"Skirts." I finished changing my voice once again.

"Yes. Petticoats are worn beneath all Sarees. It is proper."

"I'm not wearing skirts. I did it to help Kashmira. That is all." I stated flatly.

"Please, Kashmira. I do not wish to see you beaten again so soon. Next time it will be worse. I know." she said quietly, lowering her eyes, "Priyanka has ordained you to take Kashmira's place and become her. That is what you must do. No question. It is best for you to forget you were ever a man, for you will never be again. If you do not do as ordained willingly, you will be punished until you do. You do not wish that."

I reluctantly took the skirts from her and stepped into them, tying them snugly around my waist.

 

A short, stretchy, gold Choli was handed to me and I slipped it on, hooking it closed in front. My midriff was left exposed. I didn't like that. Girls wear crop tops, not men. Sashim showed me the proper way to wear a Saree. She tucked the inner top edge of the Saree into the right, front side of my petticoat waistband and wrapped it around the left side of my body, then brought the material behind and around the right side of my body in a smooth neat wrap. Holding the Saree firmly, she pleated the front with her fingers several times, keeping the pleats even and straight, gathering about one yard of Saree. Then she wrapped the cloth around me to the left again and up under my right arm pit. The rest of the cloth was wrapped up across my chest and laid over my shoulder, to hang down my left back side. She pinned it at the shoulder as Kashmira had done earlier in the day.

"With practice, it will become easy, Kashmira." Assured Sashim. The new Saree outfit was quite heavy compared to the previous one I had worn. I stepped into the matching sandals. As before, I felt ridiculous letting women dress me as a woman of India, but I must admit the outfit was quite beautiful.

 

Finally, they sat me down at a table with a mirror and applied makeup to my face. Having the women primp over me with makeup was even more humiliating than wearing the Saree. Pencil thin, black, arched brows replaced my previously thick male ones. My brows and eye liner was drawn on using a needle and a small container of black liquid. The tip of the needle was dipped repeatedly into the liquid, then tapped along my new brow line. My lips were given a once over in the same way, except with a blood red liquid. The process pricked a lot, but I didn't make a single sound during the process. The women seemed to take joy in watching all visible signs of my previous gender being slowly eradicated. I wasn't prepared to accept the news that my new, thin brows, eye liner, and full, red lips were permanently tattooed on. My mind reeled at the realization that now, even if I managed to escape, I would still look like a woman with red lips, black lined eyes and thin brows.

 

At the same time, my finger and toe nails were manicured and painted a glossy red, the same color as my lips. As finishing touches, a heavy, intricate, brass chocker was fastened around my neck. It covered most of my upper, bare chest. Numerous brass bracelets and rings where placed on my ankles, wrists and fingers. I felt like a Christmas tree covered with ornaments. Any slight movement set the bracelets to jingling. A matching scarf was fixed to the top of my head with a piece of hair jewelry that fell across my forehead, then one end was pulled across under my chin and throw back, over my shoulder. I was told I should always keep Ghunghat with it when ever I was in public or around household guests and members to show humility and respect. Not doing so would dictate punishment. Surely, I couldn't be expected to work, dressed in such a restrictive, cumbersome way. When they were done they appraised me and their handy work lovingly. The excited group of women guided me in front of a long dressing mirror so I could see my new identity for the first time.

 

I felt sick, excited, and overwhelmed all at the same time. I wanted to puke my guts out and yet, rejoice. I was Saree bound and I was beautiful! But, I couldn't be. I mustn't be. I was a man. Yet, my heart pounded excitedly at the vision of the woman standing in front of me. Any man would be proud to say she was his. Then I realized, with a heart stopping gasp and choking feeling rising in my throat. They had succeeded. I was... Kashmira Kapoor.

 

 

 

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© 2003 by Jean M. Chambers. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.