recipe for beans. Likewise foraged weeds for cabbage. Some sweet dishes I made for friends. Not far from my room, behind the temple at Shivala ghat on the Ganges, was a government shop that sold coarse, dried ganja by the tola. Many times I watched the shopkeeper gallantly flip a silver rupee, the equivalent of a tola weight of half an ounce, onto one of the heavy metal dishes of an old-fashioned balance scale. With one hand he held up the bar which suspends the two dishes, and with the other he dropped the dried ganja from a metal scoop until the dishes balanced in the air. Then he deftly tilted the dish with the contents into a sheet of newsprint. With the expertise of a kitemaker, he folded and refolded the paper into a tight packet. Some afternoons his wife worked in the shop, but she didn’t have the same finesse of measurement. She waved me over one day and urged me to try a sweet from a large tray she had on the counter. They were a dull greenish color, roughly cut into squares with'a few slivers of almonds on top. “ Have one,” she smiled. I was such a frequent passerby, it was quite usual for shopkeepers to motion me over, say hello or try and converse. I bit into one and was taken aback by the chewy, somewhat bitter taste. She had made the sweets with some of the ganja, creating a type of brownie, quite intoxicating. One bite was enough. But she put an idea into my head. A swami I knew named Ganesh Baba was very fond of all types of ganja. A retired attorney from Bombay, he had adopted the guise of a naga baba, the crazy, nearly naked ascetics who smoke as part of their worship. He boasted he could smoke one hundred chillums a day, and religiously started smoking early each morning and continued late into the night, freely sharing with whoever came by. I don’t know if he ever managed to smoke a hundred pipes a day, but he did give another English sadhu a ritual pipe that was over twelve-inches long and took two tolas to even fill up the bowl. One puff from this pipe was legendary. Ganesh spoke a curious anomaly of Anglo-English legalese and street sadhu. He blasted a nonstop stream of blasphemous, abusive insults to all and sundry. He believed himself to be a wrathful emanation of one of the blood-thirsty deities. More intrigued with his sweet side, I decided to prepare a dessert dish for Ganesh Baba. Ladhoo, made from besan—chickpea flour—was a rich and not too compliShop s d isp lay p la t te r s tow e r in g w ith sw ee ts en t in to squares , some co ve red w ith a d e l ica te la y e r o f s ilve r f i l ig re e w h ich is con s id e red to b e a m ed icina l o r aph rod is iac . When on ce I tr ie d th e s ilver , th e m e ta l v io len t ly r e a c te d w ith my fillings, send ing waves o f pa in th ro u g h o u t my mouth. cated sweet. Like halvah, which is gently sauteed in butter—ghee—to bring out a rich, roasted flavor, maybe the ganja could be substituted for some of the flour It was worth a try. Careful not to lean too far over the wok and inhale the potent herb as it sauteed in rich ghee, I subtly altered the ladhoo recipe. I sample as I cook; how else to tell exactly what’s going on? I was soon overcome with drowsiness and couldn’t finish the final touches of rolling the sweet into balls before I had to curl up on the straw mat. I fell into a busy doze watching arabesque-like paisleys and geometric mandalas whirl on the surface of my usually bare, white wall. When I awoke a pariah dog was gobbling up the last of the ladhoos. After that Ganesh left on a pilgrimage. I grew fond of giving gifts of sweet dishes. For a Chinese yogi named Chen who migrated to a spot in the Himalayas where the peaks dominated his horizon ‘ like arms embracing,’ I decided an American candy would be a unique present, so I made fudge. I had to pack it carefully in a box so it wouldn’t crush on the walk from Darjeeling to Kalimpong— roughly seven hours on foot. One Christmas I located a recipe for fruit cake. Since I had no oven, I placed tin cans in a boiling pan of water and steamed for three hours. I made two cakes using dried pineapple instead of maraschino cherries and dried papaya bits in place of apricots. One cake I kept and the other I gave to an American scholar who lived in the same village of Sarnath, India, about ten miles outside of Benares. He was immensely touched by this gesture, and will gladly repeat the story when asked, since it is the story of falling in love with the woman he later asked to be his wife. I ntriguingly enough, my daughter chose to take woodshop rather than cooking, while my son, growing up with a love of good eating, picked the cooking class. When I teach my children how to make a curry, I will not stress the ingredients. There is ample room for varying spices, vegetables, water and cooking time. Later, perhaps, they’ ll ask about my Indian adventure and I’ ll explain how to build a fire from wood and cow dung chips. Rather, I’ ll encourage them to create their own innovations, develop a reckless fearlessness in selecting unusual ingredients. And a fearlessness also in allowing the time and energy to prepare a dish whether for themselves or for someone else. In the overall scheme of cooking, I’ll tell them, even the smallest gestures have enormous impact. Like a Buddhist meditation, even if the hands are engaged in tedious preparations, the mind is still free. . to imagine, ritualize and empower the substances and actions. With an enlightened attitude, a preparer of substances taken into the body can attain a satisfaction which lasts longer than any dish, and transcends the momentary pleasures of taste. Writer Marilyn Stablein lives in Seattle. This story is from a collection called Deceptions and Intrigues, which is currently in search of a publisher. Her last story in CSQ was “Night Travels in Tibet. She is director of The Literary Center in Seattle. Artist C.T. Chew lives in Seattle and has recently returned from a year’s sojourn in Nepal. His last CSQ contribution was the cover of the Spring 1988 issue. THE ANCIENT ART OF BIRTH CONTROL TRAVELING SOUTH? The CERVICAL CAP has been used successfully by women since the time of Cleopatra. It is more spontaneous and safe than most conventional contraceptives, yet it remains relatively unknown. Ancient Sumerian women made cervical caps from mud; molded opium, crocodile dung, bees wax, gold and silver have also served as material for cervical caps. Casanova once offered a prospective lover one-half of a squeezed lemon to use as a cervical cap (the citric acid served as a spermicide). The CERVICAL CAP is a thimble-shaped device that fits over the neck of the uterus and functions as a barrier to sperm. The cap can l>e left in place for a maximum of seven days, thus allowing for more - spontaneity. In addition, chemicals are not necessary. The CERVICAL CAP has been perfected over the centuries. Ancient women used the cervical cap. It’s safe. It’s effective. You can use it too. ALTERNATIVE HEALTH CENTER 900 Boylston, Suite 3 Seattle, WA98104 (206)323-0880 Clinton St. Quarterly— Summer, 1988 23 Be sure to visit beautiful Humboldt County located on the northern California coast. While visiting pick up the Humboldt Visitor. you r complete gu ide to the sigh ts, events, towns, dining, lodging and en tertainment o f the Redwood Country. For an advance copy, send $5 to: Humboldt Visitor Magazine P.O. Box 1374 Eureka, CA 95502
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