I first met Rani in a combined Graduate/Undergraduate Seminar on Computative Algorithms (my introduction to computing; before that, I was a Math Major and only biding my time in school until I was a Junior to join ROTC and work towards a commission). This was about 6 or 8 months after my New Yorker decided that she could no longer stand the Left Coast and had to return to the hustle of New York. Rani was about as different from my New Yorker as any woman could be. Although she was tall for an Indian (almost 5’7”), she was still much shorter than me. Her hair was long and black, and it always hung silkily down her back to her waist. Her figure was full, almost Rubenesque. Her eyes were dark pools that sucked your soul into them to drown in their depths. Her complexion was the most beautiful shade of olive that I had ever seen. Her lips were perfect, neither too full nor too thin. Her nose suited her face like it was made for it. In short, she was perfect. Unfortunately, she was a graduate student and probably wouldn’t have a thought of even talking to some lowly undergrad ... Well, I wouldn’t have mentioned her if that was the case. The class was one of those ‘consent of the instructor,’ which translated to ‘by invitation only’ for undergrads and to ‘you will take it’ for graduate students. It was used as a filter for those undergrads that the Powers-That-Be thought would make good grad students. Anyway, Rani and I ended up on the same project (something relatively trivial for an accomplished programmer but a fairly big deal for both of us, as I was just learning how to program, and she just didn’t have the mindset to really be a programmer). What with one thing and another, we ended up basically living in each other’s pockets for several weeks and eventually, without either one of us trying very hard, in bed together.

Well, we hit it off like a pair of minks. My GPA dropped at least a point, hers even more (and you know what that means to a graduate student). Eventually, she moved in with me (but kept her dorm room too, for appearances’ sake). At one point, I actually asked her to marry me, but she pointed out that I was totally unacceptable to her parents and that while I was quite good enough for her, it wouldn’t really work in the long run. Ah well, it’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.

One game that we liked to play, and the one that probably ate deepest into our communal GPA, was a sort of ‘quid pro quo’ or I tie you, you tie me. She was the limberest person that I ever met in my life. I’d bet dollars to donuts that she could out-escape Harry Houdini (at least on one of his off nights). I’d tie her up, and I’m no slouch with knots, and turn my back and poof she’d be free. So every time that I’d tie her up, if she escaped, she’d return the favour. If she didn’t, I couldn’t use that particular tie again. Naturally, she wouldn’t escape while I was watching her, but would wait until I left the room or turned my back. So I would bind her tightly and then play with her wobbly bits until she was exhausted. That at least would slow her down somewhat.

One night she seemed a bit pensive over dinner, and after we had cleaned up the kitchen, she said to me, “Now it is time for some fun with ropes”. So I proceeded to try out my latest idea for securing her. I placed her in the formal dining room chair (the only one in that totally mismatched house), high back, arms, heavy, dark wood. I tied her arms around the back of the chair, each arm to the opposite side, then her elbows to the slats on the back. Her ankles were tied to the back legs and her knees to the arms. Carefully, I opened her blouse and pulled up her skirt (oh, I forgot to mention, she never wore pants, ever) and down her panties. Several minutes of nuzzling, licking, and sucking on her nipples soon produced the desired result; more manipulation of the other wobbly bit finished her off (I thought ). I left her post-orgasming and went to wash up and make a little snack for us both. Before I even finished washing my hands, her arms wrapped around my waist. “Got you” was all that she said. Ah well, I thought, my turn again (little did I know).

She led me back to the chair, all the ropes were still attached to it, and sat me down. Quickly she tied me in almost exactly the same way that I had tied her. Then she said, “Now you will be attempting to escape”, and walked into the bedroom. As I struggled unsuccessfully with my bindings I heard her opening and closing drawers, the closet, and a suitcase. I wondered, idly, what she was up to. After about 15 minutes she returned from the bedroom wearing a red and gold sari. Brother, was she a sight! She had made up her face fairly heavily, with very dark eye-pencil all around her eyes. A dark red cast mark was between her eyebrows with a small golden star above it dangling from three golden chains to her hair. From an earring a thin chain crossed her face to a golden ring that pierced her left nostril. Golden chains by the dozens hung around her neck over a dark red, almost maroon blouse. Her sari was a bright red with a golden scroll pattern along the border. To put it simply, she was breathtaking. In her hand was a long pale yellow scarf. She had a very serious expression on her face.

She started to tell me about her astrologer back in India, how sometimes she would call her and say things like, “Be very careful getting on the train at Rajnipoor” or “watch for cars tomorrow” and there would almost be an accident. And how one day she had called her and said, “I’m very sorry to have to tell you this, but your brother will die this afternoon”, and that evening an officer from her brother’s regiment came by and told her and her mother that her brother had been shot by a sniper, up in Kashmir, and that he was dead. All the while she’s walking around me, dragging the scarf across my body, wrapping it around my head and slipping it off, sliding it around my neck, and fiddling with it. Eventually she fiddled with it so much that there were two large knots in it, about 6 inches apart.

Then she says, “You know, nobody at school knows that we are living together, but she called me here this afternoon and told me something very strange. She said that ‘This evening you will strangle a man, hang a woman, and then hang yourself.’”. With that, she whipped the scarf around my neck and pulled it tight. “I wonder which woman I will be hanging? Good-bye, my love, it has been fun.” And with that, she pulled on the ends of the scarf.

“Gaa...”. Silence, not a sound from my gasping mouth as the heavy silk cut off all air. The knots pressed on the side of my neck. In seconds, my vision tunnelled in, and I faded away with the thought “Oh shit”...

And then faded back awake. I was still bound to the chair. Rani was kissing me and saying “Oh, do wake up, dear”.

“Gack cough”, I choked, “What was that all about?”

“Well, my astrologer said that ‘there would be no deaths unless I tried’, to avoid the actions that she had foreseen. So I chose you to be the man. Now I must find a willing woman, and well ... I was looking into your other footlocker (figures she’s an escape artist, what price a cheap Master combination padlock). And I know that you have women’s clothing in your size there. Do you sometimes dress as a woman?”

“Well, sometimes I do, for special occasions”.

“I thought as much. Will you be my next victim too? Please? I can think of no other person to use”. Well, to make a long story short, after not a whole lot of wheedling, she talked me into it.

She smiled very widely, “I had something made for you as a special surprise. Now it will come in handy”. With that, she began to untie me.

“What was with that scarf that you used on me?”

“Oh, that was the same knot as used by the thuggee. You know who they were?”

“Yes, I think so. Aren’t they worshipers of Shiva the Destroyer?”

“Well, yes, but they only worshiped one facet of Shiva, who is also the Creator”. By now, I was free. We went into the bedroom. On the bed was another sari, this one was sapphire blue, with a sky blue blouse. There was a makeup kit and a small box of silver and pearl jewellery. Also, there were my female underthings: bra, girdle, but no waist cinchers (well, a sari leaves the midriff uncovered).

“Please take off your clothing”, she said, and with that, began my transformation into an Indian woman. I never realised just how simple a sari is. After getting on all of the usual stuff (bra, panties, breast forms), she sat me down and applied the eye makeup: heavy eye-pencil around the eyes to outline them, a paste on ‘cast mark’, lipstick. Then, the blouse, like a short tee shirt, with snaps up the back, round neckline, very snug fitting, she called it a ‘choli’. The sleeves came to just above my elbow. The sari consists of about 10 yards of silk cloth. At the bottom edge, she sews a panel of heavy fabric to stiffen that section. The top is heavily pleated (so that there is room in the bottom for the wearer to walk). You put on a half slip, with a thin rope for a waistband. After the skirt is wrapped around your waist, starting at the right side, and wrapping towards the left, about six times, it is tucked under the waistband of the slip and pinned into itself on the left side, and then taken around the back once more, then up and over the left shoulder (where it is pinned with a brooch). The remainder hangs down the back most of the way to the ground to balance the rest, or is lifted over the head to protect you from the sun.

She sat me down again and got out my black wig (you remember that wig, don’t you?). She placed it on my head and pinned it firmly into place. A quick touch of lipstick, and she turned me to the mirror. I was quite surprised at how <not so bad> I looked (you may wish to read ‘My_turn’ for my feelings about the looks of my female persona).

“Just sit here for a few moments, please. I’ll be right back”.

As I sat there, my thoughts turned to the ‘Indian’ mind. Now I realise that this is a generalisation, and many Indians don’t feel this way. But...

India is a land of great mysticism. (This is why the English had so little friction with their colonial policies. [Compare the history of India under the British with any other colonial power’s colony. India was, on the whole, content under the Raj.] They are romantics. I shudder to think what would have happened had, say, Imperial Russia, another land of mystics, ended up with India as a colony. The Russians and Indians would have been at each other’s throats constantly, mainly over religious matters. By the way, it is not as unlikely as you think for Russia to have had India as one might think. A little poorer generalship in the Crimea on the part of the British, a few breaks falling the other way, and the French and British could have lost, soundly, the Crimean War. This would have eventually led to the fall of the Ottoman Empire in the 1860s and control of the Eastern Mediterranean by Russia ... But I digress. Indian mysticism leads to strange, unexplainable things happening. The Indian rope trick is NOT a trick. Why do you think that Henry Weiss (Harry Houdini) spent several years in India?

As these thoughts were wandering through my mind, I was rummaging through my footlocker, finally finding my highest heels, the 5-inches, with ankle straps. No sooner had I put them on and was practicing walking in heels and a sari, when Rani came back into the room.

“Oha, take those silly heels off. Indian women of breeding never wear them.” She muttered under her breath. “You are lucky that I’m not turning you into some splayfooted peasant woman, great with child”.

“Huh?”

“It is nothing. Come over to me now”.

In the living room, there was incense burning in holders, and a tape of Indian music was playing softly on my tape deck.

She had me put my wrists together behind my back. “We do not want you touching things, it may spoil the effect”, she said as she tightly bound my wrists and then my elbows. “Now sit down on the bed”. “Now lie back, ... Oh!, wait, here are some pillows for behind your arms ... this is good”.

She sat on the bed by my head and said, “Before I begin, I want you to know that what I am about to do is something that I can only do one time for a person, and I can only do it a few times in my lifetime.”. Then she began to speak softly in Hindi, almost chanting. I started to speak, but she placed a finger on my lips. “Silence”, she whispered, and returned to the intonations. After a few minutes I began to get sleepy and I had trouble holding my eyes open, she nodded at me as they fluttered open, closed, open, closed. So dark ... heavy ... dark ... heavy...

I awoke to her kiss on my lips, I opened my eyes, somehow she seemed bigger. I felt a little strange like something was changed. I was still lying on the bed on my back, with my wrists bound, but something felt different. She said, “There I have made the change for you, this will last about 3 hours, then you will fall asleep and awaken as your normal self”.

“What...” <wait a second, whose voice was that, very high pitched>. “Wa...” <That’s me speaking>. “What has happened? Why is my voice changed?”.

She kissed me again, “I have used a very, very old enchantment, taught to me by my grandmother, and to her by hers and so forth, for many generations, for as long as it lasts you are a woman of India. Take a look at yourself”. And she held up a mirror to me.

Looking back was a handsome Indian woman, her skin was a medium olive, jet black eyes and hair. Wide full lips under a strong nose. I looked down and saw that my bust was small, but seemed well shaped.

“Let me help you up. Be quite careful, you are now several inches shorter than you were.” She helped me to sit up, then stand. She was now taller than I. I looked up at her, and felt her hand strong on my arm. She leaned down and whispered in my ear, “You are quite beautiful now, my dear. Come, let me finish your jewellery”. She led me to the vanity table and sat me on the chair. Opening the jewellery case, she began to remove chains, earrings, and other items. First, she attached a diamond stud through my right nostril. It was already pierced. Then, she attached a large crescent of silver and small sapphires to my left nostril, with a heavy chain leading to my right ear. Heavy silver and sapphire earrings were attached to both ears. She took a brush and began to brush my long, thick hair. She quickly attached clips in the back to hold it in a single piece hanging down my back. I could feel it on my bound arms.

“Could...”

Again, she placed a finger on my mouth. “Silence still, my small one”.

She removed a complex piece of jewellery consisting of about eight or nine strands of pearls and sapphires. Holding the centre against my hairline in front, she began to attach it to my hair. After a few minutes, she stepped back so that I could see in the mirror. A large sapphire was at the part of my hair at the hairline. Hanging down was a huge teardrop-shaped pearl, reaching almost to my eyebrows. Three strands of pearls and sapphires framed my face, like a hairband clipped to my hair. Another strand ran straight back to disappear in the back. I could feel it attached to the top hair clip in back. From my left ear, a heavy silver chain ran from a large earring to the ornament on my left nostril. I was stunned. “How beautiful she is”, I thought.