Virika thought that would be enough. It took her a few days to realize she hadn’t killed the idea yet
Usha’s tiny new home was big enough for a kero-stove, a charpai, and a set of drawers. She could hardly move about inside. But there was plenty of space outside to review and instruct her part time students.
She would wake up in the morning and not just stretch her shoulders back, but yawn with Nabhimamsa as she stuck it in the air, bending her shoulders back to her arse.
She had breakfast and lunch, but these made her feel dirty. She would clear herself out with the Kyria. She studied the rock carrying navel technique, and would go to the field to clear them of stones floating up from the dirty depths and falling from the mountains. Focusing, she could lift a boulder bigger than she was, an break it in half with her biting Nabhimamsa.
She got a phone so her students could text her while she was away, because they were always afraid she would disappear to the mountains again. She held it deep in her navel, and when it buzzed, she would pop it partway out to check the message, tapping back the reply without even thinking to move her hands from where they were, which was frequently deep in Paschim Namaskarasana, instead of fidgeting.
Sometimes she would come to a pretty view of the mountains, and she would open the camera app on her phone and fold in half backwards, with legs wide and arms together, to become a tripod. These pictures were only a little shakey. Sometimes she would want a selfie, but she didn’t realize there were two cameras in a phone, so she’d bend back a little bit, so the camera could see the horizon, and do a namaste, and turn the phone around so she couldn’t see the picture. These were pretty bad, but still better than a clear picture of Usha.
Usha came on a man choking on his food on a walk through the village, and thought to save him. Putting Nabhimamsa to his lips, she sucked the bit of food to her navel, and spit to the side, and the man could breathe. She helped the man to the doctor.
On her way home her students texted her, and she felt the buzzing, but it was no longer in her navel; she had swallowed the whole phone with her Nabhimamsa, not even noticing in her panic. She couldn’t force it out through her navel, because she had actually eaten lunch. she did little Uddiyana and Ardheka, small enough to almost look like she wasn’t a yogi, and eventually forced the phone up her throat and into her mouth, which tasted just like vomiting. Some people had seen what she was doing, and though this was a new trick, but it was not, and it would not be because the phone would not turn back on, even if it looked fine after wiping it off.
She demonstrated her navel tricks to her students, who never even got close, not because she was a bad teacher but because they weren’t yogi crazy and had lives to live. Two girl students would sit against each other in third split(1), with their chootra pressed together, claiming they were exercising their navels by pushing them between Nabhi Chumbak and Nabhi Vistar, you just couldn’t see it.
Mina’s tricks were actual tricks.
She would drink quickly from a pail of water and squirt it out like a fire hose, aiming the rush of water through her Chumbak. One time she was given a soda and it was very messy sputter with the bubbles. Another time she was given cows milk and she didn’t like how the men responded and it had started to go sour.
She would pick up a small book in her navel, opening it wide enough to see the pages, and turning between them. It wasn’t the bible, Usha paid attention when she read the bible, and this was just a trick.
She would take a 20 rupee coin, and juggle it above her navel like a football, and catch it, and pull it deep pretending it had disappeared, before showing how she could pin it in place no matter where it was in her navel, flipping it like people do over their knuckles. Students would occasionally call out ‘tip!’ and throw her a coin, and if if their throw as horrible she wouldn’t even try and just give them a look, and they would have to go pick it up. But if it was close she’d catch it with a ‘goal!’ and hide it in a deep fold with a wink.
Usha could take a pen off the table using just Chumbak, and hold it flat across her belly like nothing was happening, even uncapping it with a twirl. She would then take the pen with Nabhimamsa, looking more like a tiny elephant trunk than a tongue, and write a word or two long note on a sheet of paper on the table, in large sloppy letters.
A student brought an actual football, and the students were distracted with sport. Usha did not mind because the was still getting their money, but she asked them to treat her as the goal. Eventually someone kicked the ball to her and she grabbed it in her navel, and it almost fit but it wasn’t a navel size problem it was a body size problem. She used her rock lifting technique to try and hold in in place, but used too much and just crushed it. She offered the student that brought the ball some of his money back, but he just wanted the crushed ball instead.
During instructing her students, village cats would find Usha. She would get distracted, Giving them Nabhimamsa kisses, and even trying to groom the with her Nabhimamsa. Some would run away, but some would return the grooming on her belly and navel with their little rough tongues, making her giggle. Occasionally the would bat at her belly, and she would gently grab their paw withing her navel, letting the tug once or twice until the let go.
Humans wanted to experience this sensation. She would indulge those that asked politely, but those that reached to grab her got a different result. Weak arms would just get a response of uddiyana – not her most extreme, but enough to flatten the belly they had been going for over bumpy spine. For stronger arms, she would latch onto their fingers, forcefully wrapping the hand into a fist, pulling it deep enough to get a brush of stomach acid and locking it in place. Usha would then wrap herself around the offending arm, too tightly to shale off, until they apologized.
Usha got to the point that, taking air into her stomach, she could operate it as a bellows, and make noises that sounded a little more distinguished than a kazoo. This was not talking or singing but she saw room to refine it slightly. Bengali, Hindi, and English had no chance, but Ancient Sanskrit had the right level of use and disuse that one could be convinced her navel called out the proper syllables. She practiced with her students, mouth never opening, calling out poses for her students in a bubbly low tone.
Usha was invited into people’s homes and given free meals, with an unstated expectation that her hosts would get to see her tricks. A little gutteral sanskrit chant which she knew was a poorly translated bible verse, the opportunity to see her Ardheka or Uddiyana before they ate, and the novelty of seeing her clean the last morsels off her plate with her Nabhimamsa.
She started to wonder if could just… keep her mouth closed. Nobody cared for her face. She wouldn’t do anything drastic… just… A week, a month, a year. Forcing her skill as close to perfection as she could. She hadn’t found much inspiration lately, it had all been refinement. so she would refine.
She would let her হ্যাঁ be hyam and and her না be na.
The next hosts for dinner didn’t even notice the spectacle at first – everyone was busy enjoying their food. Just the utensils never reached her mouth. She didn’t try to hide what she was doing, but odd angles and low capacity made it a slow process. Eventually people filled, and attention came back to her, sipping soup, scooping up a bit of chutney and rice, more sucking than swallowing.
She did still get invitations. Fewer, less frequent ones. It was less cool to watch a person eat than just “watching a trick”.
Usha’s throat became stuffy and swollen, she felt her breath gain an odd odor. Her navel was overworked, gumming into its food, even with all the practice she had. She studied the different methods of cleansing for an answer, to settle on an herbal mouthwash. To not interfere with her goal, she would take it once, twice, into her navel, swishing it around, dumping it into the stomach and forcing it back out. The third time she would force it up her esophagus and into her mouth swishing it around before spitting it out. It helped.
She worked a long time on her navel yoga, making it more subtle, and more strong. Like long ago, she tried to get to where Nabhimamsa was always ready, without thinking. Nabhimamsa could sing a little song with made up words than nobody understood except Usha, about wanting to kiss the girl she loved, but she was just out reach. She even tired to keep Nabhimamsa going all the way through uddiyana, even if it was just a little outie bit. Singing its silent song.
She pretended like things had tastes. but there were no real tastes. There was no real texture.
After months, she got tired of it. She kept going, again, out of spite, for more months. Hoping there would be some new discovery, or inspiration, or some magical yogi would come and teach her a secret and make everything better. None did. She just had to live with herself. In a village with a few students, that also gave up, but no friends.
It was a random day in the year. She just work up, and tried to scream. Not with Nabhimamsa, but with her mouth. It had been a year. It hurt, moving muscles she had tried not to think of.
Her neighbors heard the scream and came, wondering if they’d see some new thing. She asked for help. And they helped. She didn’t have to be alone, even if being together wasn’t the together she had dreamed of.
It took a little while, but somebody noticed her belly was flat, and her navel was gone.
In her creaky, pained voice, she said, “Good riddance.”
(1) Is it a straddle, is it a side? make up your minds
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