An Angel on My Shoulder

by David Callinan

  He thought again of the kind of monumental changes in human life and destiny that would almost certainly happen. Human beings would be transformed. They would be able to utilize their latent faculties at last. The cocoon of illusion and deceit that embodied politics and the fear that surrounded the differences in beliefs between human beings that resulted in terrorism, torture, distortion, exploitation and hatred would be dispelled. And these changes would start with individuals the world over awakening from the dream, understanding the oneness of existence, the nature of reality, the true role of energy and the timelessness of time. Sexual inhibitions would be swept away in a burst of energy releasing orgasms. Relationships based on love would proliferate. Corruption would be swept away as would religious wars, political correctness and selfishness. Egoistic materialism and fanatical fundamentalism would wither.

  It all sounded so idyllic that the cynic in him wagged a warning finger. Oh, yes, it sneered. If you believe that, you’ll believe anything.

  Paul chuckled to himself at the prospect and then, in a flash of pessimism, pictured an approaching asteroid with Earth’s name written on it heading directly for us. Well, if that happened it happened. Best mankind changed to a higher spiritual gear in that case. All he could do was wait and see. So far the angels had been right even though he had not had direct contact with them for years. On the other hand he could be reading significance into events that would have happened anyway.

  Time would tell and on his gloriously sunny Athens afternoon when time did appear to have vanished, he allowed himself drift on a bubble of optimism.

  His only niggling doubt centered on the dark force and fear it had generated within him. He had a feeling that he had been treated to the hors d’oeuvres and the main course was yet to come. And yet why was a negative force as powerful as that allowed to exist? Just as love and truth generated angel power so hatred and evil conjured up its spiritual equivalent, personified so that people like Paul could grasp the principles behind it.

  If it was all going to come true, however; if there was going to be a renaissance in the human condition and if man was going to acquire the insights needed to evolve to a higher state led by the new Light of the World then all Paul could do was follow in its wake and let what was to happen, happen. And if love was the energy force that drove the whole crazy creation situation then he believed he and Kate would be closer together than ever. It remained to be seen what destiny had in store for him next and what new people he would meet on his journey to Ru-Ah. It would clearly be the centre point of his life and he had no idea of where or when the next contact would be made.

  He paid the bill, slipped on his sunglasses and made his way along Mitropoleos and back to the hotel.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  ONE YEAR LATER

  The power of the sacred mountain

  Kathmandu, Nepal

  Paul and Kate strolled along Kantipath towards New Road in the early evening. This was their first trip together without one or other of the children. Annie was now in her last year at university, Cassie was still talking about marriage and Rory had left Australia for New Zealand: something to do with visas.

  The streets were alive and seemed to be moving of their own accord. The stench of the gutters blended with the dense traffic fumes into a sensory cocktail elevated by the altitude that could be hard to take. Along the street Nepali and Newari life hummed with vibrancy but the majority of the traders selling Buddhist trinkets were Tibetan – driven out of their own country by the stifling Chinese rule.

  “I’m going to need a mask if we stay here much longer,” coughed Kate. “Can’t we get off the main street?”

  “Come on,” said Paul and they slid into a narrow street with buildings almost touching overhead. This was in the general direction of the stupa at Thatiki Tole and a short distance then to Durbar Square.

  “This is the Thamel district,” said Paul. “This is where it all happens. It used to be Freak Street, of course.”

  “You never came here in your hippie days?” asked Kate.

  “No, never made it here.”

  “I can’t wait to go on the trek,” said Kate. “This pollution is something else.”

  “Annapurna,” said Paul. “It just looks staggering from the air. Can’t wait to get up close.”

  “We’re not going all the way to base camp, are we?” Kate checked.

  “Not quite. I fancied the whole Jomsom trip but it gets as busy as Times Square, well, not really, but you know what I mean. Our trek is more unusual.”

  They had arrived at Thatiki Tole, one of dozens or more stupas, temples, palaces and ramshackle buildings in this amazing city, partly unchanged since the middle ages and yet with new and grotesque modern buildings in the newly developed areas.

  They pushed their way laughing like children through the throng milling along Indra Chowk and eventually emerged in Durbar Square.

  They decided to rest in a little side café and ordered cola and a beer.

  “So,” said Kate. “We visit Pashupatinath and Bhaktapur tomorrow and then meet the rest of the trekking party.”

  “That’s right,” Paul confirmed. “It’s a really mixed group by all accounts, from four or five countries and a good mix of ages.”

  “Let’s hope they take it easy uphill,” said Kate with feeling. “I’m not as fit as I used to be.”

  “You’ll be fine,” Paul reassured her. “Isn’t this place just incredible?”

  “I’ve never seen anywhere like it,” said Kate waving a maimed beggar away regally. “Every building seems to be a temple of some kind,’

  “The Buddha was born in Nepal, I’m pretty sure,” said Paul.

  “I like Buddhism,” said Kate. “I can see why it is so attractive to westerners.”

  Paul didn’t know why, because he had not given angels or destiny much thought lately, but he did experience a familiar rumble inside. He hadn’t felt that telltale psychic signal for some time. It reminded him that he had better not forget; he had better remember the events of the past. It also acted as a warning, or so he thought, that something was going to happen. The next step on the path was about to be taken. Sitting in the noisy clamor of Durbar Square, the beating heart of Kathmandu, it was easy to believe it. Far more so here than in somewhere like London, Los Angeles or Sydney. There was something conducive to metaphysical ideas here, and that did not mean religion.

  They heard the sound first and then realized it was coming from inside the stupa.

  Monks had gathered for prayer. Paul could see the red robes shifting inside the shadows of the temple. Kate was equally fascinated. They strolled over and removed their shoes. Moving slowly and quietly they slipped inside the stupa and moved to the side in the shadow of a golden Buddha. Two rows of monks faced each other chanting. The sound of the baritone drones coming in pulses of long wavelengths and resonances and interspersed with sharp toned gongs was simply mesmerizing. Paul was put in mind of Gregorian chants, the Koran and the Talmud when spoken en masse and felt that these were some of the great human symphonic and mystical vibrations. The sound reminded him only in part of the angelic choir that had etched aching grooves in his heart and soul that could never be removed.

  Kate had taken his arm. He looked down at her in the shifting light, some rays reflected from the eye of the Buddha above and behind them. She too was absorbed and transfixed by the chanting. The vibration of the prayers seemed to ripple in waves from the soles of their feet to the crown of their heads. He put his arm around her and she moved closer. It was a moment of rare intimacy and Paul found himself thinking why they did not have more such moments. Life, with its endless time wasting distractions and trivial concerns, seemed to work against simple expressions of love and oneness. This was the closet some human beings came to experiencing the oneness of the universe. Paul felt suddenly terribly privileged. How many people could say they had been chosen by angels for a mission such as his? He had gradually come to terms with the existence of
it.

  He whispered in Kate’s ear. “Are you hungry?” She nodded and they crept outside to retrieve their shoes. They didn’t speak but just strolled towards the Thamel district where there were numerous restaurants. They settled on a place called Yin Yang, a Thai restaurant that served deliciously aromatic dishes.

  Later, before returning to their hotel, Paul took Kate to the Kumari Bahal, the building that housed the Kumari Devi, a young girl chosen as a living goddess. Paul told Kate the story of how a child of around four years of age is chosen to live as a goddess until she reaches puberty and only leaves the building six or seven times a year for ceremonial events.

  For the next couple of days, Kate and Paul visited Pashupatinath and Bhaktapur. Pashupatinath was riveting to Paul. The most important Hindu temple stood on the banks of the Bagmati river dedicated to Shiva, the destroyer and creator. With Kate he watched in fascination as cremations took place on the banks of the river and the holy men, or Saddhus, stood or sat in contemplation and meditation decorated with highly colored body paint and ornaments.

  Paul felt the eyes of several Saddhus upon him. It must be my imagination, he thought. There was a palpable feeling here, unnoticed by the other tourists that snapped and chattered and picked their way delicately along the muddy riverbank avoiding the garbage and roaming dogs. The eyes of the Saddhus were impenetrable, unknowable. They existed on a different plane. Their bodies existed in the present but their spiritual selves were travelling in the timeless dimensions of reality.

  Bhaktapur was very different. They were charged an entrance fee, the profits of which went towards the maintenance of this Newari ‘City of Devotees’. Neither of them had seen so many holy places and temples and it was pleasantly pedestrianized. Kate bought some small trinkets and a wall hanging.

  There was a timeless feeling about this place that defied classification. Grain lay in the sun to dry. People collected drinking water and washed under collective taps. Potters were on every corner and the atmosphere was medieval.

  That afternoon, hours before they were to meet the tour group in the hotel lobby for their first briefing, Kate slipped in the bathroom and strained her back. Paul helped her to the bed and she managed to lie down but she was in severe pain and spasm. Paul massaged her back gently until the spasms had eased. She managed to roll off the bed onto her feet and could walk with difficulty.

  “Wouldn’t you know it,” she cried. “The day before the trek. I need an osteopath.”

  Paul rang reception and could hear considerable agitation and discussion. Finally, it was suggested that massage was the closet Kathmandu came to osteopathy or chiropractic. The receptionist suggested that there was a clinic at the bottom end of town and there was a doctor there who was good with back pain. She knew only vague directions but they were enough for Kate.

  “Come on,” she ordered. “I’m not crippled yet, almost, but not quite.”

  “Are you sure,” asked Paul. “Why don’t I go and try to find someone to come to the hotel?”

  ‘Suppose you don’t,” she said. “We’ll take a taxi. Maybe a pain killer would help?”

  Kate managed to walk stiffly with her hand clamped above her hip. Now and again she would pause and wince as a shaft of pain pulled her up short. The prospect of going trekking together was starting to look shaky.

  Outside the hotel there was not a taxi to be seen. Then a cycle rickshaw boy came pedaling over.

  “Like me to take you to Everest?” he smiled and his white teeth gleamed.

  “My wife has a bad back,” Paul tried to explain, miming to Kate’s annoyance. “We need osteopath.” The boy looked mystified.

  “Like massage,” said Paul. “Like doctor.”

  “Doctor,” he understood this and flicked a grubby handkerchief over the back seat.

  “Let’s just go,” snapped Kate, wincing as she slowly climbed into the back. When Paul was beside her, they set off, bumping over the cobbles and out into the insane traffic of Kathmandu. The ride was a nightmare and Kate clung to Paul to try to even out the bumps and swerves. They clasped their hands to their mouths to prevent choking in fumes as the rickshaw sped through the streets, swerving to miss cars, pedestrians, dogs and chickens. Paul recognized New Road but then they were in the back streets, grimy and smelly. The boy eventually halted by a slimy alleyway and pointed to a door. Paint was peeling from the wood and there was a dirty notice pinned to a wall beside it.

  “Stay here,” said Paul. “I’ll check it out.”

  He pushed the door open and went inside, blinking in the dim light. The atmosphere was pungent and the waiting room, for this is what it had to be, was crammed with people, many lying on the ground.

  “This is impossible,” muttered Paul. The patients regarded him balefully, but with mild indifference. A small man in a white coat came out of a room at the end and was about to call his next patient when he saw Paul.

  “Can you help me? Do you speak English?” he asked the little man.

  “Yes, I speak English. We are very busy.”

  “It’s my wife. She’s hurt her back and we are going trekking tomorrow. She’s outside. Could you just look at her, please? We have been trying to find an osteopath.”

  The small man stood quietly for a moment. “If we are very quick. I am not an osteopath. I don’t think we have one in Kathmandu.” He said something in Nepali to the waiting patients and hurried over.

  Kate had subsided into the rickshaw. The doctor made her sit up and probed gently at her pelvis and lower back. Kate grimaced.

  “I will come to your hotel later and administer a pain killer,” he said. “That is the best I can do. You will then need to rest completely for several days.”

  “But the trek?” protested Kate.

  “No, no trek for you,” said the little doctor. Maybe you can make a trek later, perhaps next week.”

  “No,” said Paul. “That’s not possible.”

  He gave the doctor details of the hotel and saw a real taxi passing. Paul pushed some rupees into the rickshaw driver’s hand and took Kate back to the hotel in more comfort.

  The trek group had already gathered in the expansive lobby when Paul and Kate arrived. They joined the group and introduced themselves. There was a bunch of brokers from London, two nurses from Ireland, a couple from the mid west United States, a group of Germans and an elderly Dutch couple. Kate was clearly in pain and it was getting worse. A tall, slim Nepali had been addressing the group.

  He introduced himself as Mr Lemu. He had a slightly conical shaped head, a sympathetic face and a broad smile. His hands were small and neat and he clasped his fingers together as he listened to what Paul had to say.

  “Look,” explained Paul. “My wife has hurt her back. A doctor is coming to give her a pain killer but she will have to rest in bed for several days. I’m afraid we won’t be going on the trek.”

  There was disappointment from the group. “I’m sorry to hear this,” said Lemu. He turned to Kate. “If the doctor says you should not go, he may be right. It is quite a strenuous trek.”

  Kate looked at Paul. “If I can’t go it doesn’t mean you shouldn’t go. I’ll perfectly all right here for a week.”

  Lemu gazed at Paul with an odd expression, part curiosity, partly intimate in a distant kind of way. The rest of the group watched.

  “Maybe we need to discuss this,” Paul said to Kate.

  “Why don’t you take part in the briefing now,” suggested Lemu, “and if you aren’t here tomorrow morning we will know why and send you both our sympathies.”

  They agreed and for the next hour or so Lemu explained the trek route.

  “Tomorrow, we leave the hotel at seven-thirty,” he explained, “to catch a short flight to Pokhara. From there we have our trek bus waiting and we will drive along the Seti river valley until we come to a point where the river divides into the Mordi Khola.” Lemu handed out some photocopied route maps and notes. “There is a village called Mahendra Gupha which is whe
re our porters will be waiting for us. From then on there are no roads. The porters will move on ahead of us with our equipment, including your rucksacks – all you need is a bag pack and plenty of water. If anyone requires beer, wine or soft drinks for the evening meal tell me before they depart so I can give the order to the head porter.

  “We will head for a village called Konacure for our first overnight camp. I must explain there is no sanitation on this trek. We dig a latrine and it is also very important that if anyone has to go into the bushes on the way that they carry matches or a lighter to burn all toilet paper. This is one of the rules of the trek. “

  Questions followed but Paul and Kate remained silent. Paul looked at Kate, trying to gauge her mood when the little doctor arrived, spotted Kate and came over. He greeted everyone with the two-handed gesture and bow.

  “Namaste,” he greeted everyone. Kate stood up with difficulty and with Paul holding her arm. She had stiffened up badly.

  “Doctor, I am so glad you came,” she said to the little man, and then to Paul. “You stay here while I go to my room. I need to lie down.” She smiled at him. She had made up her mind. She would stay and he would go.

  “She looks pretty bad, mate,” remarked one of the British party.

  “It’s a terrible shame,” said Bridie, one of the Irish nurses. “Pain killers can disguise worse problems.”