Towards the Within

by Reece Willis

  From the main trunk of the road, we took one of the many twisting branches leading off and climbed some narrow steps between two buildings to the Mall. A long thoroughfare flanked by rows of half-timbered Victorian buildings, it resembled more of a Swiss-English village than an Indian town. The area was pedestrianised and people strolled leisurely, walking without a care in the world. I caught sight of men holding hands. Kurt said it is considered a common demonstration of friendship in India between men.

  On the western shoulder of Jakhu Hill known as The Ridge, a cream coloured nineteenth century neo-gothic church dominated the eastern end. With an incredible view of the majestic foothills and jagged peaks of the Pir Panjal and Great Himalayan ranges, we took advantage of the sunset as it exposed vivid mauves and pinks across the reddening sky.

  A restaurant nearby advertised western food of pizzas, burgers and suchlike. We were welcomed by a teenaged boy playing an acoustic guitar in the corner and an older man who came to our service.

  When the Strawberry milkshakes and Margherita pizzas arrived, the boy stopped playing, ‘Where are my manners? Please forgive me,’ he said. I asked how long he’d been playing, ‘Since I was very young. My father taught me to play and I have not stopped since.’ His father, the man that served us, waggled his head and smiled as we looked over.

  ‘Maybe you would like to listen to some western music?’ He wandered off around the back of the counter. Suddenly, Soundgarden belted through the speakers before it was turned down a notch. ‘Is this to your liking?’ he asked and we nodded our approval.

  Apart from the boy and his father we had the place to ourselves. I leant back and let out a huge sigh of relief, over the moon I was here with these people.

  In the hallway of the hotel a group of young Indian men were shouting and laughing. As soon as they saw us, they surrounded us. The usual questions were served and we smiled as we replied with answers that had been given so many times before. We were offered beer and biscuits and invited to their room where they were having a small party of sorts. One guy brought a transistor radio with him and tuned into a station playing Bollywood hits. The guys were college friends from Bikaner in Rajasthan and were holidaying in the cool climate of Shimla. A couple of them began to dance and asked if we would join them. Tyler and I attempted a Bollywood dance under instruction, but soon sat down laughing and out of breath.

  Kurt was next to be called upon, ‘I do not dance well,’ he said. ‘But I can show you some Tae Kwon Do.’

  Their faces lit with excitement and one eager student was first up to learn a kick. Kurt stepped back to prepare himself. The young man stepped forward just as Kurt launched a kick that connected with his chin and sent him flying across the room.

  ‘Oh, my God,’ Kurt apologised frantically, and helped him to his feet.

  ‘It is not a problem,’ he replied grinning and slightly disorientated. ‘Please, show me again, I will keep clear this time.’

  For a few hours, we hung around laughing and joking, but got an early night, ready for the next leg of our journey first thing in the morning. Just before I went to sleep, I slipped out into the night for a cigarette and absorbed the sprinkled lights of the town. I said a silent thank you to the sky that my new friends found me when they did. I was a world away from where I was this morning.

  16

  A mad rush ensued as we repacked our things and burst through the doors into the morning streets of Shimla. We’d overslept and had just minutes before the bus left for Manali. Kurt was fast. His powerful legs and strong physique soared ahead of Tyler and me as we raced down a hill, weaving in and out of a group of porters who stooped under the weight of all manner of objects.

  ‘Go ahead, hold the bus for us,’ Tyler shouted to Kurt who hadn’t seeped a drop of sweat. My legs stumbled, burning with muscular stress. Only one road stood between us and Kurt waving from the bus doorway. Pressing forward, we used every reserve of energy. A few more metres and we'd be there. Just then a group of uniformed school children appeared. Their faces filled with terror as two red faced, sweat drenched lunatics came hurtling towards them. With our eyes focused on the goal we had to think fast. Shifting our weight from one foot to another we darted into the available spaces and outmanoeuvred our opponents giving us a clear path ahead. But it was too late. The bus was already pushing its way into the traffic.

  ‘Stop!’ Kurt yelled, but the driver had other intentions.

  Tyler and I managed to catch up with the vehicle, running alongside it, but not quite making the doorway as it gathered speed. Kurt stood on the steps with his arm out, ready to grab the hand of whoever got close enough.

  ‘For God’s sake, man, stop,’ I heard him shout to the driver.

  I pushed hard, but felt so weak and was losing the race. My legs couldn’t take another step and gave in. Where I had failed, Tyler succeeded and made contact with Kurt who hoisted him in. All I could make out were the faces of Kurt and Tyler looking helplessly from the windows. Game over.

  Panting, I watched the back of the bus almost disappear into the distance. But then it seemed to slow down. Without hesitation, I was off again, charging along the road. Ahead I saw it being held up by congestion. ‘Wait, I’m coming!’ I screamed. Racing alongside the bus once more I banged on the metal panelling. I kept pace as an orange truck blasted its horn dangerously close to my left. It sped up and veered in front of the bus causing the driver to slam on his brakes. This was my one opportunity.

  I grabbed the doorway and Kurt shouted, ‘Give me that stupid guitar.’ He took it from me and I reached out for the handrail and pulled myself in.

  ‘Man, that was a close one,’ Tyler said as I took to my seat. ‘The guy's crazy.’

  Crazy was one word to describe him. Another was drunk. In the first four hours of the journey, eight people threw up from the windows, including Tyler. The driver accelerated and hit his breaks repeatedly and was taking insane risks. He overtook carelessly and threw us into the path of oncoming traffic, causing complete chaos on the roads. Kurt had had enough. He launched from his seat and marched to the cab. ‘What the hell are you doing? You are going to get us all killed. Pull over. I can drive this bus better than you.’ But his words went ignored.

  A short while later we arrived at the first rest-stop and were flung forward in our seats as the driver pressed heavily on the brake and came to an abrupt stop. The basic, open-aired restaurant was much the same as the other dhabas I’d encountered – small seating area, even smaller cooking area and toilet – but this one served thali as well as the usual dhal and rice and I polished it off in no time. Kurt was on to his second helping as Tyler and I sat back for a cigarette. We were in mid-conversation when one of the other passengers informed us that the bus could be delayed for several hours while we waited for a driver to replace the one that was snoring behind the steering wheel.

  ‘This is unfortunate, but for the best I think,' Kurt said. 'Manali is about three hundred kilometres from Shimla and slow going for the last quarter of the trip through the Kullu Valley. We need a driver who is alert. It may take seven hours or more to reach.’

  We ordered more tea and talked. Already the scenery was nothing short of spectacular and I couldn't wait to see the Kullu Valley. Kurt asked what I knew of Manali and I answered with what I'd been told and the excitement in the voices of those who had described it. He said it was all true.

  We took our seats back on the bus which finally moved away with a sober driver now at the helm. The hard seats may have taken their toll on our backs, but the view made up for any aches and pains.

  I was in awe of the Kullu Valley – a picture perfect utopia of fertile jaded hills rising high above a fast-flowing river. The landscape rolled out scenes of ever-changing rice paddies, orchards and enchanting cedar forests. As the vehicle’s tyres balanced precariously on the edge of the road, I did my best to ignore the several hundred metre drops staring up at the window.

  ‘The river you see is the Beas,’ Tyl
er said. ‘It’s the same river that flows through Manali. It rises from the Himalayas in Himachal Pradesh and courses its way south to the state of Punjab.’

  Steadily, the hills turned into mountains, lightly dusted with snow. White veins sloped through pined woodland and melted into the rushing water beneath. I was taken aback at just how big the mountains were. I had never felt so small. My friends laughed at how my jaw dropped by the scenes that were unfolding around every bend. I said that I’d never seen real mountains before, only in books. They both found this surprising and amusing, each coming from countries that are home to great ranges.

  Light rain descended from the heavy clouds that hung over the peaks as we followed the river into the town dwarfed by mountains on all sides. It was like an illustration from a fairy tale. At last I’d made it; to the place on everyone’s lips, to the place I’d longed to find, but thought I would never see.

  Kurt led the way along dark forest trails as he searched for a guest house he stayed in last time he visited Manali. We climbed a steep hill, crossed a bridge, walked in and out of the woods and encountered several dead ends, before Kurt admitted we were lost. Tyler teased him about his navigational skills and decided to take charge. Leading us along a path we came out by the Beas and propped on a hillside was a rickety guest house overlooking the river.

  The room consisted of one double and one single bed. I took the single. The toilets and showers were outside and shared by other guests. Delighted I had something special to write about I took out my journal and began to update it as cold air blew through the window with the river thundering below. Once we settled in, we took a stroll to a restaurant on the edge of town and ate macaroni cheese. At last it felt like a real holiday. I felt safe, happy and with the help of Kurt's antibiotics and magic water, I was starting to feel well again.

  On the communal veranda, I stretched my arms to the slightly clouded sky and rubbed the sleep from my eyes. To my right and left were overlapping snow tipped mountains that spread out for miles. Ahead, a dense deodar forest with the tallest trees I’d ever seen. Leaning on the hand rail I breathed in the fresh air and listened to bird song and the music of the river. A week ago, I was on my way to Dhikala for three nights. It felt as if a year had gone by since then. I stared in to the white water crashing over the rocks and compared my time spent in India with life at home. The last six months had slipped by so quickly with no stand-out memories I could recall. It was all just one giant medley of mundane living. I realised that a life doing the same thing, day in, day out, without a variety of memories to bookmark my days, was a short one.

  Already I felt at one with my surroundings. Although the usual darkness lingered in the back of my mind, I felt a sense of harmony and security residing within. I took the splintered wooden steps down to the river and sat on a boulder with my thoughts. A voice called from behind, ‘Good morning Sam, how are you feeling?’ I turned to see Kurt on the veranda.

  ‘Yeah, great thanks. And you?’

  He stretched and yawned, ‘Very good, my friend. It is wonderful to be here again. Not too hot, not too cold, perfect in every way.’

  Tyler came up beside him, ‘Hey Sam, how you doin’?’

  ‘Couldn’t be better. Sleep well?’ I asked, as I scrambled up the bank to the base of the steps.

  ‘Better than ever. I thought the noise of the river would keep me awake, but it had the opposite effect and sent me straight to sleep.’

  We went for breakfast at a place called the Moondance Café in Old Manali, just up the hill from us. Parked in the seating area outside we slurped banana porridge and sipped chai. I was about to settle the bill when I was surprised to see a familiar face enter the dining area. He hadn’t seen me so I crept up behind to surprise him.

  ‘Hello stranger,’ I said.

  Ruben’s eyes lit up through his oval spectacles as he turned to face me, ‘Sam, wow, it’s so good to see you again.’ He grabbed me into a tight hug. ‘How are you, my friend? Where’s Aiden?’ I explained in brief as he joined us at our table. ‘Ah, I was afraid that might happen. Aiden was what you'd call a loose cannon. I am sure he can look after himself though.’

  ‘How have you been?’ I asked.

  ‘Good. I've enjoyed my time here, as I knew I would, but I'm leaving to go back to Delhi today. I'll miss this place.’ I introduced him to Kurt and Tyler and we talked as if we were all old friends. When the time came to leave, Ruben embraced me again, ‘Take care of yourself, Sam, I wish you the very best of luck. Enjoy India and she will reward you plenty.’ I treasured the moment, so glad that our paths had crossed once more.

  Tyler went off on his own to sort through his luggage at the guest house, whilst Kurt and I headed into town. At the top of The Mall – the main road lined with shops, restaurants and hotels – a sadhu asked for a donation. In one hand, he held a golden trident, and in the other, a walking stick with a silver bowl dangling from his wrist for the collection of alms. I dropped in a few rupees. He tilted his head and smiled thanks. As he left, two girls in their early twenties approached us. One was lightly tanned with long, wavy blonde hair and was first to speak. Immediately I detected an English accent as she asked if we knew of anywhere decent they could stay.

  ‘The guest house we are in is okay,' said Kurt. 'A little expensive maybe, but the rooms are clean and comfortable,’ he continued, though his attention was drawn to the girl with olive skin and shiny black hair.

  ‘Is it far?’

  ‘No, it is not far. I need to change some money, but if you would like to wait a few minutes, we can show you the way.’

  The girls and I waited outside the bank until Kurt reappeared. Sophie was a nurse from London and had met Neria in Kathmandu while travelling in Nepal. Instantly hitting it off, they decided to stay together and had been in India for two weeks prior to arriving in Manali. Neria was from Israel and had embarked on a year-long trip to discover the world as soon as she had finished National Service. When we reached the guest house we found Tyler sat on the veranda smoking a beedi.

  ‘Hey guys,' he said, pausing as we approached, clearly distracted by our new companions.

  ‘This is Sophie,’ I said, introducing the pretty blonde girl, ‘and this is Neria. They were looking for somewhere to stay.’

  Tyler leant forward and shook their hands, ‘Nice to meet you. You're in luck, our old room is free now, I've just switched it for a larger one. I'll show you to reception so you can get booked in.’

  ‘We're going back into town now. Would you like to come with us?’ Kurt asked, but his words were unheard as Tyler and the girls disappeared downstairs.

  The Mall was relaxed, no touting and we weren't stared at in fascination, probably due to the number of western travellers around. We passed a vegetable market, then turned into a small square where Kurt brought us to a stop outside a post office.

  ‘I need to collect a letter from a friend. You see that shop?’ He pointed to the corner, ‘Have a look around, I’m sure you’ll like what you see. I’ll meet you there in a few minutes.’

  The small shop was packed with handicrafts and clothing: Hindu and Tibetan artefacts, spiritual works of art, t-shirts, sweaters, jewellery and trinkets. Behind a glass counter stood a stocky Tibetan man. He greeted me with a smile, ‘Hello my friend. Please, look around. It cost nothing to browse.’

  I did just that – at t-shirts embroidered with Tibetan script and the eyes of Buddha; at silver bracelets and rings; at cotton and woollen bags from Nepal dyed with a rainbow of colours. What struck me the most though, was a small red statue of Ganesh, the elephant headed Hindu god.

  ‘Ah, you like?’ the shopkeeper asked, noticing my curiosity. ‘This is made of soapstone, very good quality.’

  ‘Very expensive too, I imagine.’

  ‘It is not so much. If my prices were high, then you will not come back to buy more. Also, you see, I have three other shop to contend with nearby, all selling similar thing. If my price too high and my service not so g
ood, you will buy from my competitor, no?’ He lifted the ornament from the cabinet and placed it on top of the glass, shining a side-lamp to highlight the detail. ‘Ganesh is very good protection for traveller.’

  I was completely caught up with his sales patter and a heartbeat away from purchasing when Kurt walked in. ‘Tah-shi de-leh, Tashi, are you keeping well?’

  ‘Kurt, is that you? Haha so long, my friend, so good to see you again. Yes, I am very well, business a little slow, but all is good.’ The two embraced. ‘Oh, yes, my apologies sir,’ the shopkeeper turned his attention back to me. ‘I will be with you in a moment, Kurt. First I must look after this customer.’

  ‘I just saw this, it’s really nice.’ I showed Kurt the figurine.

  ‘You are knowing one another?’ asked Tashi. ‘How wonderful, this is a good day to have good friends. Please, now I give you the very best price.’ And so it was sold, along with a multi-coloured striped shoulder bag for my day to day use.

  In the warmth of the afternoon sun, Kurt and I retraced our route along the Mall. Taking a series of ascending bends, we were gifted with spectacular alpine views furnished with orchards, forests and timber framed dwellings. I was slipping into this new phase of my journey with ease, but there was a part of me that thought something might go wrong at any minute. Ever since I was young, I prepared for the worst and in many ways, it was a habit that had served me well. The downside of such self-preservation is that inevitably I had become accustomed to never truly embracing happiness; anticipating that any joy is momentary, with pain or upset following close behind. I enjoyed life in my own way, but I was in a constant state of being on guard.

  Auto-rickshaws passed by, choking and struggling with the rising roads or gliding down free and easy without the engine running. As I was about to ask for a breather, Kurt turned into the entrance of a forest, dense with lofty cedar. We took a break and I cranked my neck up at the pine sheltered sky. In the cool, dark shade, I shuffled from foot to foot, drawing the sun’s rays as they pierced the canopy of needles.