by Reece Willis
Amid brickwork and concrete, the Taj Mahal flickered past, replaying vivid yesterdays of Kate and I. The momentum of the tricycle lolled me into a personal silence – images, inner voices, sewing echoes of recent lives I'd left behind. I could feel her still with me. I could turn at any moment and she'd be there. But I dare not look, knowing the reality. Inside I clasped seeping memories to call upon should I need her; to talk with her, hold her, to smell her perfume. I was incomplete without her.
'Yes, this is the road,' Kurt called out to Brima. 'Take a right, past the guy carrying the table on his head.' The traffic swerved around us as we made the turn. 'Here, this is Aamir's place.'
'Here, Mr Kurt, sir? Are you sure?' Brima asked.
An old timber framed building, peeling paintwork, cracked wooden door, no windows and no name. I looked over to Brima and laughed, 'I think Kurt might have got us lost again and won't admit it.'
'Yes, yes, you laugh, but not so soon,' Kurt retorted and got down from the rickshaw and knocked at the door.
'Here we go,' I chuckled to Brima.
Apart from the cawing of a crow nearby, only silence. And then the door opened and a young Indian appeared: smart, short beard, laced red topi upon his head and a white robe tied at the centre with a red silk sash. 'Ah Kurt,' he said, smiling warmly. He bowed slightly, palm to his chest, and said, 'Assalamu Alaikum, my brother, good to see you again. I have that book I spoke of the other day, I found it my kitchen under some pots and pans, what it was doing down there I'll never know.' He looked over Kurt's shoulder and saw Brima and me. 'Friends welcome, Assalamu Alaikum,' he said, passing Kurt and shaking my hand as I stepped down. He then put his hands together in Namaste to Brima and invited us inside. Brima stayed put and waggled his head. 'No, my friend, please come, join us, I insist,' Aamir said. 'There is safety for your rickshaw around the back.'
'Wa Alaikum Salaam, Aamir. They did not believe there would be anybody here,' Kurt looked over his shoulder with a wink and a smug grin.
'Then, my friends, I humbly welcome you,' Aamir smiled and gestured us inside. We walked forward through the stooped doorway and along a sloping hallway wafting of cinnamon and ginger. Down a stone staircase lit only by candles, we were brought to a standstill in the pitch black of a room. 'Please, one moment,' Aamir said and was consumed by the darkness, reappearing in low atmospheric lighting behind a counter at the end of a cellar with around twenty low wooden tables surrounded by tangerine and maroon soft furnishings.
He invited us to make ourselves comfortable, but Brima held back. Aamir beckoned him over. 'My friend, are you not hungry? All those hours of hard riding? Come, as my guest, as a friend.' Brima glanced to Kurt and me in further confirmation and joined us at a table while Aamir shuffled away barefoot across the jade floor into a room, I presumed the kitchen, and soft Arabian music began to play.
He returned to the table several times, arms balancing dishes, steam rising and fogging the patterns Moroccan lanterns glittered upon the walls. 'Please, enjoy,' he said and finally sat down with us.
Platters of mouth-watering houmous and falafel, stuffed vine leaves, tagine chicken and grilled merguez couscous were offered up by the plenty. I enquired more about his restaurant, at how it had no sign outside. How did anybody know about this well-kept secret?
'This is not so much a restaurant as it is a place of debate,' he replied. 'I open on Wednesdays, Fridays and Saturdays to a few friends and colleagues, invited from different backgrounds and trades. I never charge for my services; I enjoy the evenings far too much.'
While Aamir, Brima and Kurt were engrossed in conversation, I excused myself for the wash rooms. On my return, I noticed a sitar leaning in a corner, 'Do you play, Aamir?'
'Yes, my friend, and you?'
'No, just the guitar.'
He got up and retrieved the instrument, asked me to sit cross legged and balanced the sitar between my left foot and right knee and instructed me to pull the plectrum over the bottom set of strings with my right hand and fret my left fingers on the high strings. Although what I was producing was a far cry from spectacular, I surprised myself, finding it a lot easier to play than I imagined. I passed it over to Aamir. His fingers moved effortlessly across the strings emitting enchanting sounds that I associated strongly with India. But it was Brima who impressed us the most. We were left speechless by his fiddly runs and expert chord changes. He handed the sitar back to Aamir, oblivious to our surprised faces.
We applauded. He blushed and said, 'Thank you, but not necessary.'
'Where did you learn how to play like that Brima?' Kurt asked.
'When I was boy, Uncle Deepak, he visit our village many time in Rampur. Every evening he teach me to play a little more each time. Before he die, he give me sitar. It is still at family home in Bihar. Very nice to be playing again, very good memories.'
'How long have you been a rickshaw wallah?' I asked.
'Um, maybe twenty-two years now I think.'
He made a meagre living. His rickshaw was hired which left very little for him and his family at the end of each day. That's why he tried to make a little extra from business owners by ferrying customers to their doors. Like so many other cycle-rickshaw wallahs, he found life tough, working long hours carrying all sorts of customers and their heavy baggage come rain or shine. He liked tourists the most as they tipped well and found they were generally very courteous to him, unlike some of the richer Indian people, who treated him more like an animal; insulting him and quite a lot of the time underpaying him. But he thanked the divine goddess Lakshmi, grateful of the opportunity of earning an income, however small; rather that, than live life begging on the street not knowing where the next meal might come from.
It was easy to slip in and out of each other's conversation, relaxed enough to enquire about something and not feel like you were being rude or stupid. Aamir encouraged honest and open dialogue in his establishment. Though debate might sometimes get heated, it never reached boiling point. He carefully selected his guests in good faith and of good character. Evenings could run into the early hours of the morning, guests moving from table to table, listening in, deciding if they have something useful to add with the freedom to interject should they wish.
Aamir kept our contact details in a leather-bound book and hoped our paths would cross again one day. The three of us thanked him for his hospitality and mounted the rickshaw bound for Agra Fort.
'I'm going to grab a quick shave,' I said, spying a street barber. I stepped into the shadow of the amaranth fort walls and took a seat. Every so often I glanced over and caught sight of Kurt in a discussion with a mahout beside an elephant. When my face was smooth, I walked over to them.
'I am trying to make a deal with this man to hire his elephant for two days, but he is driving too hard a bargain,' Kurt said. The mahout stood by, hand on hip awaiting an answer.
I laughed, 'Why on earth would you want to hire an elephant? I mean who would drive it?'
'I would. Last time I was in India I went to the elephant fair in Sonepur and was taught how to control and ride an elephant. It is no problem for me if the elephant is tame.' I conjured a mental image of Laurel and Hardy trudging the streets of Agra, getting lost in narrow alleyways and wedged between buildings. 'I thought it might cheer you up after Kate.'
'Thanks Kurt, that was really nice of you to think of me,' I said, guiding him away from the frustrated mahout. 'I think it might be best if we just carry on as planned, eh? Remember what I was like on the back of the Enfield. I think an elephant might be pushing our luck a bit too far.'
'You have a good point.'
I wasn't really in the mood for site-seeing. Despite Kurt's best efforts at cheering me up, nothing was going to pull me out of this quiet solitude without Kate for a while. I kept up a happy façade as best as I could, but inside I was empty.
Agra Fort’s exquisite Moti Masjid and luxurious audience halls of the palatial complex were mostly a blur. I couldn't take any of it in until I
came out to a balcony overlooking a length of the sandstone walls and the Taj Mahal further down on the river's edge.
Kurt stared out with me, 'Shah Jahan's hair and beard were said to have turned white overnight when Mumtaz died,' he said. 'He never fully recovered from his loss and weak with illness, his power slipped and he was overthrown by his son, Aurangzeb. Along with his first daughter, Shah Jahan was imprisoned, doomed to spend the remaining eight years of his life looking out to the Taj Mahal, a crushed man.'
I thought, 'Thanks Kurt, that's just what I needed,' but didn't say it. Instead I tried a smile and let him lead the way out and find us somewhere to eat.
At the railway station, we tipped Brima well and said a sad goodbye. I took one last look at him as he became anonymous with the crowds and said one last goodnight to Agra.
Coming home to Delhi, I hoped I might catch a glimpse of Kate, but I had no such luck. It was nice not to find Ashoka on reception, but a cheery Nitin and his puppy dog ways. Kurt was beat and wanted to hit the sack early, which I was happy with. Once I'd caught up with Harish on the rooftop, I took some time out alone on the higher level. I looked out to the sky above Paharganj, Kurt's words tinkling in mind, 'If it is written in the stars, it will be.'
I was up early, back on the roof for an omelette breakfast – no dog, nor monkeys just cheese – I hoped. A long haired American guy came up and asked Nitin for some tea. Nitin tilted his head this way and that, the two getting nowhere. I called over to Nitin, waggled my head, 'Berigybillywahbindah, chai, ya?' I emphasised with my eyes.
Nitin could hardly contain his laughter, 'Hallylahhallylah.' He turned and chuckled quietly to himself as he made the tea.
'Hey man, that's some damn fine Hindi you speak there,' the American said.
'Oh, thanks,' I replied without setting him straight.
I wanted to change some more money for the week and arranged to meet Kurt at the Laxmi Narayan Temple not far from the bank. He was late; something about a puncture on an auto. We spent twenty minutes wandering the gardens of the temple – all around us the candy coloured cream and red shikharas that housed the many shrines.
Stuck in traffic at the top of Arakashan Road on the return, I paid the driver and we got out to walk the rest of the way to the Main Bazaar. At the opening to the bridge before the station, we stopped, held back by shock. An old man was being beaten half to death by a policeman armed with a lathi in the middle of the road.
'Hey. Leave him alone. He's had enough,' Kurt yelled.
The cop's shoulders rose up and down, heavy with his breathing. He lowered his baton and turned. My stomach dropped as I saw it was the same policeman who dealt with my missing traveller's cheques, and who I assumed still thought I owed him money.
'You,' he said, and raised the bamboo cane in my direction.
'Run,' I said to Kurt under my breath.
He immediately took chase, tailing us through the Main Bazaar as we fought our way through the crowds. Kurt darted a sharp right down an alley. The cop slid and fell trying to take the corner. We took a left and then another right and he hobbled past as we stood in silence against a wall in somebody's back yard. After ten minutes of not uttering a word to each other, we broke cover and came out on the Main Bazaar again, keeping a close eye around us.
'What was that about?' Kurt asked as we entered the hotel.
'I'll tell you about it later. Right now, we need to get out of here, just in case. He's got my passport number, so it wouldn't be difficult for him to find us.' Maybe I was being paranoid, but I didn't want to hang around just in case.
The streets leading up to the bus terminal in Old Delhi were crammed and the stuffy auto was hardly moving. The seconds ticking away, the heat and the symphony of horns was driving Kurt crazy, 'I have to get out of here. We will run, we will get there faster,' he said, and reached for his wallet to pay the driver.
I put a firm hand on his arm, 'We will not run, Kurt. We left early, we still have time. Let's see if the traffic will ease.' And it did. With five minutes to spare, we were on a bus bound for Manali.
25
Mandi verged an outward bend of the Beas and embraced the Kullu hills behind. While sipping morning chai, I looked out to the small, dense town and allowed the calm and cool atmosphere to dissolve the heat and overwhelming sounds of the Golden Triangle. Tilting my head to the sky I let the fine spray of rain rinse away the film that had coated my skin since I left Delhi.
‘I like it when it is raining like this,' a soft voice said to my left. I glanced to see a young Indian man, in his late teens if I had to guess. 'It reminds me of my childhood when I would find shelter in an old stable and make figures from straw. My name is Jay. You are here on vacation?’
Was it a vacation? It felt more like a way of life now. ‘Sam,’ I returned. ‘Yes, I suppose, an extended one you could say. And you?’
‘I am a student on leave with my friends over there.’ He turned his back to the valley and pointed to a group of teenagers sitting on a wall. ‘I think you might want to wake your friend.’ Kurt had been dozing near the chai stall and was blissfully unaware the engine had started and passengers were heading back to their seats. I woke him with a gentle nudge, only long enough for him to resume his position on the bus, resting his head on a scarf placed against the window.
To pass the time Jay and I spoke about India, every now and then glimpsing out at the mountain snow sparkling against a broken sapphire sky. In just a couple of hours we would be in Manali.
‘How would you like to feel really alive?’ He opened the window next to his seat and pulled himself out using the ladder attached to the side of the bus. I leant my head out and looked up at his feet on the rungs. ‘Follow me if you are brave enough,’ he called out.
‘Are you crazy?’ I shouted back. His friends followed him, legs dangling from the windows. I put my head out again to see Jay’s face smiling down at me from the roof, ‘Come on Sam, you only live once.’
Apart from a handful of people, Kurt and I were the only ones left and he hadn’t moved an inch since we'd left Mandi, so I left him in peace and pulled myself up to sit on the rim of the window frame. As the bus hurtled along I questioned the sanity of what I was doing. One wrong move and I'd be taking a one-way trip, hundreds of feet down a mountainside.
I heaved myself over to the ladder and clumsily found my footing. Jay laughed, encouraging me with an outstretched arm. I clambered to his position, adrenaline surging, and slumped down beside him.
‘Put your feet under the metal bar for safety,’ he said, pointing at his feet to demonstrate. He threw his arms out to mimic an aeroplane. I did the same and we burst out laughing.
Jay insisted on taking a photo of me. With one hand clutching the railing, I fished around my bag and handed him my camera. I positioned myself so I had the guys beside me and tried my best to smile and keep my eyes open despite the wind nipping at my face.
‘A great picture, I am sure. I even got the mountains in the background,’ Jay said as he returned the camera. I made sure it was tightly stowed away and the flap of my bag was secured over the top.
Once the initial excitement had died down, we were left to our own thoughts, each of us staring out to the endless snow-tipped ridges. My mind drifted in and out of the past few days, little rushes of excitement pulsing through me at the slightest breeze of Kate. I looked over to my roof-rack companions every now and then, reciprocating a smile when I'd catch an eye, and return to my musings as did they.
Even with these people, who'd I'd only known a short time, I found myself at ease. I realised how long I had shunned the outside world, never allowing anybody in. In India, my defences had weakened, and thus, life had got that much easier, that much happier. I’d spent too long by myself in an empty room and had found so much security in that way of life. The emptiness of a cold room I hated as a child, had become a sanctuary as an adult.
'Duck, Sam!' Jay shouted, and just in time. A low branch skimmed the top of my
head as I leant forward. We laughed together as I stole a glance behind watching the tree as it disappeared around a bend.
On arrival in Manali, Kurt and I said goodbye to Jay and his friends and we found a trusty old auto to climb the hills to our Dhungri home. The rooms that Neria, Sophie and Tyler occupied were now empty but for the fond memories that lingered. I unlocked the padlock to my door and inhaled the familiarity of my room that would soon be gone forever. My thoughts again drifted to Kate. For all the rewards travel has, its share of heartbreak is equalled.
‘Somehow, with the absence of Tyler, Sophie and Neria, Manali feels as if it is missing a certain spirit,' said Kurt, who had appeared at the door. ‘Even if we were all to meet here again, it would never be the same. It is time to move on and for you, another destination to be uncovered.’
This was the house where I had recognised my strengths and realised my weaknesses; the house where I first felt part of a family. The man that stood before me, through simple kindness and patience, had taught me how to believe in myself and reap the rewards that life had to offer. I would always hold the deepest respect and gratitude towards him and be forever in his debt, although he would never ask a single thing from me.
My room was now as empty as when I first found it. Before pulling the bolt across I took one last look at the mountains. The sound of laughing in the living area, the smells of cooking from the kitchen, the early morning voices of the locals collecting apples merged into one as we left.
For the next two days, we would be taken along some of the highest mountain passes in the world. Extreme weather conditions rendered the route impassable for all but a couple of months each year and even while open it was known to be treacherous. During this window, local people reunited with loved ones or took advantage of trade, whilst a handful of travellers like us were drawn north, intrigued by the mystery of the unique Buddhist town that for many years had been kept hidden.