Towards the Within

by Reece Willis

  Ciri had kindly recommended me to a friend of hers who was staying nearby; a French lady called Mrs Lebert. Despite a few wrong turns, I was fast learning the quickest way to get around Leh and found her apartment with relative ease. It had an excellent view of the Buddhist Shanti Stupa tucked away under the shadows of the jagged peaks. Mrs Lebert was immediately sociable and invited me to stop for tea and have a chat. She was a little overweight, had short dark hair and I would say she was heading towards sixty. The conversation was somewhat stunted as she spoke little English and I no French. We did however manage to come to an arrangement, booking my one o'clock slot – Monday to Friday – for the next week or so. Things were looking up. The trickle of travellers that graced my door would never have been enough to fund my journey onwards. Hopefully with Ciri’s and Mrs Lebert’s regular income, I would earn enough to stay in India after all.

  Tsering was looking as radiant as ever, smiling infectiously, 'You are joking me?' she said, reading my order back, 'One bottle water, six veg momo, and bowl of chocolate custard?' She giggled. 'I know custard, I know chocolate, but chocolate custard? Haha, whatever next, chicken lassi? Wait, I will ask Dolma.' Her head reappeared from between the kitchen curtain and said, 'Haha, chocolate custard we will try.'

  I was eating the last momo when Tsering carefully replaced my empty plate with a bowl of custard, grey rather than the chocolate brown I was expecting. She hovered in anticipation. I chewed the momo faster, swallowed and took a deep breath and a spoonful of the dessert. Velvet, rich and sweet, but not sickly, I dived in again, burning my tongue.

  Fanning my mouth, I looked up, 'Tsering, this is the best chocolate custard in the whole world.'

  She let out a squeal of delight, clapped her hands, her voice raised a pitch higher, 'Thank you, thank you, I will tell Dolma. Now maybe we can add to menu, “Sam Special Chocolate Custard”.'

  I'd been in my room for about twenty minutes when Connor showed up, tapping at the door. 'Hey man, bong? Upstairs at Ali's.'

  Ali was from Israel and had previously invited me to his room a few times for a smoke, but I hadn't taken him up on his offer. Connor affectionately nicknamed him 'Ali Baba and the Forty Flutes' and upon entering his room it all became clear. It looked like some sort of Aladdin’s cave; silk scarves covered the walls, warm lighting gently touched the interior from behind soft furnishings: beanbags, comfy cushions and folded blankets. A breeze of traditional Middle Eastern music accompanied the smoke of a hookah and incense.

  'Ah my friends, come, sit, sit,' he spluttered from smoking the pipe. 'I will play some flute.' He handed Connor a plastic bottle half filled with water, a small metal pipe stuck out from one side. 'Please, fill your lungs with hashish and your hearts with joy.'

  Connor got straight to work, lit up and bubbled away. He inhaled, screwed his eyes and blew a plume of smoke from left to right, swinging his curly locks. 'Yeah dude,' he said and passed it on. Like the first time I smoked a chillum, it hit me hard. I had to take a moment to compose myself.

  Ali turned off the stereo, picked up a bamboo flute, 'Please, help yourself to hookah. This is a piece I compose about crossing from Middle East into Asia,' and began to play.

  Embers still burnt in the dish of the hookah. Connor and I took a pipe each. It had a strange woody taste, a little bitter, but sweet with a hint of apple. It hit the pair of us straight away and we fell back, floating on a sea of blue and gold cushions, while Ali continued to play his flute like a mythical god.

  I couldn't move and I didn't want to. I was in a place way beyond calm, as if every nerve ending was still and at peace. The music sped up and the incense and hookah smoke whirled around the room like a dust storm. The room started spinning in time to the song. I felt a sudden bout of nausea with the rush.

  Ali and Connor leant over me some time later, 'You are not used to hookah my friend,' Ali said, helping me into a more comfortable position.

  'Are you okay dude?' Connor passed me a bottle of water, 'You were out for a while; we were getting worried.'

  'Yeah, I think so.' I looked up to the window. It was dark outside. 'What was in the hookah?' My head was still see-sawing.

  'A little hashish and a little opium, my friend. But I think it was the enchanting notes of my flute that were responsible.' Ali smiled warmly, 'I will make us some tea.'

  'Oh dear, you do not look good,' Ciri remarked as I unpacked my things for the morning session. 'Was it a late night?' I smiled in affirmation as she made fresh coffee for us both. 'You know Sam? My back and neck are feeling so much better since we started. I feel a vast improvement already.'

  'I'm pleased to hear it, you definitely feel more supple,' I replied, working my fingers and thumbs across her shoulders.

  'Before you leave today, I will give you a book on meditation. Maybe you can relax your mind. You say that you feel at peace in Leh, yet I cannot help feel there is something troubling you. I think you'll find what you are looking for if you search deep enough.'

  I left her, book in hand and took a light lunch at Tibetan Friends, before making my way to my afternoon appointment with Mrs Lebert. The majority of the time was spent in silence, broken occasionally by bird song from outside. I stared out at the Shanti Stupa and was overcome by the thought that my adventure would soon be coming to an end. I wasn’t ready yet for that to happen.

  Just out of town I sat on a wall and updated my journal, looking up every so often at passers-by; two school boys in red shirts and navy trousers sword fighting with sticks, laughing as one outmanoeuvred the other; a toothless grandmother carrying an equally happy baby on her back in a basket, and an old man who stood with his yak, staring on as I wrote.

  There was a set of postcards hanging from the door of a shop in the bazaar. Most were of Leh, but my eyes were drawn to the images of barren mountains and snow-capped peaks, which I learned were from the road west to Srinagar and the valley of Kashmir.

  Life in Leh was good and I couldn’t have asked for more. I had been blessed with good friends and the money I was earning from massaging would allow me to see out this wonderful trip in full. I felt happy; at least I thought I did. Despite all the positives a dark cloak still enveloped my soul and I struggled to make sense of it. I had had months to relive the unpleasant memories of my time spent with Saskia so I didn’t believe it was that. I wondered if the fact that I was missing Kate was bringing me down, but I only met her just a short time ago and this undefined force had been casting its shadow long before then.

  I walked over to Kurt's place and found him sitting on the porch reading a book about the life of Osho, an Indian mystic, guru and spiritual teacher. He seemed happier within himself, his bright blue eyes showed as much as he smiled, 'I think our talk the other day may have done some good. The more I think of our conversation, the more I feel positive about the future,' he said as I sat beside him. The house was surrounded by mountains on all sides and I looked out to a wild meadow where yellow flowers peeked through the tall grasses. The owner of the house had a little brown dog who was taking a nap at Kurt's feet.

  'You do look more at peace, Kurt. I noticed as much as soon as I saw you.'

  He stretched and got up, 'Thank you, Sam, I am. Are you hungry? Let's say we eat.'

  Inside Tibetan Friends’ Ciri was talking to Dolma and we were all invited to the back room where a long table was already laid, apparently reserved for special friends and family. Dolma sat with us and ate then later handed the three of us a beaded necklace each made from wood and threaded with orange string, 'It is Tibetan Mala,' she said. 'It help with meditation and prayers. Roll one bead at a time and say, Om Mani Padme Hum.'

  ‘Thank you’, I said. ‘I think this will be very useful’, and I began practising the chant, much to Dolma’s delight. Smiling, she got up to go to the kitchen.

  Kurt stretched his back and sighed, ‘So what do I have to do to get one of your massages? My shoulders are aching too much; I think it is due to the weight of my backpack.'


  ‘I’m not surprised. I struggle to even lift it off the ground. How about now?'

  ‘Yes, thank you, I would appreciate that’.

  We bid thanks and goodbye to Dolma and Ciri and headed back to the guest house, chatting along the way. Kurt lay almost in silence as I massaged his back and shoulders for about forty-five minutes. I left him to enjoy some much-needed sleep and knocked on Connor’s door hoping he’d be around. He invited me in and offered to share some of his meal.

  'Where are you heading to after Leh?' he asked.

  'Nowhere, this is it for me until I go home. I have work here so I can afford to stay and it's a nice town.' I broke away some naan bread and soaked up some sauce.

  'You should come to Bombay. The south is so different from the north. You could stay at my place.'

  I laughed, thinking he was joking, 'Bombay, that's a bit of a stretch, isn't it?'

  'Listen, I'm leaving here in a few days. I have to pick up some things I left in Manali. We could get a train from Delhi.'

  'Nice idea, but I'm not sure I'll have the time to get to yours and back again.'

  'Okay, but have a think about it, yaar?'

  Later when I returned to my room Kurt had gone. He’d left a note thanking me. I thought about the idea of going to Bombay and studied my guidebook and map. If I went back to Delhi with Connor, I would only be retracing my route, but I preferred the idea of adding a few more lines on my map. After flicking back and forth through the pages of my Lonely Planet, I found that I could travel west to Srinagar, south to Jammu and catch a train to Bombay from there. I went straight up to Connor to seek his opinion.

  'Sure, you can go that way if you want, but you probably won't make it to Bombay. It's all-out war in Kashmir. I can't say I would be brave enough to do it.' He grabbed my guidebook off me and flicked to the Jammu and Kashmir section. ‘Here, read this. It’s your choice at the end of the day, but just be prepared for what you’d be heading into.’

  Connor handed back the book and I read the paragraph he had marked with his finger.

  'Srinagar now has the feel of an occupied city and there's a strictly enforced curfew after dark. There are road blocks everywhere and soldiers in bunkers on all street corners. Most of the fighting takes place in the old city, usually during the night. This part of town looks like Beirut at the height of troubles and should be avoided if you value your life.'

  The warning these words carried was clear and enough to cancel out any thoughts I had of pursuing an adventure west.

  29

  Since I arrived in Leh I’d been putting off visiting the Shanti Stupa. Feeling a little under par I thought the fresh morning air and a good walk might do me some good. I found my way to the foot of a stone stairway and looked up to contemplate the five hundred steps that Ciri told me there were to the top. Despite a lack of confidence that I would make it the whole way I started to climb anyway. Halfway I stopped to catch my breath and laughed to myself that no doubt Kurt would have taken these at a sprint two at a time.

  Built by Japanese Buddhists and inaugurated by the 14th Dalai Lama in 1991, the Shanti Stupa commemorated two and half thousand years of Buddhism. The domed stupa topped by a tall spire was a brilliance of white against the craggy bronze hills and zaffre sky. Reaching the courtyard, I stopped for a moment to take in the view over the valley. Clusters of aspen trees shot up from patches of green, filtering into the sparse cream desert that led to the colossal mountains. It felt like I was on heaven's doorstep. I approached the monument and strolled around the circumference of two levels, stopping on occasion to photograph the bright and colourful reliefs; images of Buddha's life encircling the dome.

  When I arrived in the courtyard again, an old monk threw a stick for a small dog to chase and retrieve. Each time the dog faithfully came back, stick between clenched teeth. The monk giggled and patted his friend on the head as the animal's tail wagged a cloud of dust behind. The monk and I said 'Julay' to one another and exchanged smiles before I descended the long walk down into town for my morning massage appointment.

  Ciri was insistent that I spend half an hour a day meditating with her before our session. She seemed quite fond of mothering me and it felt nice to be cared for. The usual smell of sandalwood greeted me as I stepped into her apartment and she was already pouring black tea and sweetening my cup as I sat down.

  'Please, sit beside me. Cross your legs and rest your palms in your lap, back straight, eyes slightly closed, but not all the way. Circulate your breathing slowly and deeply and free your mind of the past; it is gone. The future is a blank canvas, so we can only truly find happiness in the present. Try to ignore the outside world and any grudges or past regrets. Wish all those you have ever encountered, bad or good, happiness. Now, focus your thoughts only on your breathing, maybe from your nose, mouth or abdomen, whichever part of your body you feel comfortable with. If your mind wanders, then bring it back to your breathing. Breathe positivity in and negativity out. Let us begin.'

  My mind had always been easily distracted and today was no different. I tried to stay focused on what Ciri had said and imagined inhaling bright colours and exhaling dark shades. As the time passed it became easier for me to hone my concentration and I started to relax. I felt an element of control over any negativity and anger passing through my body. When she lifted me from what felt like a trance, I gave her my deepest thanks. She smiled, pleased that she had helped. It was as if she wanted to do all that was in her power to heal me.

  I asked if she knew anything about Kashmir, 'Please Sam, tell me you are not thinking of going? Over fifty people a week are killed there and there are no discriminations on who is targeted. It may be one of the most beautiful places in the world, but it is also one of the most dangerous.

  'Last year six western tourists were kidnapped: two British, two Americans, a German and a Norwegian. One of the American men managed to escape, but due to negotiation breakdowns over the release of Pakistani militants, the young Norwegian man was beheaded. His body was found in a forest clearing with the words 'Al Faran' carved into his chest. The others were never found.' She stopped eating and sipped her tea as I looked on in shock, 'Only last week, six Indian tourists were dragged from their houseboats on Dal Lake and murdered too. The chances of something bad happening to you are very high.'

  Later I caught up with Kurt at the Tibetan Friends' Corner Café. I asked him what he knew about Kashmir and he echoed Ciri’s warning. Feeling slightly unwell I sat back and tried to relax. Kurt left and Connor came in a few minutes later with a beautiful Indian girl of about the same age with a radiant smile upon her face. It was Radhika. I asked her what she did for a living and she told me she worked in the television and film industry in Bombay. According to Connor, her talents were in high demand to which she blushed.

  I left them at the restaurant to go and call my mother. I’d lost track of how long it had been since I last phoned, so it was overdue. She was pleased to hear from me, though I detected something was wrong, 'Darling, I’ve got something to tell you.’ She paused, as if preparing the words in her head, ‘Your grandfather has had a bad stroke and the hospital has discovered severe cancer of his pancreas. He’s in a bad way. I’m going over to Ostend tomorrow to see him.’

  Following a brief pause, I asked, ‘How are you, mum? Are you going to be okay?’

  ‘I’ll be fine, sweetheart. I’m more concerned about your gran.’ She hesitated then followed with, ‘He’s asked to see you.’

  Walking back to the guest house, my mind worked overtime. My grandfather was once the best a boy could ask for. A wonderful man I not only loved, but looked up to and respected. As I replayed the time spent with him I felt sickened by the cruel twist of circumstance that had changed everything and taken this stable figure from me.

  I had been so preoccupied I'd not realised I had taken a wrong turn. Hoping to find a familiar path back into town I turned back on myself. As I did so I was hawked by a shopkeeper, 'Come my friend, you want to li
ve in luxury? Very good houseboat on most beautiful lake.' I looked up and saw a grinning Indian man with a large eagle beak of a nose, reddish hair and beard, 'Yes, my friend, Kashmir is perfect for you, you will like, come.' He beckoned me into his shop and I took a seat at his counter. He talked and talked, but none of it really went in, I just stared down at the counter and photos underneath the glass of wooden houseboats and mountainous landscapes, lush meadows filled with flowers and smiling parents playing with their children or enjoying a boat ride.

  'How much?' I interrupted.

  ‘Three nights on houseboat, very good price. You will not find better.'

  'I'll book it.' I paid him without a hint of a haggle.

  He looked surprised as if expecting a long series of negotiations, but was quick to supply a bus ticket leaving in three days’ time in case I changed my mind. 'Okay, very good sir. You stay on houseboat on Nagin Lake in Srinagar. I will make all arrangement for you. No problem, sir.'

  Early the next morning I was shaken out of a deep sleep by rapid banging at the door. I opened it to find Connor distraught, 'It's Radhika, she's not waking up. There's alcohol and pills all over the place.'

  ‘What! I mean how, why, what happened?’ I struggled to make sense of what he was saying.

  ‘We split up last night. I want to be free, find out more about me and see the world.'

  'Um, okay. That was a bit sudden, wasn’t it?'

  'I guess so, but hey man we can talk later. I need your help!’

  We ran to the hotel and burst through the door. There, laying on the bed unconscious was Radhika, and like Connor had described, pills were scattered all over the floor and a half empty bottle of vodka lay on its side on the bedside cabinet.