Towards the Within

by Reece Willis

  'Radhika,' I shook her gently to try and rouse her. 'Radhika?'

  Connor stood by helpless. She lifted her eye lids, 'Uh? What?'

  'Radhika, have you taken the pills on the floor?'

  'Pills, what pills?' she murmured. Her eyes closed again.

  'Radhika?' I shook her again, 'You need to keep awake. The pills, did you take any?'

  'No, I threw them at the wall.'

  'And the vodka?'

  'Yes, I drank the vodka.' She closed her tear drenched eyes once more, kohl staining her cheeks.

  'I need you to keep awake for me, okay?'

  Connor was beside himself, 'Oh my God, Sam. What have I done?'

  'I need you to try and keep calm, mate. Give me a hand and help me sit her up.' He came over and rested her upright against the wall.

  'I want him gone. Get him out!'

  'I think you should wait outside for a while.' He agreed and left, closing the door behind him.

  'I'm going to be sick,' she said.

  I quickly helped her to the bathroom and held her hair back as she threw up. When we returned to the room we sat together until she was well enough to talk.

  'Maybe he needs a little space,' I said in reassurance. 'It might not be permanent. I think he's had a taste of travel and is feeling a sense of freedom and adventure. Once he gets it out of his system and returns home, he might reconsider his decision.' I gave her a bottle of water to drink.

  'I love him so much, Sam. We've been through so much together. How could he do this to me?' She sobbed.

  'Just try and think of getting yourself better for the moment.'

  'You know he said we could go to Manali together? Did he tell you that? The pig!'

  'He did, but it might not be a bad idea. It could give you time to talk things through.'

  I found Connor outside sitting on a wall smoking a cigarette. I suggested he should take her back to his place and keep an eye on her. It was probably best she wasn't left by herself.

  'Is she okay with that?' he asked.

  'She finally came around to my way of thinking and has agreed to travel back to Bombay with you. You need to look after her for a while. Hey, you can pay me back by looking after me when I see you in a week's time.'

  Connor's eyes lit up, 'You're coming to Bombay? That's awesome, dude!'

  'Yeah, somebody's got to keep an eye on you guys, right?' I didn’t mention the route I would be taking.

  After leaving them as they prepared for the journey back to Manali, I took the two-mile walk from the bus station to Ciri's where today, freshly baked bread was waiting on the table accompanied by orange juice. As I massaged her, I thought about our insightful conversations. Her words were always filled with meaning and depth and there was never a day when I hadn't walked away with something new to think about. She had taught me how to channel my negative energy and turn it into happiness. But right at that moment, not even meditation could help how I was feeling.

  It was Mrs Lebert's last day in Leh. She thanked me over and over for the work I had done and tipped me five hundred rupees in appreciation. I took one last look from the window – a view of the Shanti Stupa I knew I would hold dear forever.

  Later I found Kurt lying on his bed reading in a flood of sunlight from his room window, 'Hey, how are you?'

  'Sam, come and sit beside me. Yes, I am very good, very happy these days. What is going on in your world?'

  'You know, this and that, keeping busy.'

  'I am very pleased it has worked out so well for you here. Yesterday I meet a new friend. His name is Paul and like you, he is from England. I would like you to meet him.'

  'That would be nice. Have you eaten yet?'

  'No, but I am getting hungry.'

  'How about we share some steamed momos for old time’s sake?'

  'Yes, why not? And you can pay now as you are a rich man,' he laughed.

  At Tibetan Friends' we shared twelve vegetable momos and spoke in detail of our time together; recalling memories of getting lost countless times, running for buses and avoiding deadly snakes. We laughed so much as I reminded him of the time we thought a bear was coming down the mountainside and when we fell from the Enfield. We talked of the long nights in our little house in the orchards with our other friends and where it all began, our first meeting in Dehra Dun. My heart filled with sorrow at the thought of never seeing him again.

  My voice was shaking, 'It's been brilliant, hasn't it?'

  'Sam, it has been the best time of my life. You look so sad. We still have so much time left.'

  'Yes, you're right, my friend. I was just being sentimental.'

  On my way back to the guest house I removed the massage posters from the shop windows. In my room I mulled over my impulsive decision. It was time for me to leave Leh and I was ready to be on my own again for a while. In that there was no doubt. After some contemplation, I came to realise I felt the same about my choice of onward route. I didn’t feel excited nor did I feel scared. There was simply an overwhelming acceptance of the journey ahead.

  I heard voices coming from outside my door. One of them was Ali's and there were also two girls that sounded familiar. I opened up to find Ali talking with Sophie and Neria. I couldn't believe my eyes, and it appeared neither could they. They screamed with delight as they saw me and hugged me until I thought I was going to faint.

  'What are you doing here?' asked Sophie.

  'I could ask the same of you. Have you seen Kurt yet?'

  'No, we’ve only just arrived. We're not staying here; we are in a hotel in town. Have you met Ali?'

  Ali put his arm around my shoulder and pulled me in, 'Ah Sam and I are very good friends. We shared some bong and played some flute.'

  'Hey, maybe we can all catch up tomorrow night at the Tibetan Friends' Corner Café, at say seven? Ali knows where it is,' I said, and stepped back into my room.

  'We'll be there,' Sophie replied with affection in her eyes.

  The smell of baked muffins and fresh coffee in the morning was something I was sure to miss. That and my morning visits to see Ciri. I asked her to walk in a straight line along the length of the room. The difference in her posture was unbelievable.

  'I was all bent over and could not turn my head when you first came to Leh. Now I can walk with back straight, turn my head and I have had no pain for over a week now. Thank you so much,' she said.

  I asked if she would join me for dinner at Tibetan Friends'. She said she would, then leant over to a drawer and pulled out a thin brown parcel and handed it to me, 'Do not open this until you leave Leh. Promise me.'

  'Thank you Ciri, that's so sweet of you. I promise.'

  On my last visit to the beautiful house with the yellow flowers, I found Kurt and Eli.

  ‘Hey, when did you get back?’

  ‘This morning,’ replied Eli. ‘Good to see you, my friend.’

  ‘Yeah, you too. You’ll have to tell me all about your trip. Are you both free to come along to Tibetan Friends' at 7pm? I’m arranging a bit of a gathering, including a couple of surprise guests.’

  Kurt was quick to accept for the both of them.

  'Bring your friend Paul along, it’ll be great to meet him,' I said.

  At 6pm I looked around my room, taking one final check that all my things were packed and ready for my 6am departure. I felt apprehensive. I would be leaving one of the most peaceful places on earth to go to one of the most dangerous. About me was only silence, aside from the occasional bird song and Ladakhi voices coming from outside. There were a lot of friends waiting for me, people that would disappear from my life tomorrow.

  With the haunting voice of the muezzin calling to prayer from the Jama Masjid, I took a deep breath, pulled myself together and stepped inside the Tibetan Friends' Corner Café.

  30

  I lay awake in cold silence cradling the memories of last night; my friends’ faces suspended in the dim light, radiating warmth and security. Everything I could have ever asked for was r
ight here in Leh and I was on the verge of leaving it all behind. A part of me felt I was making a mistake, that I was about to go looking for something I already had, but there was a stronger urge for me to go. It was like something had taken control, an inexplicable force was guiding me onwards. Despite the knot in my stomach and the nerves that were now pulsating through my whole body, there was no undoing my decision. I was going to Kashmir.

  Throwing my backpack over my shoulder, I gripped the handle of my guitar case and walked determinedly out of the room. The owner of the guest house was leafing through paperwork as I approached. I asked if it was too early for breakfast, and in that gentle Ladakhi way, she smiled and said, 'Okay, take seat.'

  The morning air nipped the back of my neck and ran its cold fingers through my damp hair. I savoured the peace and serenity of my morning ritual as much as the jam muffins and coffee. Reaching into my backpack I took out Ciri’s gift and unfolded the brown paper wrapping to reveal two postcards; one of Lord Ganesh, the other, the smiling face of the Dalai Lama. In between was a frail envelope with italic Tibetan handwriting. I opened it carefully and withdrew a letter.

  'Dear Sam,

  Thank you so much for all the lovely chats we had. I will remember our time together forever. Thank you also for all you have done with my posture, it feels as if the accident in Agra never happened. I am forever grateful. I hope it stays this way.

  I have a feeling you will not be taking anyone's advice about travelling to Kashmir and although I think you are being extremely reckless with your decision, I understand and respect your need to continue your exploration of India and your inner self.

  With this letter you will find 5000 rupees. I ask that you enjoy the rest of your time in India and find happiness in your life wherever you go. Also, there are two cards enclosed. One is Ganesha and one is of the 14th Dalai Lama to help remove any obstacles and protection for when you need it most.

  The writing on the envelope says, 'You will be in my heart and prayers always'.

  Ciao,

  Ciri'

  The coach departure point was a lot further than I anticipated. When it finally came into sight I stopped, spun a roadside prayer wheel for luck and took one final look at Leh. Of the other passengers on board, most were a mix of Ladakhi and Kashmiri folk. The Kashmiri men wore long woollen tunics covering their bodies below the knees. I saw no Kashmiri women. Behind me, sat in the corner, was the young French guy from the room next door at the guest house. He appeared to be on his own and was watching two dogs lazing in the rising hue of dawn blue. There was no sign anywhere of the girl he was staying with. I turned back as the engine started.

  Spitok Monastery drifted by and the rugged Ladakhi Range smoothed, turning dark coffee under an irritated sky. At the village of Nimmu, the Zanskar River converged with the Indus and flowed into the Zanskar Gorge. Twisting around the serpentine bends of the Hangro Loops, the sparse landscape graduated into dusty scree with the occasional Buddhist gompa grasping a mountainside. A far cry from the joyous journey from Manali to Leh, a silence consumed not only the desolate world outside, but the interior of the bus.

  Traffic consisted mainly of military vehicles, the odd jeep or a bus trying to manoeuvre past in the opposite direction. Not far from the town of Khalsi we stopped at a checkpoint and the French backpacker and I were required to present our passports to a weathered faced man sitting behind his desk under a tent. He looked at us with suspicion, mumbled something and questioned us about the purpose of our visit and intentions once we reached our destination. Satisfied by our answers he handed our documents back to us and we continued the journey for a while until the bus stopped again in the town of Lamayuru for minor repairs. Perched upon a hillock stood a tenth century Buddhist monastery, one of the oldest in Ladakh. The French guy and I sipped tea as we stared at the mountainous moonscape.

  'You know this area was once a lake they say? It dried up, hence all this eroded rock. I am Pierre. Are you travelling to Kargil?'

  'Yes, I think the bus stops for a night there. I'll then go on to Srinagar. Are you on your way to Srinagar too?' I was hoping he would say yes.

  'I will leave the bus just before Kargil. I want to find alternative transport into Padum. Cigarette?'

  'Thanks.' I pulled one from the packet he held out, 'What's in Padum?'

  'It has nice scenery and is good for trekking. There are no direct buses, so I will try and hitch a ride from a goods carrier if I can. Do you want to come?'

  'Thanks, but I don't think I'm really equipped for a trek. Maybe you could travel to Srinagar with me instead?' I quipped in the vain hope he would.

  He laughed it off, 'No, I enjoy life too much, my friend.'

  'It's really that bad, huh?'

  'Yes, really bad. You can get carried away with all the beautiful scenery on this road, but it is flooded with tears once you pass Kargil.'

  I didn't want to think what was past Kargil until I was past Kargil. I steered the subject to his girlfriend, 'You were in the room next to me in Leh. Weren't you staying there with a girl?'

  'Ah yes, we shared a room and have the sex, you know? But she was impossible. She whine about so many things of India. It drive me crazy. When I leave this morning, I was very happy.' He took a lungful of fresh air.

  I chuckled, 'Fair enough.'

  The Ladakhi lady who was sat next to me departed, leaving an empty place for Pierre to fill. We conversed as we corkscrewed the slopes, the wheels gripping the cliff edge. Every now and then, the conductor leant from the doorway and yelled instructions to the driver, assisting him with other vehicles as they attempted to get past. The road cut through the lunar landscape, rugged hills wrinkled like the back of a giant rhinoceros, and was free flowing for an hour until we tailed a military convoy. Light rain fell and we slugged along the muddy road, while passengers nodded their heads in sleep. Outside, road workers cleared and rebuilt the crumbling road in a fog of thick tar smoke.

  Irrigated valleys and patches of flora appeared as we followed the Wakha River to the monastery village of Mulbekh. Pierre called out to the driver to stop, 'I am going to see if I can get a ride to Padum from here,' he said to me. 'Good luck, my friend. I think you will need it, au revoir.'

  With his departure came insecurity. I looked about the bus and felt hostility hanging in the air. There was a hardened, sad look in the eyes of the Kashmiris and whenever I tried smiling at someone I was met only with a frown; except for one teenage boy who kept looking over at me. When he caught my eye, he grinned and waggled his head as if to say hello. There were three other Kashmiris grouped together who also threw looks over their shoulders every now and then, though there were no smiles, only sneaky looks which I put down to western interest.

  It had been thirteen hours since we'd left Leh, but it felt much longer. The vehicle came to a stop; we had reached Kargil, the gateway between Buddhist Ladakh and Islamic Kashmir. While most of the passengers stayed close to the bus, I went off in search of a bed for the night. An uncomfortable atmosphere shrouded the town, making me feel alien and unwelcome. I neared a bend in the road and heard a horn and engine from behind, but it was too late to get out of the way. The wing mirror of a goods carrier clipped the top of my guitar and sent me off balance, knocking me to the ground. I wasn't injured, but my guitar had taken a slight chip from the headstock. Shaken up, I kept to the edge of the road, holding my wits about me as I continued looking for a hotel.

  Children with flies about their faces stood in doorways, while bearded men with woolly hats and waistcoats sat talking, glaring up as I passed. I asked around, but the few hotels were either closed or had no vacancies. My patience was thinning. I ventured off the main thoroughfare hoping one of the side streets would have something to offer me and at last I was in luck. The owner of a small hotel was poised ready for my arrival, his friendliness uplifting my mood.

  'Welcome, sir,' he said. His face was old yet he had a young twinkle in his eyes. 'You are looking for room?'
/>   'Please, do you have any?'

  'Yes, many room,' he replied.

  I was guided up a staircase and shown a room on the corner of an L-shaped hallway facing the stairs. It wasn't bad, I'd certainly stayed in worse. I pulled the window closed, keeping the cold out and muting the sound of the river below. The thought of traipsing the streets of Kargil again was not a desirable prospect, but I needed to eat so I set out.

  Though it wasn’t evident from the outside, the featureless mud brick building I found appeared to serve food. Looking through the windows I saw a large room clouded with smoke and local men sitting around tables eating or sucking away on gurgling hookahs. Eyes raised and chatter ceased as I entered. There was no menu, only a stubble-faced man behind the counter who nodded, I assumed to take my order.

  'Chocolate custard please,' I uttered. It was the only thing I could manage.

  'Uh?' he quizzed.

  I repeated myself, but was still met with the same response. The food the locals were eating didn't appeal. One man to the right of me pulled at what looked to be nothing more than mutton fat with his teeth. He paused to speak to the guy behind the counter who then pointed at an empty table and ordered me to sit. Like an obedient dog, I promptly did as he asked. All around I was met with stares, accompanied by murmuring and laughter. The three men who continuously glanced at me on the bus sat in a corner, watching me with more intent than the others. Even after everybody had gone back to their own business, the novelty of my presence worn thin, they never once took their eyes off me. I was used to people staring at me in India, but this felt different.

  My attention was snapped away as a bowl of lumpy custard was placed on the table. It wasn't the best I'd tasted, but it was enough to line my stomach and I bolted it down as quickly as I could, keen to be out of there. All the way back to the hotel I kept my eyes over my shoulder, my paranoia getting the better of me. With my back to the door of my room, I stood for a few moments, allowing my heartbeat to settle. A double knock sent it racing again. 'Sam,' I heard. 'It is I, Pierre.'