by Reece Willis
We drove into Panaji, the capital of Goa, passing the Baroque-style church, Our Lady of the Immaculate Conception. Criss-crossing staircases led to the foot of the building that was topped with two grand balconies either side of a silver bell overlooking the city. More European than Indian, colourful villas and cobbled streets echoed the ambiance of the long-departed Portuguese settlers.
Whilst Lopes and Royston picked up some spark plugs, I bought a tube of antiseptic cream and a bus ticket for Hospet, the nearest town to Hampi. I was surprised to find Lopes's wife Sophia had dinner waiting for us when we got back. The table was filled with a spectrum of colour: green chicken cafreal and five spiced masala chicken, spiced pork, mackerel curry and coconut curry; bhajis, samosas, hot breads and a generous green leaf salad. She stood back, looking proud of what she'd achieved and justifiably so; everything was amazing.
Hazy light shone through the open patio doors, and with the sound of the sea, I slowly unburdened myself from recent worries. Outside, to a whoop of delight, Lopes finally got his car running again.
That evening, while the sun melted a liquid gold into the sea, Royston prepared a small fire on Anjuna beach, skewering some chicken pieces for our evening meal. We were the only ones, blessed to have the honey baked sands to ourselves, save for a solitary figure in the distance I'm sure only I could see, sitting, staring, waiting for me.
43
I'd been travelling for at least five hours by the time I arrived in Hubli, 155 kilometres west of Hospet. The bus took an unusually long break at the terminal and when I enquired with the driver as to what the delay was, he informed me tensions were high between a group of Hindus and Muslims nearby. By all accounts a gunfight had broken out and certain roads were closed off. With my journal leant on my knee, I wrote with one hand and cracked monkey nuts from a bag with the other.
Occasionally I looked out to the bus station, to people drinking chai, waiting for buses. A group of teenagers flicked small stones at passers-by and feigned innocence when they turned to see what was happening. They caught my eye and congregated around the window, calling out for money. I told them I didn't have any spare. It was the truth. I would've had to dip into my money belt, and judging by their healthy appearance, they weren’t in dire need.
I was the only person on the bus. The other passengers were milling about stretching their legs. Hoping the teenagers would lose interest in me, I put my head down and carried on writing, but this only seemed to ignite their aggravation further. The one with the most confidence – the tallest of the gang, who came across as the leader – started banging on the side of the bus. When he had my attention again, he gave a forlorn expression and insisted he was starving whilst his comrades sniggered behind his back.
'Here have these if you're hungry,' I said, holding out the bag of nuts through the top of the window.
'Are you calling us monkeys?' he shouted.
'Of course not, don't be stupid.'
'Oh, so we're stupid monkeys?'
With that he began rocking the bus impersonating the sound of a monkey. His friends found this hilarious and all joined in. There was an almighty shout from behind them as the driver came storming into view. They yelled something to him and ran off laughing.
'These boys see trouble in city and think they can behave like anarchists,' the driver said as he boarded the bus. 'We will be leaving now; road is open again.'
The terracotta earth drew day into night, swallowing up cities into towns, the towns into smouldering villages until the last cinders of the sun were no longer seen. Bumpier by the minute, the driver tackled the roads with care. The same couldn't be said for a motorcyclist whose recklessness saw a nasty end to his day. Speeding past us he hit a pothole, flew over the handlebars and smashed into the ground. The bus narrowly avoided him. From the back window, I saw blood pumping from a deep wound to his head. Our driver carried on regardless with his own agenda.
By nine we finally reached Hospet and despite constant searching, I couldn't find a hotel with any vacancies. A religious festival was taking place nearby the next day and by ten I'd given up hope when I was refused even the floor of a hotel reception. I moved on and decided to look for somewhere to eat instead, but my path was blocked by a middle-aged man begging for money. I still didn't have any spare change and wasn't prepared to fish around in my money belt at that time of night. He moved closer, invading my personal space. Each time I attempted to walk on, he blocked my path.
'Yes, my friend, very good rooms, very good food, come,' said a young voice behind me. The man, seeing we were not alone, shuffled away, leaving me with the boy. 'No good man try to take advantage of traveller, very sorry for bad welcome to Hospet. Please, my name is Tariq, come inside. I will ask father if we find room for you if like.' I followed my little saviour across the street to a restaurant and ordered a masala dosa while I awaited his return.
He came back having persuaded his father to let me stay in the last available room. I followed him up a staircase attached to the side of the building and along a hallway of doors. He showed me into a room in the centre, 'Please, be making yourself comfortable. You would like coffee or tea in morning? I will bring.'
'Thank you, Tariq, that’d be great.'
'Okay, pay bill tomorrow.' He cocked his head to one side and grinned so wide I thought his lips would meet his ears, 'You are big flim star, yes?'
I laughed, 'Flim star? No, just a regular tourist.'
'Ah, you are looking like flim star. You are most welcome. In morning, I will see you again. You are sleeping well I hope.' With that he clanged the metal door shut behind him.
I slung my backpack down and fell to the bed in the dim light. The room was tiny; no shower or toilet. I guessed the communal wash rooms were down the hall somewhere, but for now I was too tired to care. Without undressing I went straight to sleep.
It was still dark when I awoke, needing to use the toilet. I stumbled around until I found the door, opening it to a sickly yellow light illuminating the corridor. Not knowing where the bathroom was I took a guess and turned left. The hallway twisted in different directions and the further I walked the more the interior deteriorated; cracks appeared in the plaster and peeling paint hung limply from the walls and doors. Some rooms were open, unoccupied with rusted bed frames inside. I saw a faded sign on the wall signalling the direction of the showers and toilets. I followed the arrow.
A set of shower cubicles were on the left with heavily stained curtains. Opposite was a row of sinks and to the right were toilets; a row of heavily soiled latrines. There was a closed off room which I hoped might have another toilet and allow a little privacy. Instead, on opening the door I saw a bed with an IV drip on a stand close by and a wheelchair in the corner. A gut-wrenching smell of warm death brought sour vomit to my throat. I turned away, but something yanked my neck to the pillow and I came face to face with my grandfather laying there, rasping. I tried to scream but nothing came. I couldn't move. He pulled me closer so his cracked lips were at my ear, the overwhelming smell of rotting flesh, alcohol and disinfectant at my nose. His tortured voice bubbled with phlegm as he strained to speak, dribble drooling down his stubbly chin, 'She concocts the poison we so easily consume.'
44
BANG BANG BANG, 'Your coffee, sir.'
I sat shaking, trying to catch my breath, staring at the barred windows, not knowing what was a dream and what was reality. The door banged again. This time I got up and slowly opened the door. Tariq stood with a steaming plastic cup in his hand and a reassuring grin on his face, 'Ah hello, sir, I am bringing coffee for you.' I asked him the time, 'It is five o'clock,' he replied.
'In the morning?'
'Yes, morning time.'
I took the cup, thanked him and returned to bed.
The room was like an oven; there was no fan or air-conditioning to alleviate the heat. Stepping out into the corridor I saw the separate shower room and toilets immediately, clean and newly decorated. The cold water from t
he shower went some way to clearing my head, but I couldn’t shake the previous night’s dream. As soon as I was dressed and presentable I went downstairs, had breakfast and brought my bill up to date.
I found the bus station with relative ease but I wasn't sure which bus was going where. There were no signs in English, nor could I find anyone who could help. I sat on a bench and hoped I'd hear a call for Hampi.
My attention was distracted from the bus lanes by a tug at my shirt. On all fours was a teenager squinted up at me. His back dipped low and raised high to his waist which protruded in an unnatural angle. His arms and legs were just bone covered grey with dust. He took hold of my hand and squeezed tightly, but said nothing. I asked if he was okay, but was met with silence. I tried the word, 'Hampi?' and shrugged my shoulders. He let go and turned his palm upwards, I assumed to cover it with rupees. I unfolded twenty from my pocket and gave them to him. He nodded his head to one side, took a firm hold of my hand again and guided me to the correct lane and a bus ready to leave.
The flat countryside gently gave way to a terrain of bizarre gigantic boulders, precariously balanced – the lower black in colour, the higher grey or fawn and heaped together to make up a range of breath-taking mountains. I'd never seen anything quite like it.
In a street flanked with stone pavilions, some empty, others occupied by shopkeepers selling various wares, the bus terminated. I alighted by a scattering of simple mud brick homes where locals attended to domestic duties – hanging their washing or bathing children in the weak afternoon sun. The far end of the bazaar was dominated by an imposing Hindu temple, soaring upwards and touching the sky.
'Hello sir, I am Vijay, best tour guide in Hampi,' A smart skinny boy, thirteen or fourteen maybe, stood with his hand on his chest for sincerity, 'I will show all important monuments and tell you good history of kingdom of Vijayanagar. Hampi very big place, you are most probably getting lost by yourself.'
'Thanks, Vijay was it? To be honest, I wanted to take in the atmosphere in my own time.' After my recent episodes with my grandfather, what I really wanted was to be on my own. My mind was far from recounts of history and storytelling.
'But sir, you can still breathe in atmosphere with me. I can show many monument, tell you what things are or how else will you know?'
'I have a guidebook.'
'What guidebook, let me see.' I showed him the Lonely Planet. 'Ah, this very good book, but not good enough for Hampi. Too many things to see, not enough information.'
I thanked him again and walked away, but he followed. I had to admire his spirit.
'But don't you think too much information might spoil things? While I'm trying to soak up what it might have been like all those years ago, my imagination would be interrupted by you telling me about everything.'
He eyes looked up to one side while he racked his brain for a quick response. One came, 'Ah, but sir, I can be quiet and you can call on me for information when needed. Plus, it is not safe for travellers. Many person is being robbed of their things.'
I had a feeling as I was the only tourist about, he'd shadow me around wherever I went anyway, 'Okay, how much?'
His eyes lit up, 'Ah, for you, sir, I am giving out of season price of only one hundred rupees.'
'Right, we'll see how it goes then.'
'Thank you, you will not regret, I am sure. Uh, your name sir?'
'Sam.'
He cleared his throat and spoke as we walked, 'Hampi was last capital of great Hindu Kingdom of Vijayanagar. Settlements in Hampi date back as far as one CE. Also, royalty of Vijayanagara Empire build temples and palaces between 1336 to 1565. But Muslim group pillaged city in 1565 and then city was abandoned.'
We came to a stop at the foot of the temple at the end of the bazaar, 'This is 7th century Virupaksha Temple. Virupaksha is incarnation of Lord Shiva. As you see, there are many sculptures of Virupaksha rising to top of fifty-metre-high structure.'
He guided me under the gopura into an empty courtyard surrounded by a stone colonnade where small macaque monkeys scuttled to and fro screeching and playing. 'We are now going to sacred Tungabhadra River,' he said, and after passing between two giant oblong stones leaning against each other we stood on the banks of a muddy river roping away into the rocky hills. Ladies in saris washed their laundry at the water's edge, children played harmoniously alongside buffalo cooling from the heat. Small bowl shaped boats woven from reeds and wrapped in animal hide sailed past, ferrying locals up and down the river. 'We take Coracle,' Vijay said, pointing to a man pulling one of these boats into shore.
We sat down cross legged and were pushed out onto the water. The boatman jumped on and after a few moments of spinning in circles, he righted us, keeping us on course around the curves of the banks. Vijay neatened his hair and adjusted the two pens in his shirt pocket. He looked up and smiled, 'We are now arrive at Vitalla Temple, be leaving boat please.'
I paid the ferryman a few rupees and Vijay and I went on foot for a while in silence until we reached a courtyard. A granite chariot, wheels nearly as tall as myself, stood guarding the temple. He told me the main mandapa was completed in 1565 and dedicated to Lord Vishnu. Slender outer pillars supporting the structure were said to emit different musical notes. He was pointing out the details of the floral designs and animal carvings, but my mind was wandering, my vision blurring in and out of the last few days.
'Any chance we could end the tour here, Vijay?' I asked.
'Oh no sir, you have paid me.'
'But you can keep the money.'
'Oh no sir, that would not be right. Hampi has some no good people to foreigner. No, I am being here for you.'
'In that case, could you stand behind that far pillar while I take a photograph?'
'Of course.'
As soon as he disappeared, I turned and sprinted along a road and then off on to a pathway with glinting rice paddies either side. The trail led me into a thick banana plantation where I stopped to catch my breath. I looked behind me with a clear view and no sign of Vijay.
I was glad of the space again. I took a box of cigarettes from my bag and withdrew the last one. I was screwing up the packet when I heard a crack in the thicket to my left, followed by another. When I heard another sound, I looked down the nearby lanes, but there were only endless banana leaves leading to lines of dark palm trees in the background.
I started walking. Footsteps followed in the distance. Hard edged tapping, click click click click. Both my father and grandfather wore Blakeys – cast iron protectors for the heels of shoes. My father insisted I wore them to school, making me a laughing stock and giving bullies even more ammunition. Now that noise, not only brought those memories pouring back, but instilled terror in me that was becoming all too familiar. When I stopped, the clicking stopped. I stepped back, sliding clumsily down a bank into a fan of springy banana trunks.
All the years gone by and the thick skin I'd grown amounted to nothing. I was shaking with fear like a child again, waiting for what would inevitably follow. May it be a second or a minute, the punch, jab or kick would always come next; a new agonizing pain to add to my long list of different places to be hurt on my body.
I ran out onto a dirt track, passing temples set on ascending granite banks and dwarfed by the boulder-strewn hills. I caught a glimpse of people living primitive lives within cave entrances; cooking over stone ringed fires, tending to their young and watching me back with keen interest. The escorting steps had died out, but I could still feel my grandfather near, sticking to my skin like burning oil.
I'd covered a mile or so when a group of young sadhus called out for my attention. I walked on, but they left their position and closed in on me. They asked for money and rifled through my shoulder bag. Turning, I found a gap and pushed through. As I cornered a ruin, I bumped into an unsuspecting goat, bleating and lurching forward, but restrained on a rope by a young man. I'd lost the sadhus thankfully, or they had lost interest in me, and the young man, although we couldn't communic
ate because of the language wall between us, accompanied me with his bicycle and goat until I reached another set of ruins.
According to my map, I was at the grounds of the King's Palace, the Hall of Viceroy, Hazarama Temple and the Lotus Mahal with its high archways on all sides. I walked a main road for a while passing a lady balancing three copper pots on her head, followed by her two daughters, each carrying a single vessel in the same way. A muscular white bull hauled a wagon laden with wood, steered by a tired old man streaming with sweat.
Try as I might, I couldn't find a way back to the bazaar. I wished that I hadn't taken flight from Vijay, or maybe it was better for him that I had. By a paddy field behind another temple I flicked through the guidebook to gain my bearings, all the while in fear of my grandfather’s return. A voice called out, 'Rupee, baba, rupee.' I turned to find a middle-aged man dressed in no more than a loin cloth. His useless legs were heaped over each other in uncomfortable looking angles. He stopped before me hand in the air.
I gave him a twenty, all I had spare, but it wasn't enough. When I walked away, he trailed me. The faster I walked the more he propelled himself after me. I swung around, ‘Leave me alone!'
I ran, eventually losing him, clambering over the brow of a hill and skidding my way to the bottom. I felt guilty for shouting. He must have been so desperate. He was drastically thin, his face so gaunt. From behind a large statue of Ganesh, I caught a glimpse of Virupaksha Temple and knew the Main Bazaar wouldn't be far behind.
Crossing the road and down another hill I came out into the Main Bazaar and found a distraught Vijay sitting by the roadside. When he saw me he rushed over, 'I am being so glad to see you. I made very big mistake and lose you. I am so very sorry sir. Please do not be writing to guidebook people and telling them what bad guide Vijay is.'
Despite his anxiety, I couldn't help but laugh, 'Hey, calm down, don't worry. It was all my fault; you've been a perfect guide. If I were to write to the guidebook, I would say just that.'