by Reece Willis
'Yeah, Manchester. Can you give us any advice?' the taller asked.
'Take deep breaths and try to stay calm, and don't take anything for granted. Turn right at the top of this street, go under the bridge and you will find the Main Bazaar on the right-hand side. There's shops, restaurants and hotels. If you want to get out of Delhi, you can take a train from the railway station across the road, but make sure to buy a ticket from the station. Don't be encouraged to leave the building by someone who claims tickets are available elsewhere. If you want to get a bus, agree a price with a rickshaw driver to take you to the Inter State Bus Terminal in Old Delhi. I’d recommend spending a little time in Delhi to acclimatise first though. She really is a wonderful city.'
'Hey, thanks man, that's really helpful.'
Rahul met me outside Harish's hotel as planned. I discussed the previous evening as we pressed through the morning rush, eventually arriving at Safdarjung's Tomb. The tomb was described as 'the last flicker in the lamp of Moghul architecture.' At the end of a shallow canal flanked by palm trees, I looked up at the mausoleum raised on a terrace of arches and felt sudden dismay at leaving this beautiful country. It had become my life and my home, and I was scared of the mundane that was waiting for me on the other side.
Conscious of my rickshaw wallah baking in the sun, I departed, leaving a trail of thoughts behind. Trundling through Old Delhi and along the bustling avenues of Chandni Chowk, the apparitions of Aiden, Jack and the others floated through me as we turned the corner to the commanding walls of the Red Fort, nearby which we stopped for a meal in a small eatery.
‘You are going to miss India, my friend?’ Rahul asked as I picked at my dhal and stared out longingly at life passing by on the street.
I attempted a smile, suddenly finding it hard to hold back the tears, realising just how much I would. ‘I will, Rahul. That I will.’
Scenes of my trip unfolded in my head; all the things I did and didn’t do, all the friends I met and would hold forever dear in my heart. The remaining hours were seeping through my fingers and however much I tried to cling on, the end was approaching fast.
The final monument I visited was India's largest mosque, the incredible Jama Masjid – commissioned by Emperor Shah Jahan.
In the paved courtyard, it was almost impossible to see the three massive domes as I stood at the foot of the pishtaq. The minarets, forty metres in height and constructed of alternating vertical strips of red sandstone and white marble, towered above. I climbed the southern minaret and could see the white domes with thin black onyx stripes and the courtyard below, capable of holding 25,ooo worshippers. In all directions, rooftops stretched out for miles with the Red Fort to the east, New Delhi to the south and the endless sounds echoing throughout this beloved city. The sun was setting by the time I left. Pigeons took flight from the courtyard and became silhouettes against the elegance of the mosque and the golden sky.
Rahul was waving some way down the street. When I caught up with him he asked if I wanted to have a shave. I looked at the old man who sat at a table with razors and brushes and noticed he was blind. 'This guy?' I asked.
'Yes, he is the best barber in Old Delhi.'
I whispered in Rahul's ear, 'But I think he's blind.'
'But you are trusting what I say, yes?'
I took a seat and hoped for the best as the barber felt his way around my face, shaving away the stubble with impressive speed and accuracy. When he finished, I couldn't believe how smooth my face felt. 'Now that was amazing,' I said as I paid him.
It was a sad moment to say goodbye to Rahul. We exchanged addresses and hugs and after a hearty handshake, he left with a long buzz and a wave from the side of his auto. As I turned right and was about to turn right again, I was shoved aside by a fuming Ashoka. Harish was standing at reception looking flustered.
'Mr Sam, I am so very glad you are coming back. Please accept my apology for Ashoka's terrible behaviour. He is no longer with hotel. I telephone father and say that I am not able to work with him anymore because he is upsetting too many customer.' He placed his arm on my shoulder, 'Please, you will have good meal with us on rooftop. This will make me very happy.'
I spent the evening with Harish and Nitin on the upper rooftop looking out to the twinkling lights of Paharganj. Just after ten, I said my final farewells and popped out into the Main Bazaar to buy some cigarettes.
A young local with kind eyes and a goatee beard walked up beside me, 'Hello sir, I have seen you before.'
'I bet you have,' I laughed, now fully aware of every sales trick in the book.
There was something vaguely familiar about him and I warmed to his smile instantly, but I found it odd he was so overdressed for the muggy evening heat; a beige woolly hat, maroon trousers and matching cardigan. 'What do you believe?' he asked, quickening his pace to match my evasive steps.
'In India? I believe everything and nothing, and that anything is possible. I've got an early start so if you'll excuse me…'
'I have a message for you, Mr Sam.'
He knew my name? ‘A message from who?’
'Please come.' He put out his arm to point to an empty stable off a side alley. I was dubious, but curiosity got the better of me.
'I haven't got any money I can give you.'
'I am not wanting your money sir, only your time. I am wishing to deliver to you an important message.'
'Okay, fire away then.'
'This morning I am having very strange dream. As I see you walk past just now, I knew I had to talk you. Everything is happening exactly as it did in dream.'
'Really? So, the message?'
'Beware the ashes in your stomach.'
'What? What does that even mean?'
'A woman has been placing ashes in your stomach for much time.’
‘Who?’
‘This I am not knowing, but I can tell you she is very close to you and means you harm. Her name is beginning with the letter A.’
‘What? Listen mate, you’re not really making much sense.’
‘You will find it hard to trust people, but will discover pure light in one. Although there will be much sadness, you will be rewarded with a happiness that not many man have. The soul never truly dies, my friend, it is merely purified and reborn.' He bowed slightly, placed his hands together in namaste and strolled out into the street. Before I had a chance to question him further, he vanished into the crowds.
I walked back to the hotel, replaying his words over and over. Ashes? A woman beginning with the letter A? The only person I knew whose name began with an ‘A’ was my mother; her name was Audrey. This was ridiculous. Just because this guy knew my name, didn’t mean I should attribute any worth to his apparent message. Everybody agreed how wonderful my mum was. She was amazing; always there when the shit hit the fan.
Despite the far-fetched nature of his words, there was a sense of truth that I couldn’t shake. Scenes from my childhood were vivid in my mind. When my dad came home from work, he would often be whistling when he entered the house, only to come storming up the stairs to my room a few minutes later. What happened during that brief time in-between? What had my mum said to him that made him so angry? I could never work out what I’d done.
It wasn’t just my father. My grandfather unleashed the most hell after he’d been talking on the phone to her. Various friends of the family looked at me in a disapproving way too as did anyone I encountered; teachers, doctors, neighbours. Trouble trailed me through life and whatever it threw at me there was always one person I ran back to. When all the commotion died down, when my dad was calm in the wake of his destruction, when there was nothing left but ashes, she was there; telling me she’d always be there.
Something came to mind, at first misty, but soon took shape with chilling clarity. I was about five or six, playing in a neighbour's garden. The sun huge in the infinity of blue, the smell of fragrant summer heavy in the air. My mother was talking in the house with Sandy and Tom. I was throwing a tennis bal
l with Tess, their red setter. The ball splashed into the pond. Tess pawed the reflection making the sky and trees ripple. She looked lost, the puzzle of retrieving it longing in her eyes. I, like most children, thought nothing of it, my innocent hands stretching out as far as they could. I lost my balance and toppled in. Frantically I grasped the stagnant water, trying to find a grip. My lungs filled and my eyes blurred as I sank below. Before my panic surrendered to the murky depths, I saw my mother staring down, motionless; a glint of a smile upon her face. Suddenly Tom pulled me to the surface, my chest heaving for oxygen. I vomited water and desperately sucked in air. My mother stood laughing as if it was all a big joke to the look of horror on the neighbour's faces.
More memories came crashing through, flooding my senses, revealing the past I'd subconsciously locked away. The same age, five or six, standing in a shop aisle crying my eyes out. She'd disappeared, left me on my own for staff to calm me and call the police. This was one of many occasions she'd conveniently lost me. 'Always running off', she told the authorities when she collected me. But I never ran off, she was all I had. The second my back was turned, she’d be gone.
A sticky substance left on my bedside cabinet that I fingered and put into my mouth to taste what it was. Only later, after agonising stomach pains and being rushed to the hospital, I was told it was ant poison. I was discovered on the grass on a playing field near to where I lived by a passer-by. I never once saw ants in my bedroom. That’s the sort of thing a young boy would notice, surely.
I couldn't believe what my mind was summoning up. None of it seemed real, yet the more I searched within myself, the clearer it became. I’d always felt a disconnect, but it seemed irrational, so I had denied that nagging sensation inside warning me that my very worst enemy wasn’t just there at my door, but right beside me the whole time. In my darkest hours, when the unfathomable anger, confusion and a slow decay of my soul had got the better of me I often wondered if I was slowly going mad.
It had been happening for so long, with each day a reminder of all the false starts and the results being held back by my own self-torment; question after question, memory after memory. No matter how many times I tried to put it all behind me, to right myself on the correct path with my head held high, I would inevitably tangle myself into another mess, screw myself up just that little bit further. My mind felt like it was no longer mine; a direful combination of incoherent rantings and doubts of self-worth. Inexplicable darkness held me in its clutches and I was no longer sure if I would ever find a way back to the existence of my core before it had all started.
The only time in my life I had been allowed an element of control and an abundance of freedom was here in India and now it was over. All that awaited me was the dead wood of my current being accompanied by the architect of my insanity; my mother. The woman who should have looked after me, protected me, encouraged nothing but the best for me, hid in the wings, allowing everything to play out as it did. She watched me volley from one hell to another, pretending to care.
Though it was always there trying to wake me and deliver the warnings, my intuition resonated more than ever. For years I'd felt a hostility towards her, something I couldn't understand or comprehend. The countless times I'd want to pull away when she'd reach out to hug me, or tell me she loved me, when all I could do was return a false sentiment. As the years of torment amalgamated and manifested within me, enveloping me in the darkness she held so dear, I found no exit, no reprieve, only the weight of her betrayal pushing down heavier than ever. The one that brought me into this world would be the one that would take me from it. I was left with nothing but a last moment of freedom, a breeze to make a final choice. Tears fell silently as I considered my options, of how I was going to end this insanity forever.
Consumed by ghosts and shadows, confusion and loss, I didn't want another second of this helplessness to play out any longer. The years had ground me down to nothing but dust. I'd travelled over 10,000 kilometres throughout this incredible land and seen the most amazing sights, and like life itself, the destination was never certain, until the end. No matter how much I tried to deny her part in all of this, I knew it to be true. The last place I wanted to be now was home.
A knock at the door temporarily lifted the sea of fog. Harish's voice gently called through, 'Mr Sam, are you still awake?' At first, I ignored him, silently begging him to leave, but after the relentless tapping got the better of me I let him in.
'How are you, Mr Sam?'
'A little tired, Harish.'
'Ah yes, late night for you. You are flying at 3am no?'
'Yeah, I guess… maybe.'
'Okay, so I am finding this in your laundry this morning. I am forgetting until just now when I find in drawer. It was in your coat pocket.'
He handed me a piece of blank paper. 'Um, thank you?' I replied.
'Oh no, sorry.' He reached across and turned it over, 'See, numbers. Maybe important, maybe not.'
I could just about make out some figures though they were faded and barely readable. It was Kate's handwriting.
'Do you have a telephone I could use?'
'Of course, all is now catered for international tourist.'
I picked up the phone, put it down again, picked it up, put it down. I wasn't even sure what to say. I picked it up again and dialled.
Thank you for reading Towards the Within.
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