Chapter 18
Rick arrived at the Jaisalmer train station at dawn. Jaisalmer was in the Thar Desert, a half day drive from the Pakistan border. Its major attraction to visitors was the Sonar Kila, a twelve-hundred-year-old medieval fort, sometimes called the Golden Fort because it took on a golden hue in the late afternoon.
He stayed at a small guesthouse called Jalmir House, just outside the fort that was owned by two brothers, Jalish and Jamir. It was a clean place with a rooftop restaurant that provided wonderful scenic views of the fort during the day and presented dramatic pictures of the amber lit fort at night.
Sonar Kila, the Golden Fort, was the only inhabited fort in the world. Its streets were narrow and winding, traveled by throngs of people, cars, motorcycles, and cows.
Over a thousand people lived inside. It contained old homes, guesthouses, and an exquisite Jain temple. There were even government approved Bhang shops, where you could get lassies, cookies, and cakes laced with marijuana.
Rick remembered that Elena spoke of Jaisalmer and Bikaner as good places to ride a camel through the desert. On the morning of his arrival, Rick asked Jamir to arrange for him to have a camel for two days so he could ride over the sand dunes alone instead of being led by a camel driver. Rick did have some experience with camels, having ridden them in Giza and Luxor in Egypt. He planned to spend one night in the desert in a tent under the stars.
Jamir made the arrangements with Ganesh to pick him up later that morning with his Jeep. Ganesh, who was named after an Indian god, drove along a road leading to a desert area southwest of Jaisalmer, where five tents were already set up. One of the tents was for Rick, and the others for other guests. The overnight stay would include sumptuous meals cooked outdoors, prepared by Indian cooks who lived nearby.
Eric was always on his mind, and Rick wished he were with him to enjoy this experience. He had a good lead now and was confident that he would get more information that would help him find him. He felt the stress of not being sure of how to search for him, but he did know the answers would come to him as he followed his intuition and met more Indian people.
One thing he did know. It couldn’t be a constant search. That would consume him and make it a search of desperation. Solitude would help, the solitude only the desert could bring. He was convinced the road to Eric would come from the Indian people.
The Jeep bounced and swayed on the bumpy sandy roads leading into the Thar Desert. Ganesh was a pleasant man, tall and lean, about thirty-five years old. He wore khaki shorts and a white sleeveless undershirt, emphasizing his well-toned muscles. His black baseball cap had a long peak with the name Ferrari in white script along one side. He looked as if he hadn’t shaved for three or four days, which added to his rustic looks.
At the drop-off area, Rick was able to see a few white tents in the distance. He was introduced to his camel driver, Rakesh, who said that he and Rick would both ride a camel named Karma to a point where he would give Rick a few instructions and turn her over to him.
Rick mounted Karma, being careful to lean back as the camel stood up. He knew that when camels get up, they raise their rear legs first, so if he didn’t lean back he would be thrown forward.
Rakesh got on in front of him and they rode deep into the desert until Rakesh’s mobile phone rang. He spoke a few words in Hindi and said to Rick, “You walk around here for a while. I’ll be back soon.”
“Where are you going?”
“Soon, I be back,” Rakesh snapped.
He left Rick in the shimmering heat on a sea of sand as he galloped off at high speed. Silence was everywhere. The bright sun filled the sky and continued to heat the sand. Rick had never heard the absence of sound to such a degree. His imagination ran off with him. In a moment, Rick was Lawrence galloping on his camel through the desert toward Aqaba, as in the movie Lawrence of Arabia. But he had no camel.
He checked his mobile phone. The battery was down. Walking seemed to be pointless, and he decided to stay near the place where he was left off so Rakesh would be able to find him.
There was nothing but sand as far as he could see. No trace of life anywhere. Just undulating sand dunes, deep blue sky, and intense silence.
There were a few small patches of brush on the sand. Rick memorized the distinctive characteristics of one of them so he would have a point of orientation. He climbed to the top of one of the dunes, sand filling his sneakers, to see if there was a trace of civilization anywhere. There was none. He was alone.
The few patches of brush afforded him bits of shady spots. He sat down. Soon, dung beetles, which live off camel feces and some plant life, crawled out of the sand, over his sneakers, then along his bare legs. The beetles scared easily, and when he brushed them away, they scurried off in a mad rush, leaving a trail of tiny footprints on the sand before burying themselves in it again. He kept flicking them off his legs one at a time. Soon, the gentle breeze of the desert erased all evidence of their existence.
The silence was still penetrating. Each moment revealed an opportunity for him to explore the nuances of desert life, a life never known to him, but always there. In a way, it was like discovering the silence and beauty of a living reef for the first time. He felt more alive in this sandy splendor of eloquent silence than anywhere else.
An hour passed. The sun was scorching. Sweat poured down his back, but he didn’t panic.
Everything will be all right.
Rick found pleasure in his time in the desert beneath the deep blue sky. It gave him the opportunity to empty his mind slowly, like sand in an hourglass, as he discovered ultimate peace. He looked at the desert as a work of art. The sand dunes were small hills, which showed golden crests and troughs, marked by long rivers of wavy lines, one above the other, sculpted by the wind into curves and ripples.
***
It was getting late. The sun traveled on its familiar slow journey toward the western sky as a single cloud’s shadow raced across the cooling sand. Rakesh had been gone over three hours, but Rick was surprised by how unafraid he was.
He had no idea where he was, but he was a sailor and had used the sun for navigation. He knew the sun only rose due east two days of the year and the rest of the time it’s either north or south of east. He knew that he came from the west and if he had to stay in the desert overnight, his body would be close to freezing, but he would survive.
If Rakesh did not return, he would tough it out and wait for the warmth of early morning. Right now, he was hot and drenched in sweat. He decided to drink the few ounces of water he had left all at once rather than save it for small sips later. He was glad he had the empty bottle. It would hold his urine if he needed more fluid.
Then, in the depth of his despair, Rick saw a rider in the distance coming his way at high speed. It was Rakesh. He came to an abrupt halt near Rick as Karma kicked sand into the air.
Rick asked Rakesh where he was and why he was gone so long. His answer sounded like a mixture of Hindi, Urdu, and a smattering of English. Rick had no idea what he said, but was glad he’d arrived.
After handing Rick the reins, Rakesh was able to head back on foot to the base point, where he would wait for Rick to arrive with the camel.
Rick kept his location in mind and was off into the setting sunset alone, just Rick and Karma, back to the nothingness of the desert, where there was everything.
He rode crazily up and down the dunes, free as the wind, and galloped into the desert until he came to a spot where a few people were sitting on the sand, their camels nearby. They meditated as they waited for the sun to go down over the Thar Desert. Rick sat near them with Karma standing behind.
The setting sun decorated the sky with its colors. With it came a cold breeze. Black silhouettes of the camels stood out in front of him, dark shadows against the red and blue streams of colors in the darkening sky.
He rode in the desert for another hour before he headed back to the campsite, where he would stay overnight in one of five tents. Rick was th
e only one who was by himself.
A young couple from the UK, an Indian couple from Bangalore, two brothers from the Indian State of Kerala, and two young female backpackers from France occupied the other tents. The night was cold and dark, lighted only by the small campfires and a multitude of stars which seemed to swirl through the sky like a Van Gogh painting. It was surreal. Camels stood motionless near the tents, resonating boredom.
The cooks dug four deep holes in the sand, put dry wood in each one, and placed small rocks around holes, where the pots would rest during cooking. Two of the camel drivers prepared a superb feast. Good Indian food was always made from fresh ingredients. Soon, the fragrance of Indian spices filled the air.
The night was getting colder and everyone sat around the fires, snug in their blankets, as the flames danced toward the stars. Rick watched one of the cooks prepare the chapati. He used a rolling pin to flatten each piece of dough until it was shaped into a pancake, then put it in the skillet, turned it once, and added it to a platter with other chapati. The rice, vegetables, spices, chapati, and dahl were all cooked at the same time, each on a separate fire.
They ate and made small talk, mostly about where they were from and where they were going. Sometimes there was silence. The cold breeze swept over them until their blankets no longer kept them warm. They said their goodnights and went into their tents, protected from the cold night air.
***
The next morning, after a breakfast of hot tea and Poori, an irresistible deep-fried bread, Rick was off again on Karma to enjoy another magnificent day.
Karma stood nearby as Rick visited a small village called Khuri and spent the morning talking to a wise man who told him about how he grew up in the village and how it had changed over the years. It appeared that only some things had changed.
“We now have many more goats and many more children,” the man said proudly.
Later that evening, Ganesh arrived in his open Jeep to take Rick back to the guesthouse.
“Tell me, sir, how was your adventure?” Ganesh asked.
“It was wonderful, a truly special experience,” Rick answered, shivering.
“And your camel driver allowed you to ride the way you wanted? Jamir provided a little extra baksheesh for you to have things the way you liked.”
“It was excellent, Ganesh, it really was. He disappeared for a few hours the first day, so I spent some time alone in the desert, which was okay. It was an experience.”
“Alone? He left you alone?”
“Uh, yes.”
“How long?”
“I’m not sure. It was several hours, but it’s…”
Ganesh took a deep breath and shook his head. “That is unacceptable. You should never be left alone, never!”
Ganesh was disturbed. He got on his mobile and spoke to someone in Hindi, presumably one of the brothers. Rick knew enough Hindi by now to pick out a few of the words. He heard the word galati several times, which meant ‘wrong,’ but he didn’t want to make an issue of it, or upset Ganesh. He found it to be an unexpected gift to be alone in the desert, but Ganesh didn’t see it that way. Rick felt the desert had stripped him of his normal self-awareness and replaced it with some kind of spirituality.
Maybe that’s where the unexplored space was in my thinking.
They arrived at the guesthouse. Rick washed and walked up to the rooftop to order dinner. He looked out at the magnificence of the fort, all dressed up in its glittering golden lights. It stood out like a vision of the past in the starry black desert.
For Rick, the Jalmir guesthouse had been love at first sight. The brothers who ran the place were honorable people. That evening, they invited him to dine with them. Rick’s tastes were simple and he ordered a well-spiced vegetarian meal with Roti and a Kingfisher.
Jamir offered to refund Rick’s money for the mishap on the desert, stating that Rakesh apologized for his schedule conflict and poor judgment. Rick said it wasn’t about money and told them about his unexpected reward of being alone in the desert.
The three of them spent the rest of the evening on the rooftop sitting on soft cushioned couches, hypnotized by the lighted fort. Incense burned under their table as they reflected on life. They talked about India. Rick wanted to know more about Gandhi.
“You must visit Madurai. It is something you must do,” Jamir said enthusiastically. “It is a very special place and the Gandhi museum is there. You will like it immensely. And you must definitely be going. You will see many things about his fine life, and view the bloodstained dhoti he wore when he died.
“You must go, Rick. See the blood of Gandhi. It will be symbolic and be having meaning for you. You will carry this image of the cloth with you for all your life. Some tourist, they come and leave as tourists, but I know in my heart that India has rubbed off on you and will be with you every day of your life.”
The next morning, Rick walked to the fort to find a place for breakfast. When he was a short distance from the Jain Temple, he saw a small handmade sign:
Vidya Family Restaurant. Breakfast and Lunch.One flight up.
He took a leap of faith and walked up the long, narrow spiral of well-worn marble stairs until he reached an open door to an apartment. He walked in and was greeted by an elderly woman. She was small and frail with deep wrinkles fanning out beneath her dark brown eyes. She wore loose fitting white cotton pants and a matching white top. A blue headscarf covered her hair, and earrings made of small, gold antique coins hung from her ears.
“Namaste, I’m Mrs. Vidya,” she uttered in a low, scratchy voice.
“Namaste, Ap kaise hain,” Rick answered, practicing his Hindi.
“Maim accha hum,” she replied, verifying she understood his Hindi pronunciation of, “How are you?”
There were four tables in the apartment. Mrs. Vidya pointed to one of them. It was next to a window where he could sit and view part of the street below. She handed him a small pad of lined green paper and a pencil. She told him in her weak voice, “Write you want,”and handed him a well-worn card listing a few breakfast items. He printed his order and handed it to her.
Paratha with honey, small dish of apple curd, and Masala tea
Both her home and restaurant were part of Mrs. Vidya’s apartment. There was a small open kitchen where she prepared the food while sitting on a spotless, dark wooden floor. The splashes of colored spices were piled up around her in white ceramic dishes and showed deep reds, bright yellows, and golden browns. It reminded Rick of an artist’s studio. He watched her from his table as she prepared and cooked his breakfast, twisting and turning her aged body as she stretched for each ingredient.
She prepared the paratha by rolling the dough on her workspace into small balls with her wrinkled, experienced hands and dusted them with flour. She used a small rolling pin to shape them into a perfectly flat circular shape, then fried them on the stove in an oiled skillet.
Rick’s breakfast arrived forty minutes later, longer than expected, but understandable because Indian cooks respected the time-honored tradition of preparing meals from fresh ingredients, although he did see her take the apple curd from a commercially labeled jar in the small refrigerator.
The paratha bread was accompanied by a selection of honey, yogurt, apple curd, and pickles. He tried some of each on his bread. They all tasted fine, but the pickles were a bit much for him in the morning.
As Mrs.Vidya brought out his Masala tea, Rick heard voices coming from the small hallway below that led to the narrow circular stairway. He listened to their conversation. They spoke English in low tones, but he could tell from the man’s lilting voice that he was an Indian.
He heard them say goodbye, which was followed by the sound of high heels clunking their way up the marble stairway. The sound captured his interest until Mrs. Vidya distracted him by putting more paratha bread on his plate to have with his tea. Rick thanked her and watched her go off to the kitchen.
He sipped his tea, leaned back, and thought abo
ut his experience in the desert. It was an introduction to himself. A minute later, he felt a gentle tap on his shoulder. He turned to look and stared in disbelief.
“Elena!” he exclaimed as he crashed his teacup down on the table and stood up to face her.
“It’s been a while, Rick,” she said with a glowing smile.
“Yes! Oh my God.” He extended his hands. “What are you doing here? Never mind, it doesn’t matter.You’re here!” He stood silently and looked at her. “Am I in some sort of dream, because what’s happening is not possible.”
Elena took his hands in hers. “If it is, we’re in it together. Don’t I get a hug?”
Rick didn’t answer. His heart pounded as he took Elena in his arms and held her tight. He closed his eyes, pulled her closer, and felt all her luscious curves pressing against him.
“Thanks for meeting me here,” Rick said, shaking his head in disbelief and smiling.
“Meeting you?”
“Yeah, meeting me in this dream. I hope I never wake up. I missed you.”
“I missed you more.” Elena leaned forward to kiss him.
“I guess all my thoughts of you brought you here,” Rick said, taking her in his arms again. “I don’t believe this is happening.”
“It was meant to be,” Elena purred. “I love this dream. I guess we made it happen.” She laughed, took his hand, and held it to her lips.
“I always knew you were the dreamy type. Of all the breakfast joints, in all the towns, in all of India, Elena walked into mine. Just like in Casablanca. So, if you are but a dream, stay here. Dreams are where the impossible take place. If I can’t have you in real life, I can at least have you here.”
“Stop babbling, Rick. What kind of tea are you having?”
“Masala.”
“Great!”
“I’m still a little numb, Elena.”
Meeting Max Page 15