Maya's Aura: Goa to Nepal

by Smith, Skye

  The van was hot inside, because Will had the air-con turned off while they climbed in altitude. Once they were ten miles east of Ankola, the highway became an empty road, so the girls climbed through to the front seat so they could sit by an open window.

  The bucket seat was too small for both of them, so Maya pulled the small plastic beer cooler forward and jammed it between the seats and put a pillow on its lid to sit on. They took turns sitting on the cooler. They took turns making Will miss his shifts by squeezing his left hand between their legs when he went to shift gears.

  He watched the gauges and listened for new noises every foot of the way. Though a recent model, the van had almost seventy thousand miles on it. He wanted to know everything that was wrong with it before they reached the mountain roads of the Himalayas.

  At the village of Yellapur, halfway through the Ghats, they stopped to stretch their legs at a small hotel that looked neat and well-maintained. The girls took one look at the spotless washrooms and called for a food break. The menu in the Pure Veg cafe went on for pages because it was in multiple languages, and because it offered South Indian, Chinees, and Panjabi 'diseases', which they all took hopefully to be a typo for the word 'dishes'.

  They savored a Chinese veggie stir fry with rice, and while they ate their first orders, they ordered more to be boxed up to take with them.

  Just after Yellapur, the highway went through a corner of Anshi National Park. They were now high enough in the Ghats that they could not see the mountains or the tops of the trees for cloud. Not rain, not mist, but cloud. At one point it turned into whiteout conditions, and the white was dazzling in the tropical sun.

  "It is like the entire world has been covered by my aura," Maya observed. "Even my sunglasses don't cut it." Luckily Will's were tinted yellow like the ones that skiers use, so at least he could sort of see where the road was. It was foolhardy to drive faster than ten miles an hour.

  They bypassed Hubli and continued on towards Bijapur and Solapur further east and north. The driving was faster and easier now because they were up on the plateau, instead of winding through mountain valleys. True, there was more traffic, and more slower local traffic and very slow farm traffic, but it was still much faster and smoother than inching through the fog on the mountain road they had just been driving.

  Maya complained about not going through Hubli because she had been reading Will's tour book and it mentioned all sorts of interesting temples, any of which may hold a clue to the powers of her aura. She was overruled. They were still too close to Goa to slow down. Ah well, the air-con was on now, and she watched the endless miles of cotton fields slip by.

  Will's tour book was old and quite comical. It was in English, but just barely. Some pompous Indian professor had translated and rewritten it in 1980 to help modern pilgrims follow the ancient pilgrimage routes along the north/south roads of India. Bless the man, for he had listed all of the temples that offered cheap or free accommodation to pilgrims.

  They spent their first night in the rest house of a Buddhist temple some twenty miles north of the border between the states of Karnataka and Maharashtra to its north. They were still ten miles short of Solapur, but Will did not want to drive into an Indian city after dark.

  Maharashtra was the wealthiest of Indian states due to the city of Mumbai. They were now about two hundred miles southeast of Pune, and about three hundred miles north east of Goa. Marique, being from a small country, was exhausted at spending so long in a car and driving so far. Maya, being from California, was tired because the travel had not been on large wide straight highways. Will, being from a part of Canada where it could be three hundred miles between gas stations, was content.

  He lied to the keeper of the guest house so that the three of them could stay in a family room rather than the girls in the women's dormitory, and he in the men's. The girls had to remember to call him father or dad because they were supposedly his two daughters.

  It was late, so they unloaded the van into their room, and then used the single light bulb hanging from the ceiling to read. Marique read the guide book, Will the road atlas, and Maya read her book about Mahatma Gandhi. The leftover stir fry was still delicious.

  They slept on the same foamies they would have used in the van and under the same thin sleeping bags, because this guest room was just that, a room. There was no furniture, and no beds. Just drapes across the windows and straw mats on the floor. Pilgrims, after all, were supposed to be following the simple ways.

  * * * * *

  * * * * *

  MAYA'S AURA - Goa to Nepal by Skye Smith

  Chapter 9 - Fleeing North

  Those who say religion has nothing to do with politics do not know what religion is. - Mahatma Gandhi.

  At first light the next morning, Maya rose without waking Will or Marique. Let them have some privacy. The three of them had slept almost as closely together as they would have been forced to in the van. She put on her widow's cloak and went out to see what morning devotions were happening. She was hoping to feel auras, or perhaps partake in some magical ceremony.

  She was disappointed. There was almost nothing going on other than sweeping and cleaning. She could not even watch the sunrise from the central courtyard because there was a high wall in the way. After a few false starts she eventually found a series of hallways and stairs that took her to the roof of the dormitory building. There she sat in lotus position, unclipped the mesh from across her face, and waited for the sun.

  As the sun crested the horizon she heard the rhythm of chanting and drumming. It was a pleasing sound but she didn't disturb herself to look for the source. Instinctivly she knew that this was not the kind of Buddhist establishment that would know about auras. The focus of this place was evident from the pamphlets they had been handed when they arrived. This side of Buddhism was focused on social revolution, not spirituality.

  This was a Dalit Buddhist teaching center. Dalit was another name for the casteless untouchables at the bottom of the Indian Brahmin social pyramid. In the early twentieth century, a Buddhist movement started amongst the Dalits to rally the poor against a caste system that was standing on their backs. They had tried to use the right to freedom of religion to destroy the caste system, and weaken Hindu Brahmanism.

  Frankly all that reading was just more blah, blah, blah. To Maya the important thing was the similarity between what she was learning about Gandhi, and what she was learning about the original, human Buddha. They were both social and political revolutionaries who preached peace and nonviolence.

  She wondered if it was the same with Jesus. Had he too been more like Gandhi, trying to overthrow a corrupt political and social system. One where a few people were very rich, while most were scratching for the next meal. She was so lost in thought that she almost missed the sun rise up over the misty plain.

  * * * * *

  The girls dressed modestly while they were reloading the van, but not in their widow cloaks, not in purdah. This was the first time they had wandered amongst Indians with their black hair. There was a night and day difference in the reaction they caused.

  Without their long blonde hair serving as a flag to draw everyone's attention to them from all those around, they were dealing with the reactions of only those who saw their light eyes, or noticed the pink blush of their cheeks. It was a wondrous relief not to be in the spotlight of blonde hair all the time.

  "That's it," said Marique, "from now on when I travel, I travel with black hair." Maya nodded her agreement. Even Will agreed that people did not twist their heads to look at him so much, and his natural hair color was a salt and pepper brown, not blonde. Black hair suited him because his face showed a mix of races. He actually looked younger with the jet black shiny hair. Younger and more handsome.

  They drove and drove. They bypassed Solapur as best they could and continued north to the city of Nagpur. The miles dragged on and on. They stopped at a clean-looking hotel for breakfast and then Maya took over the wheel. The traf
fic was slow and boring so it gave her a good chance to figure out how to drive on the wrong side of the vehicle and the wrong side of the road.

  Being on the wrong side was pretty easy actually, so long as there was a yellow line in the middle of the road. What was not so easy was judging the speed of the farm vehicles and ox carts and bicycles that were so often on the road. You had to assume that all of them were near stopped.

  She remembered one of Gandhi's teachings. If the western world wants to help India, then don't sell them expensive trucks. Instead, redesign the ox cart so that it goes a mile an hour faster. She was constantly amazed at how slowly Indian men pedaled their bicycles. If she moved that slowly on her own bike, her wheels would wiggle and she would fall over.

  The dry crops of the south, like cotton, were starting to give way to orchards, mostly citrus orchards. In many ways it reminded her of driving north through the great inland valley of California, except that here it was greener.

  Marique was next to take a turn at the wheel, but only for a short while. She did not have the patience to drive so slowly around farm vehicles. After she had twice pulled out to overtake, when at the same time an oncoming bus had the same idea, she lost her nerve and pulled off the road to calm her nerves. She parked the van in the cool of the huge shade trees that bordered the highway in an endless row.

  Will told them that before the British Empire took control of India there was a Muslim Mogul Empire in control, who always planted shade and fruit trees along both sides of the main roads. The one they were under was a peepal tree, a kind of fig, the holy fig. The tree next to it was a mango tree.

  "The Brits planted Eucalyptus along their railway right of ways, but these old fruit trees are my favorites. Shade and fruit, who can complain." Will said. "Unfortunately, every time they widen one of the old highways, they tend to cut down these wondrous trees. Bloody idiots. Why not just put another strip of road on the outside of the rows of trees and leave the trees be."

  Under the tree beyond the mango there was a chai stall, and Will took their cups along to buy some. He was gone less than five minutes, and came back with chai and fresh chapattis. In those short minutes, not a single pedestrian had passed by the two women. Each person that saw them stopped what they were about and just stood and stared. A crowd of staring dark eyes was slowly surrounding them.

  Will tried to shoo them away, but they stood their ground as if they didn't understand, and just stared. He started to get angry, but Maya calmed him. "They must think we are movie stars. We are the best thing that has happened to them all week. Why should they continue on their way so long as we are here as live entertainment?"

  Brave words, but the staring eyes quickly unnerved them so they got back in the van and Will drove about a half mile and pulled in under the shade of another peepal tree. "Okay," he said opening the windows before turning off the van. "I figure we have about ten minutes of peace and quiet to have our tea and stretch our legs before another crowd forms."

  They had less. In the heat of the day, when the highway surface turned to hot sticky tar and reflected so much heat that it shimmered, much of the slow traffic pulled off to doze in the shade. The sight of the ferengis made everyone near to them choose that particular tree to stop underneath. They gulped their tea and munched their chapattis, and then Will took the wheel again, turned on the air con, and made time while all the slow traffic was in the shade.

  When they reached the outskirts of Nagpur, Will started looking for the ring road around the center of the city. Maya overruled him. "We are well away from Goa now, so we can slow down. Please. Can't we stop while there is still some daylight? I've been reading about Nagpur in the pamphlets from that last guest house and I need to check it out."

  "About all I know about the place is that it is mile zero of the Indian highway system, because it is the physical center of India," Will said. "What else is there?"

  "It is one of the primary Buddhist tourist sites on the planet," Maya said pulling out the pamphlet and showing him the pictures. "It was here in the 1920's that the modern Hindu political movement was born. The political party that was formed here wanted Hindus to control India, not the British Christians and not the Mogul Muslims."

  They came over a rise and saw a massive slum on the right. "Are you sure you want to stay 'ere? This must be a big city to have a slum that size," Marique pointed out.

  "Yes, keep a look out for signs to Deekshabhoomi. That's where the big hollow stupa is. It should be a left turn coming up." She looked down and skimmed the pamphlet. "In the 1950's that is where the Dalit Buddhist social revolution jumped back to life." She read out, "Three hundred thousand people converged here and converted to Buddhism at the same time. They wanted a better life for the untouchables by getting them out from under the Hindu caste system."

  Will turned left off the highway, and followed a divided boulevard until they could see the stupa ahead. As they got closer, the side streets were blocked off by police cars. They ended up following a line of traffic into a field which was being used as a parking lot. Will stopped beside the policeman who was directing traffic.

  "We just came to see the stupa," he told the policeman. "Are we supposed to park here?"

  Luckily Nagapur was a very literate place. Even an ordinary foot policeman knew some English. "You cannot get closer in a vehicle, sir," he said nodding his head no. "I suggest that you are parking here where I am standing and then you are walking. I will be watching your van for you," he said, wagging his head yes.

  The policeman stared as the two ferengi women crawled out of the back door and once standing, wrapped white widow's cloaks around their western clothes. Will handed him some rupees, which the cop pretended he could not accept. Will told him, "If a watcher comes, please pay him this money to make sure our van is safe." The policeman accepted the money on those terms, but both knew that he, himself, would be the watcher.

  Will locked up the van and followed the women in their white cloaks through the rows of parked cars. The policeman sent a boy after them to take them to the gate. The boy spoke about two hundred words of English, most of them nouns, and his only verbs seemed to be expletives. It was a good thing he came along, because he took them to a small side gate that was much closer and less busy than the main gate.

  Though not as busy as the main gate it was still busy. There were small groups of bikkhus monks and bikkhunis nuns, in many different types and colors of robes, passing in and out of the gate. There were faces from the corners of Asia, from Japan to Sri Lanka, and from Southeast Asia to Mongolia, and of course, Chinese and Indian.

  A young man with an identity card hung around his neck pulled Will by the sleeve, and said, "I am sorry, but the stupa is not open to tourists today. There is being a worldwide conference all this week. I am sorry. Please be coming again next week."

  Maya heard the words and looked at the collection of Buddhists from all over the world, and knew immediately that going in was exactly what she must do. In this one place, this week, she could find out where all the places in the world were, where people studied auras.

  "I must go in," Maya told the young man, "and these two must accompany me for my protection. Who must I talk to for permission?" She watched as the man turned and went to speak with an older gentleman who was standing with some bikkhus in grey robes. The gentleman looked over at her and shook his head. She walked towards him. At her approach the bikkhus backed away, and the gentleman walked forward to stop her advancing.

  She pushed her hood back and her shining black hair was in extreme contrast to the white cloak. She threw the cloak back over her shoulders. Underneath she was wearing a travel shirt and skirt, with leggings to her ankles. She rolled up her sleeves. When the gentleman was mere steps away she locked her eyes on his, bowed her head without breaking that lock and brought her hands together in prayer with her fingertips touching her chin.

  The gentleman stopped walking and gave a very slight, and formal bow to her polite ges
ture. "Madam, you may not enter today, despite your grieving. May I suggest that you go to one of the other holy places."

  Maya allowed her aura to grow strong. She was fully clothed so this happened very slowly because of the interference of her skin touching clothing. She stepped closer to the gentleman. Close enough to easily touch him. She so hoped he was not a psycho.

  She took a deep breath and then opened the lotus underneath the man's chin. If he was a psycho, at this moment his entire body would stop. If he was not, he should go into a deep trance. He didn't fall to the ground. That was a good sign. His eyes were still held by hers but they had lost focus and his eyelids were slowly closing.

  "Doesn't that feel good?" she asked in a deep calm voice. "Feel it relax you. All you must do is close your eyes and stay standing, and you will begin to dream, dream, dream." She waited, occasionally saying the word dream, softly.

  When she was sure his conscious mind was daydreaming, she spoke to his subconscious. "I have a spiritual need to enter," she repeated three times. "There is no reason to keep me out," she repeated three times. "I am so pure and white that my friends must go with me to keep men away from me." She repeated it all again, and then she asked him to come back from the dream, take a deep breath, and open his eyes and be wide awake and feeling wonderful.

  She locked her eyes on his again. "I have a spiritual need to enter," she said. The gentleman looked away towards the young man still standing with Will and Marique, and he said. "I see no reason to keep her out. She is so pure. Her friends can go with her to keep men away from her."

  She did not wait for him to change his mind. She walked through the gate and towards the stupa, and the others quick stepped to catch her up. So did a bikkhuni in a grey robe.

  "I watched what you did to that man," said the bikkhuni when she was shoulder to shoulder with Maya. She looked Japanese or Korean or perhaps even Nepali, but her English had the tell tail politeness of Japanese. "You hypnotized him and changed his mind in a moment. Who are you? Where are you from? Which monastery do you study at?"