by Smith, Skye
The guide told him that the synthetic insulation did not attract lice and fleas and bed bugs like the natural fibers did, especially down. More important, if your synthetic fill got wet, all you had to do was dry it and it worked as good as new. Not so with down. Once down gets wet, it tends to pack together and forever looses its warmth.
Maya was not as surprised by this as was Will. While equipping them for the tropics, Marique had absolutely rejected anything made from 100% cotton. It was too hard to care for, and too hard to wash and especially, to hard to keep dry.
After a meal of the absolute best freedom fries on the face of the planet served with carvings of yak roast, they headed for bed. They were already beyond the reach of land lines for electricity or telephones, and illuminating the darkness meant using costly candles or lamp oil. Costly compared to the daily income of the miller, that is.
"So, were the fries so delicious just because we had an appetite from walking all day, or is it the altitude?" Maya asked. She was hoping for an answer from Will because the guide and the miller had not understood that same question when she asked them. These were just the normal fried potatoes to them.
"Well, I suppose you could say it was the altitude, but not for the reasons you think. Not the air or anything like that. They were made from locally grown potatoes. That means that they are high altitude potatoes and not one of the four types that are grown commercially in America. They will be a type transplanted to here directly from the highlands of Peru or Bolivia. One of the thousand native types that grow in the high Andes."
"And what about eating yak. I thought the yak was considered a cow and was therefore holy."
"That just means they can't kill yaks. Once the yak is dead it is no longer holy. The one we ate probably had an accident and fell off the trail and down a small cliff."
"I thought yaks were sure-footed?"
"Oh they are, but you know, sometimes they crowd together on these narrow trails and the oldest male accidentally tips over. Especially the day before the local market day." He began to laugh. "There is probably an official yak tipping protocol."
* * * * *
They slept badly, with tiny chips of slate occasionally falling on them and reminding them that all that was between their heads and the heavy squares of slate roof tile was a lattice of old, dry, pine branches. The wind blew itself out by midnight, and the slate dust stopped falling on their faces, but still it was a long cold night until dawn.
After a breakfast of chapattis and eggs, they climbed the trail up behind the medieval-looking mill and walked along the hillside above some small plots of farm fields in the valley bottom. In these mountain valleys, bottom land was far too valuable for growing things so it wasn't built over by housing or trails. It was all so beautiful that they walked slowly. Walking quickly meant you had to keep your eyes to the ground, which meant you missed the endlessly changing views.
The guide was leaning against a porter platform having a smoke and waiting for them to catch up. At every logical resting place along this trail there were low platforms built from stacking flat stones. They were designed so that porters could rest their loads which they usually carried in large wicker baskets and held in place by a tumpline across the forehead. The platform was at bum height so that the baskets, or packs, could be rested on them and the load taken off the body without having to get out of harness.
Will and Maya leaned against the porter platform and looked down across the narrow valley bottom. Below them was a scene that could have been from any time in the last three thousand years. A farmer was urging on his cow to pull a wooden plough while he put his weight on it to dig it deep into the soil it was turning. Behind the plough walked the farmer's wife dropping seeds into the furrows.
"Wow," said Maya, "like, time warp. Like is this the time of Christ or what?" The farmer and his wife were wearing layers of homespun cloth of a fashion at least three hundred years old.
"More modern than you thing," said Will. "Those are potatoes they are planting. They've been growing potatoes here for likely less than thirty years."
They rested and watched the ancient bucolic scene, the hard work, the efficiency, the simplicity, and then a phone rang and the farmer fished his cell phone out of his pocket.
It was yet another reminder that the third world was leaping into new technology without going through all the intermediate steps that the western world had gone through to reach the latest and greatest. There weren't enough people living in this valley to pay for running wires, but there were enough for a wireless connection.
The guide laughed at the look on their faces. "Further up the valley the cell signal is weak," he said, "so you must stand on your roof and point your phone south to make a connection. You always know when the girl's school has a holiday because there are a lot of girls standing on roofs."
* * * * *
The holy cave was at the north end of a south-facing valley, about a quarter mile off the trail. If they had continued on the trail it would have climbed steeply out of this pleasant little valley and over a pass and then dropped steeply into the next big valley of this mountain chain. The pass was still closed, and wouldn't be used by men or yaks for at least another two months.
The first sign of the holy place was a long porter bench and a stupa made from rubble and stone and strung in prayer flags. They left their gear on the bench and walked about yelling the 'namaste' greeting. There was no answer, so finally they split up and began exploring the three separate trails that went towards the steep side of the valley.
"What do you want of me?" A low voice spoke in accented English. Maya almost jumped out of her skin at the sound. She had been looking at the carvings on a twenty foot high boulder and wondering what they said.
She turned to face the voice. It was coming from behind the uphill side of the boulder. "Namaste," she said trying to say it without her voice shaking. "How do you know I want something of you?" As she watched, a small-framed person inched around the boulder, but kept to the deep shade so she could not make him out.
"Three people. One is a Gurkha guide, one is a barrel-chested man who marches like a soldier. If either had business with me they would not need you along. Therefore, it is you who has business with me."
She pulled the card out of her pocket and reached her hand forward with it. "I have a card for you. A Tibetan abbot gave it to me."
An old bald man dressed only in a loin cloth came out of the shadows slowly and reached out and took the card. He held the card in the bright sunlight and moved it back and forth from his eyes while he squinted at it. "This is me." He flipped it over. "Ah, the Rinpoche. I thought he was in the south."
"He is. He wrote that for me when he learned I was on my way to Dharamsala."
"He would not do such a thing, not unless there is great importance in your news."
"I have an aura. I am trying to find out about it." She said, deciding not to beat around the bush. The abbot had given her the name of this man, and now she wanted to know more about auras.
"Stand still," the old man ordered and then he walked slowly towards her. When within three feet, he put his palms forward and closed his eyes and moved forward inch by inch as a blind man would when he knew a door was nearby. "Ahh, there you are," he said after the third inch. "But that cannot be." He opened his eyes and stared. "You are still three feet away."
"Close your eyes again," she said softly. "No peeking." She backed quietly away from the man and she saw him peek. "I'm just backing away from you. Keep your eyes closed and be patient." When she was twelve feet away she reminded him not to peek, and then she undid the buttons of her shirt and pulled her arms out of the sleeves and let the shirt fall to her waist.
She closed her eyes, prayed her aura to strength, and crossed her right arm across her nipples and pointed her left palm towards the old man and then pushed pizza. She opened her eyes and watched for a response. It was almost immediate. The man held his arms high and bathed in her aura wit
h a wide smile on his face.
"May I open my eyes now," he said after he had opened his eyes. He measured the distance between them in his mind. "That is not possible," he told her in an accusing tone. "You are playing some trick on me. The range of auras is measured in inches, not in yards."
"It is no trick, old one. It is why I have come to talk to you about auras." She lowered her arms to put her shirt back on. There was a snicker from the shadow of a bush. She hurried to finish covering herself. When she was decent she called to the bushes. "Come out. We know you are there."
The guide tripped out from behind the bush. He was smirking and putting his phone away in his pocket. She glared at him. "Go and find Will," she dismissed him. "Wanker," she hissed at his back.
"You sound American, but you use an English word," the old man observed, "a spiteful word."
"He took a picture of me on his phone," she hissed.
"Boys his age are always horny. It is natural."
"It is natural to peek, like you were peeking. It is natural to admire, like you were admiring. It is not natural to take photos so you can share them on the Internet. That is obscene, unforgivable."
"The act of a cad," he finished for her.
"Another good English word. Thank you."
"Come and sit beside me in the sun," he said as he sat on a stone bench that was carved into the boulder. She sat. It was warm on the bench. The stone had stored the heat from the sun. "It is strange that you come to the mountains to find out about auras."
"How so?" she replied. She was still trying to place his accent. It wasn't Indian. It wasn't European. Or was it? He didn't look European. He didn't look Indian or Tibetan either. His face was that of an old man, yet his legs and arms were still well muscled, and his skin was not all wrinkly.
"Clothing blocks auras. You must know that. In cool climates, such as in these mountains, people are always clothed."
"The whole world is always clothed," she replied, "except for when they are at a beach, or a swimming pool, or having a shower."
"Ah yes, religious communities demand modesty, demand clothing. They keep sexual desire in check through modesty. A most unfortunate side effect is that auras wither and die. Child, if you wish to find knowledge of auras, it makes more sense to find a place where farmers still toil in just a loin cloth, and where history has been recorded since before modesty became so important."
"Umm, you are like, in a loin cloth."
"Ahh, but one else in this valley is so foolish. Go to the far south and live near farmers who reap two or three crops of rice from their paddies each year. It was the rice paddies, or rather the need to control water for the paddies, that required civilization to be invented."
"So why aren't you there? Why are you here?"
"Ahh, that is a long story, and here come your friends." He bowed to them and invited them into the cave. Inside it was immediately obvious why the old man was in just a loin cloth. Instead of being a typical icy mountain cave, it was warm. Not just the air was warm, but the rock walls radiated a warmth. Unfortunately there was an eggy smell to the air.
As their eyes became used to the dark, they realized it wasn't dark. There was a blue and yellow flame flickering from a crack in a rock. The guide bowed and picked up some red powder on a finger and marked his forehead with it.
Maya now recognized the eggy smell. It was sulphur. It was like the smell that they put in natural gas at home. But wait. That smell was added for safety. Natural gas has no smell. She looked at the old man and was about to ask the question, when behind him she saw steam rising from the floor. She stepped around him and looked down at a natural hot pool. She reached down to touch the water to see how warm it was.
"No," the old man yelled out and grabbed her hand away. "It is hot enough to scald. If you want to bath in it you must swap the bricks." He pointed up at another channel of water that spilled down beside the hot pool. By moving one brick you could divert the cold water into the hot pool.
"Is this one of them eternal flames?" Will asked. "Natural gas, or methane?"
"Eternal, yes, though it is sometimes blown out by the wind. The gas is poisonous, but you would be smothered by it before you would be poisoned by it. My holy calling is to make sure that the flame does not stay out long enough for the build up of gas to become a danger to pilgrims."
"And they pay you for that?"
"The pilgrims feed me. You are the first pilgrims of the year."
"You must be pretty hungry then," said Will. "So am I. Let's get introductions out of the way so we can eat. Do you have a stove anywhere? I have coffee and tea." He looked around for one of the wondrously efficient tiny charcoal stoves that locals created from stones and fired clay.
"My given name is Vidu. Well actually, Mohammed Vidu, but I use Vidu. Do not use the sulphur water for cooking for it will purge you. I use the eternal flame for heating things," said the old man bowing to the flame, "the eternal one provides."
He looked at Maya and told her, "While they boil water, we have time to explore our auras. Come with me to the far side of the pool. It is a comfortable place to sit with few clothes." Will was telling the guide something and the old man nodded towards the two men. "Do you trust those men enough to disrobe within their view?"
"The big one I trust with my life. The guide is just a boy." She had a thought and stepped towards Will and whispered into his ear, "He took some photos of me with his phone. Please ask him to delete them and to take no more."
Will nodded knowingly and grinned back at her. The old man had asked her to tie her hair up off her neck. Her grace and poise as she tied up her hair made even Will, who had been living with her for weeks, stare in wonder. He couldn't blame the lad for taking photos. She was slender and graceful and a delight to watch.
For thirty minutes, until they were called for food, she and the old man sat virtually naked in the lotus position. They sat back to back with an inch separating them from touching. She now understood why the old man wore just a loin cloth in this chilly mountain spring weather. The area where they were sitting was like a mild sauna. Not too warm and not too damp. Very pleasant, in fact. Almost like sitting in the shade of a palm tree on a beach in Goa.
The food was far from gourmet. White rice and lentils with strips of dried Buffalo steak. Yet when it was ready the old man shook himself out of his meditational trance and left the young woman still in hers, and rushed to the food.
Maya did not move, and all three men knew better than to call her out of a trance. She had just felt an aura almost as strong as hers. None that she had ever felt before today were even a tenth as strong as the old man's. She had just learned that when the backs of two necks are close together, the auras dash together with no heed for minds.
With the old man now gone, her mind was filled with dreams, thoughts, smells, sounds, and shapes. Her subconscious mind was too busy with them all to give any attention to her conscious mind. She was just an onlooker as her subconscious played with the new sensations.
Her conscious mind knew there was food, but couldn't gain control of her body to rise and search it out. It was as if her conscious mind were floating outside her body with no control at all over the muscles. She wanted it to end. She began to fear that she would never get back into her own body. This was becoming a nightmare.
His first eagerness for food now slightly sated, the old man looked over to the girl. She had not moved yet he could see the mists from the hot pool swirling around her. He felt suddenly guilty. She had not been prepared for a direct connection of auras. She would be lost in a trance. It must be almost an hour now. Too long. There was a real a risk of losing one's mind if it was separated too long from the body.
He walked quickly over to her and with his left hand, gently rubbed her sex. It was directly connected to the subconscious. This would warn the body to be alert. Then with his right hand he gently rubbed the back of her neck. This completed the circle, sex to neck.
She suddenly su
cked in a deep breath. Her first full whole breath for who knows how long. Her eyes bounced open, but they were not yet seeing. He let go of her sex and took her hand instead, and then whispered soothing words. Her eyes focused and she exhaled and then breathed normally.
"Welcome back," he said softly. "Do you need to lie down?"
"No, I need food. Is there banana bread? I kept smelling banana bread. It was delicious. I want some."
"That was the scent of my aura. An unfortunate scent. I am surprised I don't weight three hundred pounds. Every time I come out of a trance, my mouth is watering."
"No banana bread." She started to weep. Deeply sobbing weeping.
"Shh, now. Your subconscious has been in a turmoil not of its own making. Come and join us for some food." He looked at her and then looked around for something to cover her with. Not for cold, heavens no, her body was flushed. Something to cover her fair, flushed, full skin. Nubile was an English word that came to his mind to describe how she looked. Fertile was another.
Will had been watching and realized what the old man was looking for. He opened Maya's pack and pulled out a bundle of thin white gauze, her widow's cloak, and he passed it to the old man who shook it out and covered her with it. He then slowly stood her up, and gave her time for the feeling to rush back into her legs before he led her to food.
Eating, slowly eating, brought her back to this place and this time. She winked at the guide who had not stopped staring at her the whole time.
Will cleared his throat and announced that they would have to pack up and leave soon if they wanted to be back to the mill house before dark. The guide rose immediately to pack, knowing the truth of his words.
"You go," Maya said. "I am staying here."
"Not without me you're not. If you stay, so do I." Will was adamant. The guide sat down again.
"Will, what I must do here, I cannot do with you jingling your keys waiting. Go back to the mill house, or better yet, back to Dharamsala."