It completely takes my breath away. It feel as powerful as the static electricity that zapped though me on that very first day when Jon and I met and shook hands in my office.
I can only describe it as some divine power connecting me to the river.
In that moment, I truly believe there is something more than life and death.
I begin to laugh and to feel what I can only describe as deep joy and incredible gratitude.
I realise how lucky I am to have known such a great love in my lifetime.
We’d only had a few short months together but when love is eternal it lasts forever.
I know without any doubt in my heart that I haven’t lost Jon.
He’s still with me because I carry him in my heart.
But now my heart feels light. I feel embraced and comforted.
Is this my divine connection? My Moksha? My something?
I do know that in that special moment I feel India all around me.
And I no longer see my sorrow as a terrible punishment, but as a very precious gift.
Chapter 11
The Rishikesh Express
Rishikesh railway station is on a quiet branch line and so travelling back to Delhi by train means first taking a much slower train to the bigger and much busier station at Haridwar Junction. When I arrive at Haridwar, despite the early hour, I can see it’s already packed with passengers who are intent on cramming themselves into or onto the first train of the day. But, unlike my fearful impressions of last week, this week I can see some sort of order where once I only saw chaos. I can hear voices yelling words of greeting rather than spouting aggression and mayhem. Right now, my terrified inauguration into India feels like it was a lifetime ago.
The station building is attractive in its old colonial style and is painted brick red and bright white. The train, standing at platform three, with its boxy carriages and traditional livery, is the exact same one that I would have arrived on a week ago, had my original travel plans worked out. But this time, I already have my ticket in my hand, booked online thanks to Swami Nanda letting me have the Wi-Fi code. It had apparently always been available to anyone upon request because the rule about no internet only applies to the shala and not the entire ashram. It was a high-speed connection too.
And to think that on Belle’s word alone I’d been paying a ridiculous amount of rupees in town to get online for just a few minutes on a connection so slow it only ever allowed me to fire off a quick email to my sister and never to get onto Facebook or Instagram to upload any of my photos. How very frustrating!
Swami Nanda advised me to avoid the very first train of the day to Delhi as it’s the cheaper option and so understandably the choice of many. But it stops at every station en route and therefore the journey takes over eight hours.
I need to get from Rishikesh to Delhi in half that time as my flight to Hong Kong leaves tonight so I’ve paid just a few rupees more to take the Rishikesh express train, more affectionally known as the Yoga Express, that will depart in half an hour from platform nine.
I buy a cup of delicious hot chai and sit watching the latecomers arriving for the first train.
Some pour out from other trains screeching into other platforms. I see hawkers equipped with mobile kitchens clashing with passengers on the bridges, offering fragrant breakfast options of momos (steamed dumplings) and dosas (pancakes with a spicy filling) to those who are breakfasting on the go. Those who spill from trucks and tuk-tuks in the station carpark I see rushing straight into a general store on the opposite side of the street to stock up on essentials for their long journey. Then with their snacks and drinks hurriedly bought, they dash back across the street, dicing with death and traffic, dragging their luggage and often very small children, racing past all the roadside stalls selling flower garlands, trinkets, candles, and incense sticks, in through the station’s main entrance doors, passing under an enormous statue of Lord Shiva, all while dodging several other garlanded statues and a life-sized effigy of an elephant, to join the jostling, colourful, and enthusiastic masses in the ticket line.
I consider how far I’ve come in such a short time and how much less intimidated I feel now in large crowds, on packed trains and around strangers, when just one week ago this would have all seemed impossible for me. If I believed in such things, I’d say it’s a miracle.
Like a pro traveller I calmly regard the sights and sounds all around me.
When the first train departs, leaving the station with as many people holding on to it as are contained inside it, I take this as a cue to head to my platform before the next last-minute crush.
I join in with the surge and hold my breath against the pungent aromas of stale beer and cigarettes, and whatever everyone around me has eaten for breakfast this morning, as we all inch forward across the causeway. My backpack suddenly feels heavier on my shoulders, as I wane and ebb in the tide of people now walking at a snail’s pace up the steps and across the pedestrian bridge. I feel someone behind me touching my hair, so I retaliate by turning to give them a glare, only to receive a delighted smile in return. Someone on my right side is elbowing me in the ribs but I stand my ground with gritty determination and discreetly check to make sure I still have my phone, cash and passport on me.
I see the station’s clock showing only minutes to go before departure.
I finally break free and escape onto the platform, showing my ticket just as a shrill whistle pierces the air. I climb up the steps onto the train and into the carriage to find it’s filling up fast with saffron-robed monks, migrant workers, local families, and backpackers like me.
I quickly scan the available seats and the faces of the passengers already seated. On Belle’s advice I look for a safe seat amongst a family group or next to another woman and I immediately spot a young blonde-haired woman with an empty seat next to her.
I head there to place my backpack on the overhead shelf and slide quickly into the seat beside her. Scoring a seat close to a working ceiling fan suddenly feels like winning the lottery. The woman looks at me and gives me a friendly smile and so I introduce myself.
‘Hi, I’m Maya,’ I say and she tells me her name is Maddy.
I’m guessing from the distinct twang in her accent that, like Belle, she’s also an American.
Maddy immediately spots the henna tattoo of a lotus flower I have on my wrist and she shows me she has a similar one. As the train starts moving out of the station, she keeps our conversation going by telling me that she’s just spent a month in an ashram in Rishikesh (there are actually over a hundred ashrams in the town and all along the banks of the holy river) and she’s now headed to Delhi for a couple of days’ sightseeing before moving on to Agra to see the Taj Mahal and then on to Jaipur before heading south to the beaches of Goa.
‘Ah … so you’re doing the Golden Triangle!’ I’m impressed. She’s probably in her mid-twenties and has the whole world in her hands.
‘Yeah. I know they’re the busiest and most visited cities in India, but I really want to go.’
‘And why not? I’d love to go too. But, regrettably, my own itinerary doesn’t allow for it.’
I ask Maddy how long she expects to be in Goa and where else she plans on travelling.
‘I’m planning to do a yoga teacher training course while I’m in Goa. Then, I’m kinda hoping that teaching yoga will fund my travels for the rest of the year. I’m told there’s lots of studios and holistic retreats needing qualified yogis throughout Asia, although I’d eventually like to end up in Australia, before heading back home. Then I’d have literally travelled the world.’
‘Good for you. I wish I’d done a gap year when I was your age,’ I tell her encouragingly.
To my surprise she suddenly turns away to look out of the window and from her reflection in the glass, I can see she’s biting her lower lip to stop it trembling and looks to be fighting back tears.
Despite her confident chatter and her exciting plans, she suddenly seems overwhelmed
.
I feel a great rush of empathy for this young woman because now she looks to be just as lost and lonely and scared as I was only a week ago. My heart aches for her and I’m reminded of the wise words of Guru J, who insisted we don’t meet people by accident as they are meant to cross our path for a reason. That you need them to help you … or they need you to help them.
Does Maddy need my help I wonder? How can I best help her?
‘You know, they say there are two types of visitor to India,’ I declare, to continue our chat.
She turns to me, trying to smile at what she anticipates to be a joke, but she’s stifling back a sob. ‘Is it the tourist and the traveller?’ she suggests to me.
‘No. It’s those who are lost and those who are found,’ I tell her empathetically.
‘Yet not all who wander are lost …’ she countered, quoting Tolkien to me with her eyes shining through her tears. We laugh together. She’s blinking rapidly to try to hide her embarrassment and then looks down at her clasped hands. I realise she’s staring at the small sapphire ring on her finger and she’s twisting it around and around anxiously.
Right now, I’m feeling hyper-sensitive to her resonating energies.
‘So, Maya, tell me how long you expect to be travelling in India?’
‘Oh, I’m not. I mean, I’ve been here for a week, but I’m leaving for Hong Kong tonight.’
‘Oh, how fabulous. Hong Kong will be amazing! Are you there for business or pleasure?’
‘I’m actually on my honeymoon.’ I tell her with what I hope is an engaging smile.
She looks at me while wiping away an errant tear from her cheek.
Our conversation has stilted with confusion and so she turns away to look out of the window again. I pop in my earphones and decide to listen to the mantra I’ve downloaded.
I also want to rest a while and block out the multitude of voices and background noise on the train, so I can continue to train my thoughts on being mindful. But, instead, I’m thinking about this woman sitting next to me. Maddy seems so lost but what can I possibly do about that? How can I help? I run my fingers over my chakra bead bracelet in desperation.
* * *
After travelling for another hour, we get chatting again.
‘Maya, I’ve just been thinking …’ she tells me. ‘If your husband is travelling in another carriage, then let me swap seats with him. Then you can both sit together. I really don’t mind.’
‘Oh, that’s very kind. But there’s no need. You see, I’m on our honeymoon but alone.’
She looks at me with wide eyes and an open mouth. ‘Oh, Maya. I’m so sorry to hear that!’
‘Thank you. But to explain, my fiancé died a few weeks ago, just before we got married. And, as the honeymoon was all arranged, I decided that for better or worse, I should go on it anyway because it’s what he would have wanted me to do. And, after being here in India, I’ve learned that I’m never really alone or without him because I’ll always carry him in my heart.’
I press my palm to my chest and realise how far I’ve come in just one week.
Thousands of miles physically, light years emotionally. I almost feel euphoric.
‘Oh, goodness. That’s incredibly brave of you. I had noticed your beautiful diamond ring.’
‘I can’t bring myself to take it off,’ I admit, ‘But staying at the ashram has really helped me to come to terms with what happened and my feelings about losing him so very suddenly. What about you, Maddy? I couldn’t help but notice that you too are wearing a ring.’
I indicate the diamond on the third finger of her left hand.
She exhales as if releasing stress and shakes her head as though trying to clear her thoughts.
‘My fiancé … well, he didn’t die.’
I see her blush and struggle to find her words. ‘Like you, Maya, I’m still trying to find the courage to take it off and it’s not because I’m feeling especially sentimental but mostly because I’m not sure whether to throw it away, give it away, or sell it. I bet it’s worth quite a bit.’
‘Well, if it doesn’t have sentimental value I’d sell it. It’ll help fund your travels,’ I told her.
‘I’m kinda worried that if I sell it then I’d be inviting bad karma,’ she explains.
I smile and nod and think it’s very perceptive of her to think of the karma aspect.
‘You could sell it and give the money to charity?’ I offer as an alternative solution.
She smiles. ‘Yeah, I like that idea. You know, Maya, until we got talking, I was feeling very alone. In the ashram, with all the silence and the quiet time for contemplation, it’s been really tough making any real connections with other people. I’ve found it quite isolating.’
‘I’m so glad you said that because I felt the same way,’ I say with a laugh. ‘I felt like the noble silence was akin to giving people the silent treatment. If you can’t talk for most of the day then it’s hardly conducive to making new friends!’ I tell her how I’d met Belle and we’d communicated secretly and Maddy laughs and says she thinks it was all very ingenious.
I still feel it was more disingenuous and so I still feel terribly guilty.
Maddy takes out a bag of sweet Indian Petha candy and offers me one.
It was then I realise her issue was simply that she’d wanted to talk and had no one to listen.
‘Maya, I hope you don’t mind me saying this but I honestly thought I was dealing with the worst kind of wedding day tragedy ever. But now I feel yours is so much worse than mine.’
Perhaps feeling she hadn’t phrased that comment sympathetically she quickly apologises.
‘Oh … my goodness. I’m sorry. That sounded terrible. I’m actually embarrassed right now.’
‘It’s okay. Really,’ I assure her, deciding this might be the perfect moment to offer her my help. ‘Look, Maddy. Would it help you to talk about what happened?’
She shrugs as if reluctant to share her story with a stranger, but her eyes say something different.
‘Oh, Maya. Thank you but it’s a very long story.’
‘And we are on this train for a very long time so go ahead. I’m listening.’
‘You’re right, I would like to talk about it. I hope you don’t mind me saying this, because I mean it as a compliment, but you remind me so much of my mom.’
‘Come on. Tell me about him. What’s his name? How did you meet him?’
Chapter 12
‘His name is Theo and he is … was … the most amazing man I’ve ever met. And by amazing, I mean good-looking, smart, funny. He honestly rocked my world.’ Maddy shook her head as if she couldn’t quite believe how mistaken she’d been and then she shrugged her slim shoulders.
‘And I fell for him big time. I mean, he literally knocked me off my feet when I bumped into him at my cousin’s birthday party. And, all that corny cliché stuff about falling in love at first sight, well that actually happened to me. My stomach fluttered. My heart flipped. I just knew … I mean, I thought, he was … the one.’
I nodded and sighed. ‘Yes. I’m afraid love at first sight is a very real thing.’
Tears sparkled in her eyes. ‘I was so happy. I thought my life would only make sense if I shared it with him. We dated for a while. I moved in. He proposed. I cancelled all my own plans for the entire summer and for the rest of my life and said yes to him. I was such an idiot!’
‘What plans did you cancel?’ I asked, thinking this was something she particularly regretted.
‘An archeologically internship in Egypt. It was meant to be the experience of a lifetime. And a chance for me to go on and do my PhD afterwards. What on earth was I thinking?’
I raised my eyes in real surprise. ‘Wow. And what got you into something like archaeology?’
‘I lived with my dad in Arizona until I was sixteen. Then, for the sake of my education, I moved to London to live with my mum. I worked hard at college and went to university to study Geology. And then, after ge
tting my degree, I went on to do my master’s in Anthropology. I’ve always loved history and science and I’ve worked towards getting an internship like this all my life. Then … I just let it all go.’
‘Is it really too late? Couldn’t you get back in touch and ask to do the internship?’
‘They’ve already offered it to someone else. I was told to apply again next year.’
‘Okay. Well, at least that’s something. It also explains why you’re now doing a gap year.’
She nodded and twisted her ring around her finger again.
‘So … tell me what happened on your wedding day?’ I ventured.
‘I was just about to leave for the church with my mum and my bridesmaids when I heard a couple of pings from my phone. I distinctly remember saying I wasn’t going to look at my phone again for the whole day. But then I was worried it might be a message from my dad. He’d already messaged an hour before to say his flight had got in late and he was going to meet us at the church. And then Cassie, my best friend and chief bridesmaid, passed the phone over to me.’ Maddy gritted her jaw and her eyes turned cold as she recalled the details.
‘Only it wasn’t my dad this time. It was a text from a number I didn’t recognise. I opened it anyway and I read it and it said: Congratulations. You’re welcome to him. And I felt my heart skip a beat. I was confused, wondering what it was all about.’
‘You’re welcome to him? What did that mean?’
‘Well, at first I thought Theo had a jealous ex-girlfriend who was out to try and spoil our wedding day. But then I saw a series of screen shots and I realised they were all text messages between Theo and another woman. Some were dated a couple of weeks before and some only a few days ago. I decided that this couldn’t be my Theo.’
Poor girl! I sighed and couldn’t help but think back on what Belle had told me about her wedding day too.
I’d thought my own wedding day situation, although unique, had never happened to anyone but me. This was clearly not the case. Wedding day disasters must happen all the time.
The Backpacking Bride (The Backpacking Housewife, Book 3) Page 11