by Zoe May
The tears eventually dry up, the raw sadness passing. I dab my face dry and crawl out from under my mosquito net. I peer out of my treehouse and look towards the guesthouse. No one’s up and about yet. No one’s having their breakfast or enjoying their coffee in the sun. I look out over the treetops, taking in the lush blanket of palm trees, mango trees, willows and ferns. The sun’s rising, tinging the edges of a soft blue early morning sky. I spot a few chirping birds sitting on tree branches. I sit for a minute, just taking the view in. It’s funny to think that only a few days ago, I felt having to stay in a treehouse was a living hell, and now I feel quite grateful to be here. Blessed even. I can see now why Seb’s stuck around.
I grab some napkins I nicked from the main hall a few nights ago that I’ve been using as toilet paper and climb down my ladder. I walk through the gardens towards the toilets. Even the prospect of using the toilets isn’t as horrifying as it has been, although it’s still not exactly great. I don’t care how much this place grows on me, I’d still rather have a nice modern bathroom than a roofless hole in the ground. I use the loo as quickly as possible, trying not to dwell on the experience, and then check out my reflection in the mirror by the sinks. I look good. Well-rested, relaxed. My skin has a natural glow about it that I haven’t been able to achieve in recent months in London no matter how many high-end products I’ve been applying.
I splash a bit of cold water onto my face and head to the guesthouse kitchen to make a coffee. The birds are still chirping their early morning chorus but no one else has risen. The kitchen in the guesthouse isn’t much – just an old oven with a gas hob, a fridge and a couple of rickety shelves where everyone keeps their supplies. I still haven’t gotten around to finding the supermarket or buying anything, but I know which shelf is Seb’s and I figure he won’t mind too much if I help myself to some of his instant coffee.
I look around for a kettle, but there isn’t one, so I pour some water from a huge communal water dispenser into a saucepan. I light the hob and stand in front of it, waiting for the water to boil. I’d sort of hoped that Seb and I might have the kitchen to ourselves last night, when we got back from meditating. I’d hoped we could get to know each other better while we cooked, but there were a few other guests milling around – a 50-something American woman called Saskia who clearly has a soft spot for Seb since she kept touching his arm and calling him ‘sweetie’, and an extremely chatty Indian guy called Sayed. Sayed was lovely but he seemed to have no idea when to stop talking and spoke for about 45 minutes straight on the history of India’s railway system. Meera was also there, and now that she’s no longer laughing at me for wanting a WiFi password in an ashram, she’s really warm and sweet.
Meera and the others hung out with us while Seb made everyone a curry and we all sat outside together, eating and chatting. I’d sort of wanted to continue the conversation Seb and I had been having on the way back from the yoga studio, when he commented that I was ‘funny and sparky and full of life’. I wanted to find out more about his past – the experiences back home in Canada that led him to come here. He told me a few things about his background. He mentioned that he’d studied International Relations at The Sorbonne in Paris and used to want to be a government diplomat like his dad, but lost interest, getting swept up in the romanticism of Paris instead: drinking, dancing and chasing girls. He said he lost interest in working in politics but hasn’t quite found another career path that feels right for him, which is why he ended up in the travel industry. I wanted to dig deeper and find out more, but it was difficult, with Sayed going on and on about India’s rail network.
My water starts boiling and I remove the pan from the hob, turning the heat off. I grab a mug from the drying rack and spoon in some coffee, pouring in the steaming water. Instant coffee is a far cry from the Costa flat whites I pick up every morning back home on the way to the office, but it’s fine. Like my treehouse, I’m getting used to the quirky ways of life here.
I take my steaming mug outside and sit down at one of the picnic tables on the patio, the same one we had dinner at last night. A few items from our evening remain: a couple of burnt down candles, a pack of cards we never got around to playing, and a few leaflets Saskia left behind about life in the ashram. I pick one of them up. It lists workshops and events. Smirking slightly, I flick through it and check out today’s listings.
Tuesday March 17th
Nirvana Yoga Dance
Brazilian Dance Fighting
Hatha Yoga
Spiritual Ascension Snakes and Ladders
I snort as I read the last one. Spiritual Ascension Snakes and Ladders?! They have to be joking, right? Someone has to be having a laugh.
‘Morning!’
I look up to see Seb coming towards me, wearing just a small pair of shorts.
‘Oh, hey,’ I reply.
His hair is mussed up from sleep and he’s rubbing his eyes, looking like he literally just rolled out of bed. His small shorts don’t leave a lot to the imagination. Is he trying to torture me? He looks incredible. He has a six pack. Not even a six pack – an eight pack – with all these other muscles that I didn’t even know existed rippling across his sides. His pecs are perfectly defined. His skin is smooth and caramel brown and just…
‘What were you laughing at?’ Seb asks, glancing towards the leaflet in my hands, interrupting my ogling.
‘Oh, just one of the events on today,’ I comment, hoping he’s still too sleepy to realize just how much I was perving on him.
‘What event is that?’ Seb asks, yawning, as he lingers by the table.
‘Spiritual Ascension Snakes and Ladders!’ I scoff.
‘Oh, I’ve been to that. It’s not so bad,’ Seb tells me, sitting down opposite.
His bare knee brushes against mine. Painfully aware of the contact, I edge my knee away. I feel a little self-conscious. I’m still in my pajamas, my hair is a mess and I haven’t even washed my face properly. I definitely do not look my best and I’d really rather Seb didn’t see me like this. Unlike him, I require soap, a hairbrush and preferably a spot of make-up to look good. A grubby face, tangled locks, not to mention crumpled PJs, is definitely not the best look.
‘I don’t know… It sounds a bit ridiculous,’ I remark.
Seb smiles lopsidedly, causing one of his dimples to appear adorably on his cheek.
‘Well, it’s a little quirky for sure, but it was interesting. Snakes and Ladders is an ancient Indian game. It was originally called Moksha Patam,’ Seb explains. ‘It’s all about karma. The ladders are good karma and the snakes are associated with vices, like anger, theft, lust.’
I raise an eyebrow. ‘Right, I had no idea it was so deep!’
‘Yeah!’ Seb shrugs. ‘I feel I took something from it. Why don’t you check it out?’ he suggests.
‘I don’t know. It sounds a bit weird. I don’t think so.’
‘Oh, come on!’ Seb says, giving me an indulgent weary look. ‘You agreed that since you’re stuck here for two weeks, you may as well make the most of ashram life?’
‘But Spiritual Ascension Snakes and Ladders? That’s just too much!’ I protest.
‘It’s fun!’ Seb insists.
‘Hmm… I think hatha yoga sounds a bit more…’ I search for the right word, ‘sane.’
Seb laughs. ‘Well I think you should throw yourself in at the deep end,’ he remarks standing up, his knee brushing against mine once more.
‘They have hatha yoga in London. I bet they don’t have Spiritual Ascension Snakes and Ladders!’ he comments, before padding off to the kitchen, probably in need of coffee.
‘Yeah, for a good reason,’ I mutter as he walks away.
I look back down at the leaflet. Spiritual Ascension Snakes and Ladders? I mean, how batshit can this place get? And yet Seb does have a point. I can do hatha yoga any day of the week in London, but will I ever get to play Spiritual Ascension Snakes and Ladders back home? Hardly. But despite that, I can’t help rolling my eyes at
the thought. Surely there are other ways to connect with the ashram than playing really loopy versions of board games? The players will no doubt be a load of weird hippies. Maybe Seb’s right though. Maybe I should do unusual stuff while I’m here. When in an ashram in India and all that.
I flick through the leaflet, checking out what other weird stuff is on.
Past Life Regression Meditation
Ayurvedic Massage Training
Get in Touch with your Spirit Animal Workshop
I laugh out loud at the Spirit Animal Workshop. I read about that one online, but I barely believed it could actually be a thing.
‘What’s that?’ Seb asks, leaning through the open window of the kitchen.
‘There’s a workshop on getting in touch with your spirit animal!’ I tell him.
He sniggers, shaking his head. Even he can’t stay straight-faced at that one.
‘What do you think I am?’ he asks, still leaning out of the window.
‘What?’ I reply, unsure what he means.
‘What do you think my spirit animal would be?’ he asks, smiling, eyeing me expectantly.
The first animal that pops into my mind is a lion: beautiful, striking and strong, but I feel too embarrassed to admit that to him. Lions are majestic. Lions are captivating. They’re enchanting. Is it flirting if I tell him he reminds me of a lion? Surely if I admit that he’ll know I’m attracted to him.
‘Erm, I don’t know, maybe a…’ I pause, trying to think of an animal that isn’t flirtatious. ‘A badger?’ I suggest.
Seb’s face falls.
‘A badger?’ he echoes.
‘Yeah, I don’t know… A badger.’ I shrug.
‘Oh, right, okay…’ Seb murmurs, looking crestfallen.
He smiles weakly and steps back into the shadows of the kitchen.
Oh no! He’s clearly really upset. A badger was not the right choice. Couldn’t I have said something cool like a wolf or a shark? Something masculine and powerful but not flirty? Why did I come out with a badger?! I feel like such a bitch. Especially after how sweet Seb’s been to me, helping me get settled in the ashram, letting me use his computer, trying to teach me meditation, cooking for me. Not to mention his compliments last night. He tells me how funny and sparky and full of life I am, and I return the compliment by telling him he reminds me of a badger? What is wrong with me?!
I take a sip of my coffee, feeling terrible. I try to think about something else and let the awkwardness of what just happened go, but I can’t. I’m acutely aware of Seb in the kitchen behind me, making his coffee or whatever else he’s preparing, feeling like the human equivalent of a badger. I need to patch things up.
I take another sip and get up, venturing into the kitchen.
Seb smiles awkwardly as I wander in, but quickly looks back down at the egg he’s scrambling.
‘Erm, Seb?’ I say.
‘Yep?’ he replies, although he keeps his eyes fixed on the pan.
‘I, umm, I…’ I stammer.
What am I meant to say? I didn’t mean to call you a badger. How ridiculous does that sound?
‘I… I wanted to say that really, I think your spirit animal is a lion, but I felt too embarrassed to admit that and then badger came out,’ I tell him.
Seb turns to me, and looks at me, quite intently, as though checking how sincere I am. He must realize I’m telling the truth, because the tension dissipates from his eyes and his expression relaxes.
‘Why would you be embarrassed to tell me you think I’m a lion?’ he asks, as he takes his pan from the hob.
‘Because lions are beautiful,’ I comment, thinking of his eyes, his smile, his chest, his dimples, as he tips his egg onto his plate.
I gulp. I feel like I’ve just confessed my undying love for him. I feel like I’ve propositioned him. My comment hangs in the air between us.
Lions are beautiful.
You are beautiful.
Seb places his pan down and looks at me, his eyes wide, tender, piercing.
‘Thank you,’ he says. He smiles, holding my gaze.
Thank you. Is that it? I feel like I’ve just laid my heart bare. I’ve told him how I really feel and all he has to say is ‘thank you’? God. Is this what a year of celibacy does to a man? If I were to do a striptease right here, right now, slathering my body in ayurvedic massage oil, would he just smile and say ‘thank you’?
‘No worries!’ I reply.
Seb’s toast pings out of the toaster.
‘A lion’s way better than a badger. No offence to badgers!’ Seb comments, as he reaches for it.
‘Totally!’ I agree, still full of shame, bristling with rejection. ‘Right, I’m going to go and get ready for the, err, Snakes and Ladders. See you later,’ I babble as I edge towards the door.
‘Do you want company? At Snakes and Ladders?’ Seb asks, placing his toast on his plate.
‘Nope. No, it’s cool! I’m good. You, err… do your thing!’ I smile way too artificially, but Seb doesn’t seem to notice.
He’s too distracted by trying to find a knife and fork in the cutlery drawer, which I discovered last night is a disordered mess of utensils.
‘Okay, I was going to go to the gym anyway,’ Seb comments, not looking up from the drawer.
‘Sounds good, enjoy!’ I urge him as he pulls out a fork.
‘Bingo!’ he says, grinning, completely oblivious to my embarrassment.
‘Cool!’ I laugh as I skulk off to my treehouse.
Chapter Twelve
‘Namaste,’ a woman dressed in white ashram robes greets me, holding her hands together in prayer.
I smile and awkwardly mirror her gesture.
‘Namaste,’ I reply, without much conviction.
‘I’m Amala. I’m waiting for the rest to arrive and then we’ll start the game,’ she tells me in a soft slow voice with traces of a German accent.
‘Great! I’m Rachel,’ I reply, almost reaching for a handshake before stopping myself.
I really need to stop trying to shake hands with people in the ashram.
‘Welcome, Rachel,’ Amala smiles beatifically. ‘Please make yourself comfortable.’
She gestures for me to enter the hut behind her.
‘Thank you,’ I reply.
I wander into the hut. It’s adorned with wall-hangings, embellished with shards of mirror that dazzle with the reflection of dozens of tea lights, flickering around the room. The Snakes and Ladders board is laid out on the floor, with half a dozen cushions placed around it. A couple of players are already sitting cross-legged, waiting for the game to begin. One of them, a woman, who looks around my age, is sitting with her eyes closed, breathing deeply, as though in an intense meditation. A man with long scraggly dreadlocks sits next to her and gives me a friendly smile.
‘Hello,’ he whispers. ‘Welcome.’
‘Hi,’ I whisper back, smiling as I sit down on the cushion next to him.
Hypnotic windchime music plays in the background.
I take a look at the Snakes and Ladders board. It’s nothing like the ones I remember from my childhood, and is covered in illustrations of gods, angels and demons. Seb was right, the slides do represent vices, with each one adorned with symbols of doom – hellish flames, ghoulish demons, scary spiders, deathly skulls and ominous bats. The ladders, on the other hand, are decorated with butterflies, angels, flowers, sun beams and doves.
‘Wow!’ I remark, glancing at the dreadlock guy.
He smiles.
‘It’s a special game,’ he says. ‘First time?’
‘Yes,’ I reply.
‘You’ll enjoy it,’ he promises.
‘Hope so!’ I say, although I’m still struggling to see what all the fuss is about.
It’s just Snakes and Ladders after all. I only played it as a kid when I was bored and it was so-so then, how great can it be these days? Even if the board is quite pretty.
We sit in silence for a few minutes as the sound of the music washes
over us, the candles twinkling. I have to admit, the atmosphere of the room is quite relaxing. An incense stick burns in the corner, emitting a fragrant lavender scent. I begin to feel quite relaxed, when none other than Paul walks into the hut.
Paul.
I gawp at him, eyes wide. He stops in his tracks, staring back at me.
The pale girl that accompanied him in the main hall the other night wanders in after him with Amala.
Amala looks between me and Paul.
‘Is everything okay?’ she asks.
I consider getting up and bolting, but I got here first. Surely, he should leave?
‘It’s fine,’ Paul grumbles, shooting me a look before sitting down on the cushion furthest from me.
I glance towards the exit of the hut. Should I make a run for it? But as I’m considering escaping, Amala sits down next to me and smiles widely, gesturing expansively around the group.
‘Thank you for coming to share in this wonderful experience,’ she enthuses, her eyes sparkling. ‘I am so grateful to have you all here.’
I smile weakly back, feeling resigned. I can’t make a run for it now, that would just be rude.
The pale girl settles down next to Paul, adjusting a long cotton scarf that’s got caught under her leg. She pulls it free and then places her hand proprietorially on Paul’s leg. She shoots me a cold, smug, mean look, as though to say, ‘He’s mine now.’
I gawp back and look to Paul. He glances back at me with a guilty expression. The anger that was in his eyes the other day is replaced with a look that’s even more cutting: guilt. He looks genuinely contrite and I realize with a pang that he’s moved on. He’s with this pale girl. He’s moved on from me. Just a few weeks after dumping me, he’s found someone else: a bitchy, hippy girl.
I can’t believe it. We were together for six years. Six years! And he’s just moved on, like our relationship meant nothing. We had a home together. A history. I thought he was going to propose to me, for goodness sake. So much for winning him back.