by Zoe May
I shake my head. ‘He’s already moved on.’
Seb shoots me a curious look and I explain about Paul’s new girlfriend and how they were together at Spiritual Ascension Snakes and Ladders.
Seb grimaces. ‘God, I’m sorry,’ he says.
‘It’s okay. I think it finally dawned on me that we really are over. And not just because he says so. I think I’m getting over it now too,’ I muse. ‘Paul said he needed time to be on his own and think, but he’s just latched onto someone new straight away. It’s hurtful, but it’s also just made me respect him less. It’s like he can’t stand on his own two feet for five minutes.’
‘And how do you feel? Do you need time alone too?’ Seb asks, looking into my eyes.
In spite of everything, I feel a frisson of electricity as I hold his gaze. I search his blue eyes, trying to figure out how he feels. He’s meant to be celibate and yet, he’s holding my gaze in that intense, penetrating way. Does he care about me needing time alone simply because he’s concerned about my well-being or is he asking because he might be interested in me? It feels like the latter, but maybe I’m deluded.
‘I… I…’ I hesitate, trying to find the right response.
‘Rachel!’ A voice interrupts my thoughts. It sounds like Meera.
Grateful for the interruption, I place my empty mug down and crawl across my treehouse, pulling back the curtain. I peer out to see Meera standing below, gazing up.
‘Hey! I was going to head out for some food soon. Thought I’d go to a restaurant. Do you want to come?’ she asks.
‘Oh, I’m with Seb,’ I tell her.
Meera wiggles her eyebrows mischievously. ‘Oh really?’
I smile but decide to ignore her implications.
‘Come up,’ I suggest, beckoning her to climb the ladder.
‘Are you sure?’ Meera wiggles her brows again.
‘Yes, I’m sure!’ I laugh, rolling my eyes.
‘Okay!’ Meera giggles, climbing up.
Seb sits up, making himself look a lot less leisurely and relaxed, as though he’s also self-conscious about us appearing too intimate.
Meera pokes her head into the treehouse.
‘You’re both clothed! That’s something,’ she teases, climbing in.
‘Of course, we’re clothed!’ I tut, laughing.
‘Okay, okay!’ Meera trills as she crawls across the treehouse, joining us on the cushions, eyeing them approvingly.
‘I just thought you two might have finally got together, you know,’ she says.
‘Finally?’ I balk, feeling my cheeks flush. ‘Seb and I have only known each other a few days!’
Meera gives me and Seb a knowing look. Seb affects a casual expression, but his ever-so-slightly blushing cheeks give him away.
‘Oh, come on! You guys clearly have a connection! Everyone’s noticed,’ Meera insists.
I laugh awkwardly. Everyone’s noticed? By everyone, she can only really mean a handful of people at the guesthouse, but still! The thing is, though, Meera is probably just projecting. I ran into her husband in the kitchen the other day, an American guy called Fred who left his job as a trader in Seattle to relocate to the ashram ten years ago, where he met Meera. He’s a shy, dreamy character and I got the impression he likes to keep himself to himself, but he said hello to me and explained how he came to the ashram, fell in love and never left. I think Meera expects everyone else’s stories to be as romantic.
‘We’re just friends!’ I tell her.
‘And I’ve taken a vow of celibacy,’ Seb adds.
My ears prick up. He didn’t outright deny having a connection with me. Or even deny wanting to sleep with me. Is his vow the only thing stopping him?
‘Oh yeah,’ Meera grumbles. ‘Your celibacy pledge.’
I smile at Meera, mentally giving her a high five. As much as I respect everyone’s reasons for being at the ashram and engaging in self-discovery, Seb’s pledge is kind of irritating. What’s it even achieving? Surely sex can be about different things with different people? He may have engaged in some regrettable flings back when he was a ski instructor, but alcohol isn’t even available here at the ashram and sex between us wouldn’t be regrettable anyway, it would be great.
‘I swore off sex for a year and I’m only five months in,’ Seb reminds us.
Meera gives me a sympathetic smile.
‘I just think if you connect with someone, it’s a shame not to go for it. Life is for living!’ she insists.
I laugh, loving how unfiltered Meera is. She’s right though, life is for living! I look over at Seb, curious to see how he reacts. Is he going to deny our connection? Admit it? Give up his pledge? But he just smiles mysteriously.
‘So, if you guys aren’t busy, shall we go and get some food?’ Meera suggests.
‘Sure!’ I reply.
Seb concurs and we climb out of the treehouse. We leave our empty chai cups in the kitchen and set off for the restaurant, chatting about our days as we walk. The sun is beginning to set, the sky taking on a tinged look. I realize sunset and sunrise are my favorite times of day here.
‘So where is this place?’ I ask, as we get further and further away from the guesthouse.
‘It’s my uncle’s place. It’s outside the ashram, but it’s not far. It’s worth the walk, trust me,’ Meera insists, smiling encouragingly.
‘It is worth it!’ Seb concurs, having clearly already paid a visit. ‘Their parathas are incredible.’
‘Cool!’ I reply, pretending I know what parathas are.
I think they’re like chapatis, but I’m not entirely sure. Seb and Meera chat about the restaurant while I daydream, my mind wandering to Seb. I can’t seem to help myself. I think about kissing him, connecting with him, touching him. I need to stop obsessing! Maybe he’s got the right idea taking a vow of celibacy. Perhaps I should do the same, because I clearly have sex on the brain.
I contemplate this, feeling uneasy, when I spot Blossom, Paul’s new squeeze, coming towards us, with a couple of others, all of them wearing the white ashram robes.
I quickly divert my gaze, but it’s too late. Blossom has clocked me and turns to her friends. She whispers something and they all look towards me, smirking. So much for enlightened. I feel like I’m back at school dealing with mean girls.
I decide to take the high ground and carry on walking with my head held high, tuning them out.
I breathe a sigh of relief once they’re safely behind us
‘Who was that?’ Meera asks in a hushed voice once they’re out of earshot.
I explain how I met Blossom and how she tried to make out that I wasn’t sufficiently enlightened to win Spiritual Ascension Snakes and Ladders.
‘I mean, sorry, but what is so enlightened about wearing crappy white robes and having a dumb name like Blossom?! That doesn’t make you spiritual!’ I rant.
Meera nods. ‘It’s Guru Hridaya. He makes them think they have to wear those robes in order to reach a higher plane of consciousness. He claims it’s all about relinquishing the ego, but really it’s just about stripping people of their personalities,’ Meera muses, looking oddly sad.
I haven’t seen her appear anything other than cheerful and happy and cheeky ever since I arrived in the ashram. The sad, resigned look on her face comes as a surprise.
‘What do you mean?’ I press her.
‘Guru Hridaya. He doesn’t actually care about enlightenment or helping people achieve some sort of higher state. All he cares about is money. All these westerners come here, feeling lost. They’re usually going through something, looking for answers. The guru offers them some guidance, support. He’s like a father figure. He tells them what to do – wear these white robes, meditate, eat this food, do this kind of yoga, and they just do it, thinking they’re becoming spiritual,’ Meera explains.
I sigh, realizing how easily taken in people can be.
‘Once you’ve been here a few weeks, Guru Hridaya’s followers start asking you to do wor
k to contribute to the ashram. They call it a form of meditation – “selfless sacrifice”. The guests are already so brainwashed by that point that they do it. The don’t realize it’s just free labor. It’s crazy,’ Meera adds.
‘What kind of work do they do?’ I ask, feeling shocked.
‘Everything! Cleaning, cooking, gardening. And then once they’ve been here a while, they’re given a laptop and told to reach out to other Westerners online, convincing them to come over here,’ Meera explains.
‘Really?’ I balk, thinking back to the ashram’s website, which was packed full of useful information and even had a chat service.
Looking back, it was an oddly efficient site for an ashram. I didn’t really think about it at the time. I’d assumed that whoever was running the site was paid, but it must just have been some gullible guest, being exploited.
‘Ultimately Guru Hridaya just wants loads of lost Westerners to come here and work for him for free,’ Meera says.
‘But why?’ I ask.
‘It’s about money. It’s as simple as that. Once you’ve been here for a while, he pressures you to make a donation to the ashram. People are so brainwashed by that point that they donate thousands. Sometimes their entire life savings. They beg their families for money. He tells them the donations are essential to continue the spiritual work that the ashram’s doing, but it’s all bullshit,’ Meera sneers.
‘That’s crazy,’ I comment, in shock.
I may not have been on board with a lot of the goings-on at the ashram, but I didn’t realize things were quite so sinister. Is this what’s going to happen to Paul? Is he going to end up donating a ton of money to a corrupt guru and becoming an unpaid brainwashed slave? Should I warn him?
‘It’s a scam,’ Meera sighs. ‘He just keeps all the money.’
We walk a few paces, the sky darkening as I take what they’re saying in.
‘Why do you stay here then? If things are so messed up…’ I ask.
Meera shrugs. ‘I like it here. It’s beautiful, right?’ She looks at me for confirmation as we amble along the path.
I nod. This place is truly beautiful. I’ve never been as touched by the beauty of nature as I have been during the past few days since I got here.
‘So, the fact that this place is a scam doesn’t bother you?’ I question.
Meera does a head wobble. ‘A bit, but a lot of the Westerners are happy here, even though this place isn’t as authentic or spiritual as they’d like to think. I just do my own thing. I mind my own business. I run my guesthouse my way. I stay out of Guru Hridaya’s way and he stays out of mine. There are different rules for Indians. We don’t get hassled. We lived on this land before the ashram came along,’ Meera explains.
‘Fair enough,’ I reply, still feeling bamboozled by what she’s said.
I look to Seb, who appears completely unphased, as though he’s already fully aware of the situation.
‘How do you feel about Guru Hridaya?’ I ask, a little surprised at his seemingly cavalier demeanor.
The ashram may be beautiful, but Meera’s take on it does put a negative slant on things. How can Seb be so focused on spiritual enlightenment in a place that’s corrupt? According to Meera’s description of the kind of Westerners the guru targets, Seb fits the bill perfectly. He’s a little lost. He’d been struggling back home. He’s looking for clarity, a new path, direction. And yet even though he’s determined to find a sense of enlightenment, he doesn’t seem to have been sucked in by Guru Hridaya at all.
‘I’m interested in some of the things Guru Hridaya talks about, but I’m reading spiritual texts from lots of different thinkers – Buddha, Rumi, the Dalai Lama, Deepak Chopra, Eckhart Tolle… I’m just enjoying being here. I’m reading, reflecting. I’m doing my own thing,’ Seb insists.
I smile at him, feeling totally convinced. Seb is an independent spirit. I’ve been able to see that since we first met. He wears a New York Yankees cap in an ashram for goodness sake! He may be going through a slightly challenging period of his life, but he’s not totally lost. He’s still got his head screwed on and it’s clear he’s not going to become brainwashed or get exploited. Yet, although I feel reassured about Seb, I’m a little worried about Paul. Paul seems a bit more vulnerable. After all, he immediately found a new girlfriend. What if he finds solace in Guru Hridaya too?
We leave the ashram and walk along a main road, alongside the sea. The sky has darkened now, but it’s still warm out. The road is pitted with potholes, which we weave around. Cars intermittently speed past us, and the sea stretches into the distance, waves crashing against the shore.
‘There it is,’ Meera says, pointing into the distance at a roadside joint, with an outdoor oven and half a dozen tables laid out under the sky. Most of them are occupied with a combination of locals and Westerners.
‘The food is amazing,’ Meera enthuses.
‘It really is,’ Seb insists.
As we approach, Meera’s uncle, emerges from the kitchen and greets us, chatting to Meera in Hindi. She tells me and Seb to go and find a table as she catches up with him.
There’s only one table free and Seb and I sit down opposite each other. The sun has fully set now, the sky thick with darkness. I look out into the distance, towards the ocean. It’s so dark and the streetlights are so sparse that I can barely see anything, just a faint glimmer of the moon reflected on the water.
I look around at the other diners sitting at their tables. They seem relaxed, at ease, chatty. The atmosphere is more laid back than the ashram. No one is wearing the weird ashram robes. A few people are even swigging from bottles of beer.
‘Hey guys!’ Meera calls out over the hum of conversation.
We look her way.
‘Do you want the vegetarian option or meat?’ she asks.
I smile, amused by the simplicity of the menu.
Meera takes our requests and turns back to her uncle. She chats away, perching on a stool next to him as he chops vegetables. She doesn’t seem to have much interest in coming over and joining me and Seb. I can’t help wondering if she’s done this on purpose, creating an almost date-like situation to bring us together.
‘This place is cool,’ I comment.
‘Yeah, it’s nice. It’s good to get out of the ashram from time to time,’ Seb muses.
The headlights of a passing car flash over his face, illuminating his striking eyes and chiseled features. He really is gorgeous, and I’m clearly not the only person who thinks so. A few other diners glance in our direction, with a couple of hippy girls checking Seb out.
‘Definitely.’ I smile, although I still feel a little troubled by what Meera said on the way here.
‘Do you ever worry that the ashram might get under your skin?’ I ask.
Seb smiles. ‘No, I like being here, but I’m definitely not going to become some weird devotee,’ he insists.
‘That’s good.’ I smile, relieved, feeling grateful that of all the people I could have met in this ashram, I met Seb.
It’s nice to be around someone with a healthy sense of skepticism, balanced perfectly with a spirit of adventure and open-mindedness.
‘How long do you think you’ll be here?’ I ask.
‘I’m not sure yet. Maybe when I’ve figured things out, I’ll be ready to leave,’ Seb replies.
‘When the year of self-denial is up?’ I ask.
Seb laughs. ‘Probably before. I can deny myself in Quebec too. At least, I want to be confident I can,’ he explains.
‘What were things like back there?’ I press him.
‘Oh God,’ Seb groans. ‘I made a lot of bad decisions.’
‘Like what?’
Meera comes over with our dishes, placing them down on the table, with some cutlery.
‘Just catching up with my uncle, I’ll be back in a bit,’ she says, heading back to the kitchen.
Seb and I tuck in. The food is delicious, and I see exactly what he means about the parathas. It turns out th
ey’re wheat flatbreads and they really are exceptionally good, especially when served drenched in butter.
We gush about how good the food is, but Seb frowns, a distracted look on his face, and I can tell he’s still thinking about life back home.
‘I… I got someone pregnant,’ he blurts out eventually.
‘Oh, okay,’ I reply, taken aback.
He meets my gaze, his eyes sad and ashamed.
‘I hooked up with this girl, Vanessa. She was on a ski break with a few of her friends to celebrate finishing her first year of university. We had fun together, but then she went home and I didn’t think about it that much. I just moved on to the next thing,’ Seb tells me, shaking his head.
‘But she got in touch on Facebook a couple of months later to tell me she was pregnant. She said she was getting an abortion. I didn’t know what to think. It really messed me up. I kept thinking about that unborn child we’d created. I kept worrying about her. We used a condom, but I guess it didn’t work,’ Seb recalls sadly.
‘So, what happened?’ I ask.
‘She got an abortion. It really affected her. She got depressed, dropped out of university. I felt terrible. I guess it hit me that my lifestyle had consequences. I was living for the moment with all the drugs and drink and sex, but it wasn’t as simple as that. Other people were getting hurt,’ Seb comments ruefully, his eyes full of sadness.
His pain and regret are palpable, and I want to say something to help.
‘It could have happened to anyone,’ I tell him. ‘I don’t think you should beat yourself up.’
Seb shakes his head, tearing his paratha.
‘No. I realized my actions have consequences. Her whole life changed. I’d just been acting like I was the center of the universe and all that mattered was having a good time, but life isn’t as simple as that,’ Seb says, taking a bite of paratha.
‘I suppose,’ I reply, not knowing quite what to say to make him feel better.
I don’t want to say anything trite or meaningless. A pregnancy and an abortion and a young woman dropping out of university are big things and I can see now why Seb has ended up here, desperate to change his life and gain perspective. He clearly needs to heal just as much as the mother of his unborn child.