by Zoe May
Perhaps I’m a lion like Seb? No. I’m hardly a lion.
Could I be a peacock? No, that would just be arrogant.
A caterpillar like the one I saw this morning? No. A caterpillar doesn’t feel right either. I may not be quite as resplendent as a peacock but I’m more than just a bug.
How about a cat? Maybe. Actually, yes. I like lounging around, making myself comfortable on sofas, sidling up to people, sleeping.
Yeah, a cat feels right. Okay, now I need to get into the mindset of a cat. I try to have cat-like thoughts when Jasper blows the whistle.
Christ, now I actually have to be a cat. I open my eyes and get onto all fours, glancing around the room at everyone else, coming out of their cross-legged positions and assuming the stance of their inner animal.
I crouch on all fours, feeling a pang of embarrassment. Am I really doing this? Am I really pretending to be a cat?
‘Meow,’ I utter, cringing.
I can’t believe I’m doing this.
‘Meow,’ I try again.
I begin to prowl across the hall. A man who appears to be channeling his inner bunny rabbit hops across my path, but catching sight of me prowling, he hops away, alarmed, fully embodying his rabbit self. I want to laugh and yet I can’t help admiring his commitment to the workshop. I consider chasing him. Do cats chase rabbits? I’m not sure. I decide to hiss and meow at him instead.
I saunter on but stop in my tracks when I spot a woman embodying her inner snake. She sits in the lotus position with her hands towering above her head, slithering around. She eyes me menacingly and I’m worried she’s going to slither over. I scamper away.
On the opposite side of the hall is a man standing on all fours making intermittent ‘baa’ noises like a sheep. He eyes me boredly.
I meow at him. He baas back.
I decide to sit near him and pause for a moment, taking in the commotion in the hall. A grown man is walking around with his arm dangling by his nose, clearly getting in touch with his inner elephant. Another man barks at him. A petite girl flaps her arms about, pretending to fly around the hall while letting out chirping noises. I wish I had my phone with me. I’d love to furtively make a YouTube video of all of this. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything more ridiculous in my entire life.
The sheep baas at me again, snapping me out of my reverie. Thoughts about YouTube videos aren’t very feline. I should at least try to stay in the zone. I prowl away.
I spot another woman who appears to be channeling her inner cat too and prowl towards her, when I feel a scratching sensation on my leg.
I turn around to see Blossom, on all fours, growling at me.
What the hell? I back away, but she suddenly roars and charges at me. She clearly identifies as some kind of wild cat or tiger.
I start scampering across the hall, but she’s following me, scratching at my feet.
Oh my God. She is actually insane. She’s trying to attack me, like a real tiger would! She wants to turn me into her personal prey.
I dash across the hall, trying to get away from her, but I can hear her growling and roaring behind me. I throw a few panicked imploring looks towards the other participants, but they just smile encouragingly, as though they’re impressed at how well we’re getting into character.
‘GRRRRRR!!!’ Blossom growls again.
I glance over my shoulder to see her frothing at the mouth, eyes manic.
I need the tutor. Where is the tutor?
I scan the hall and spot him in the corner, hopping around, dancing like a monkey with another person who appears to be a monkey.
‘Help!’ I cry out as Blossom scratches my leg again, but he doesn’t hear me.
He simply carries on jumping around like an excitable monkey.
Blossom grabs my leg. I try to free myself, but her grip is too tight. She roars and crawls on top of me, causing me to topple over. I land on my back and she pins me down, roaring in my face. Tiny globules of spit land on my cheeks.
This is actually terrifying. I truly do feel like a cat that’s about to be mauled to death.
I look towards the teacher, but he’s still pretending to be a monkey.
Blossom roars again, getting even closer to my face, as I struggle to free myself. Another globule of spit lands on my cheek. She looks ravenous, deranged, like she truly wants to tear a chunk off my flesh.
Suddenly, amid the cacophony of animal noises, I hear the high-pitched trill of a whistle.
Finally, Jasper is putting an end to all this.
‘Time to return to your human state,’ he shouts, above the din.
Blossom rolls her eyes. She was clearly enjoying mauling me, the psycho.
Reluctantly, she moves off me. I shoot her a look and prowl away, momentarily forgetting that I no longer need to be a cat. I stand up and hurry to the opposite side of the hall.
At a safe distance, I turn and look around at her. She’s standing up now too and smiles at me as though nothing untoward just happened. I gawp back. She’s clearly unhinged. She obviously hates me because I’m the ex of her new man, but to attack me while pretending to be a tiger is just next-level weird.
‘Now, we’re going to channel our inner beasts,’ Jasper informs us, grinning enthusiastically.
Inner beasts? Some people just did! I feel like pointing this out to him, but it’s not worth it. I need to get out of here before Blossom tears me apart.
The teacher launches into another meditation, and everyone sits down, closing their eyes. I seize the opportunity to slip out of the hall, dropping a few rupee notes in the donations bowl as I sneak away.
Closing the door gently behind me, I walk away, breathing in the fresh air and relishing the peace and calm. I hear the sound of a roar and look through a window to see Blossom, back to her tiger state, throwing herself at the glass, eyeing me maniacally while growling with frustration. I walk away as fast as I can.
Chapter Fifteen
I head back to the guesthouse, still reeling from the weirdness of the spirit animal workshop.
Did that really just happen? Did I really just get mauled by my ex’s new girlfriend, pretending to be a tiger? I shake my head, astounded. This place never ceases to surprise me.
I still feel a little rattled, but I have to admit, I wanted a good story to make Priya laugh and I certainly got one. I decide to take a detour to the main hall to send her an email. It’s been a few days now and I could really do with updating everybody back home on how I’m doing.
I head towards the main hall, passing the field where the buffalo grazes languidly in the sun. As I near the hall, I pray I won’t run into Paul like last time. That really is the last thing I need today.
I walk inside and do a quick scan, but I can’t see him, thankfully. I look around, trying to figure out where the computer room is when a poster catches my eye. It features Guru Hridaya’s face, his eyes penetrating, as though they’re trying to reach into the viewer’s soul. Underneath is the slogan: ‘Letting go of your ego is the first step towards finding your true purpose’.
Hmm…
I see what Meera means about him. He’s basically telling his followers to relinquish their identities. And I suppose once they do, they become empty vessels, willingly servile. No wonder they end up doing free labor and devoting themselves entirely to the ashram. It’s actually really sad. The people he’s trying to brainwash are clearly lost and unhappy and in need of support and yet they’re getting exploited and preyed upon instead. I feel sorry for them. It’s probably the reason I’m not really that angry at Blossom, in spite of everything, because like quite a lot of people around here, she’s no doubt really lost.
I walk away from the poster, still feeling slightly disturbed by it when I spot a woman striding purposefully towards the kitchen, looking like she works here. I ask her where the computer room is.
‘Upstairs, first door on the left,’ she tells me.
‘Thanks,’ I reply, but she’s already marching away.
I head towards a spiral staircase in the corner of the hall and make my way up. I feel excited. I can’t wait to get online. It’s been ages since I had a proper internet session. I don’t have a clue what hashtags are trending, I don’t know what stories are in the headlines, I don’t know if anyone has been cancelled, I don’t even know if Paul has changed his relationship status on Facebook. There’s so much I don’t know that I’d normally be paying attention to every hour of the day.
I take the first door on the left and walk inside. There are half a dozen computers at numbered booths. I pay for half an hour and a woman sitting at a desk browsing Facebook hands me the login details for the computer in booth four.
I sit down and enter the details. Excellent. Internet, here I come.
I log into my emails. It feels like forever since I’ve been online, and yet really, it’s only been four of five days. Nevertheless, my inbox is full of messages from family and friends asking how the trip’s going. I reply to all of them, drafting a particularly long message to Priya telling her all about the spirit animal workshop. I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t resist logging into my work emails too. I’m still curious as to why Mr Pearson visited the office the other day, even though I know it’s not that important and pretty much irrelevant to my time in the ashram. But there’s nothing interesting in my work inbox so I log onto Twitter instead.
I check my notifications. A picture I posted at Heathrow of the departure screen with my flight details, adorned with the caption, ‘Bye England!’, has thirty-five likes and a ton of comments, which I reply to. I scroll for a while, liking and commenting on my friends’ tweets and checking out the latest hashtags, but the kind of thing that tends to keep me entertained in London, feels sort of irrelevant here. I find I can’t summon the energy to care about #ThrowbackThursday or #GetTheToriesOut.
I log on to Facebook and I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help checking out Paul’s profile. I’m only human after all. I click onto his page. He’s changed his relationship status to ‘Single’. Of course, he has. It was only a matter of time, but I still feel a cold shiver of unease as I take it in. Single.
Six years. We were together for six years and now it’s well and truly over. And everyone knows it’s over.
At least he hasn’t unfriended me. I suppose that’s something. Not that I should really care about Paul’s friendship. I click through his pictures. He’s uploaded a couple from the ashram – a shot of him meditating with garlands of flowers around his neck, and another of him standing in front of a temple doing a peace sign, but there are none featuring Blossom.
I look at his relationship status again. Single. Unbelievable.
I know I shouldn’t care, but it feels so strange. Feeling deflated, I log out of my emails and head onto BBC News to see what’s going on in the world. After all, there’s more to life than relationship statuses.
And yet, the news is exactly as it always is. It’s just war-mongering, politics, and climate catastrophe stuff. I read a few articles, but since World War Three hasn’t broken out, I give up. I don’t need to know the ins and outs of what’s going on in Westminster or Donald Trump’s latest gaffe while I’m over here.
I pay for my internet session and head back downstairs. The canteen has been set up for lunch and the spread of dishes looks just as delicious as it did the other day.
I grab some lunch, opting for a takeaway box. I decide I’ll get some for Meera too as a thank you for taking me and Seb to the paratha place last night. That evening, eating parathas, chatting to Seb, with the sound of the waves crashing in the distance, isn’t one I’ll forget in a hurry. I pick up some lunch for Seb too and head back to the guesthouse.
Meera is sitting at the picnic table in the sunshine working on her laptop, a steaming cup of chai next to her.
‘Hey!’ I say, as I approach.
‘Hey!’ she looks up from her screen and smiles.
I spot a spreadsheet on her monitor.
‘Just doing accounts,’ she tells me.
‘Oh right,’ I reply, feeling a twinge of envy for her lifestyle.
Even doing accounts looks relaxing. Getting to work in the sunshine, surrounded by nature, sipping chai, must be heavenly.
‘I got you some lunch,’ I tell her, taking one of the boxes out of the bag I’m carrying.
I hand it to her. I look around for Seb, but I can’t see him. I’ll leave his box in the kitchen for later.
‘Oh Rachel, thanks so much!’ Meera gushes, looking genuinely touched.
‘That’s so kind,’ she adds. ‘I’ll get us some cutlery.’
She heads into the kitchen to collect some knives and forks.
I open my box of food, feeling eager to tuck in.
Meera comes back and hands me a fork.
We tuck in. The flavors are so rich and captivating that we eat in complete silence, for a few moments, wrapped up in how tasty our meals are.
Eventually, once we’re nearly done eating, I mention the poster I saw in the hall, describing it to Meera.
‘It kind of gave me the creeps,’ I comment.
‘Yeah, he’s creepy,’ Meera replies, taking a sip of chai before tucking in again.
‘He does seem controlling. I feel sorry for the people that get swept up in it,’ I say.
‘Same,’ Meera sighs, digging her fork back into her food, before suddenly wincing.
‘Ouch!’ she gasps, clutching her stomach.
‘What’s up?’ I ask, alarmed, wondering if there’s something wrong with the food.
‘Period pain,’ Meera groans. ‘I’m having cramps.’
‘Oh no,’ I comment sympathetically.
‘I went to the chemist to get some paracetamol, but they’d run out,’ Meera says.
She eyes me hopefully. ‘Do you have any?’
I think through the things I packed. I have malaria tablets, tablets for diarrhea and sleeping pills that I thought might help with jetlag, but I don’t have any paracetamol, which is probably quite foolish given that both malaria and diarrhea can be pretty uncomfortable. I explain that I don’t have any, apologizing.
‘Don’t worry about it,’ Meera insists with a smile, although I can tell from the way she’s clutching her stomach, with her brow knotted, that she’s in a lot of pain.
I’m trying to think of how to help when a couple of women wander into the guesthouse. One of them has henna tattoos all over her arms and the other is Madeleine – the quiet French girl from Spiritual Ascension Snakes and Ladders. She smiles at me.
Meera gets up to greet them.
‘Hi, can I help you?’ she asks.
‘Hi, is the asana yoga class happening here?’ Madeleine’s friend asks in a loud brash American accent.
‘No, sorry. It’s in the guesthouse next door. The next one to the left,’ Meera tells them, pointing in the direction of the guesthouse they need to go to.
‘Oh right,’ the girl replies.
They turn away. Neither of them thanks Meera, and I find myself feeling irritated at how rude they’re being and how they don’t seem to be at all bothered about having interrupted our lunch.
‘Hey,’ I call after them. ‘You don’t have any paracetamol, do you?’
They turn back.
‘What for?’ Madeleine asks.
‘Women’s troubles,’ Meera replies, smiling awkwardly.
‘Oh,’ Madeleine says. She roots around in her bag and I feel momentarily hopeful.
‘No, sorry,’ she sighs, looking up.
‘You know, when I have period pain, I just meditate through it,’ Madeleine’s friend pipes up, with a smug smile. ‘I just rise above the pain,’ she adds.
I glare at her. Even Meera glares at her. She meditates through period pain?! What is up with these people? I’ve truly had enough of these sanctimonious spiritual types.
Meera and I exchange a look.
‘Whatever!’ I scoff, turning back to my food.
Meera laughs.
‘It works!’ The girl insists, but Madeleine has the good sense to lead her friend back out of the guesthouse.
Meera and I finish our lunch while mocking the idea of meditating your way through period pain.
Once we’ve finished our meals, I ask if I can borrow one of the rental scooters on offer at the guesthouse.
‘Sure,’ Meera replies.
I hop on the scooter and head off towards the nearest town, feeling the breeze in my hair as I whizz through the streets. The first chemist I come across must have been the one Meera stopped in at earlier, as the man working there tells me, in broken English, that they don’t have any paracetamol. I jump back on my scooter and ride through the town, looking out for another place. I check in vain at a supermarket, before finding another chemist. The man working there doesn’t speak English and I have to mime writhing around in agony, but I get my hands on a pack of paracetamol eventually. Then I hop back on my bike and take them back to Meera.
Chapter Sixteen
Five Rhythms Dance Meditation
Moon worship and chanting
Tribal forest dance workshop
I leaf listlessly through the ashram brochure over breakfast, but I can’t quite bring myself to take part in any weird activities today. Two days in a row of having endured Spiritual Ascension Snakes and Ladders and having channeled my inner cat is enough enlightenment for me. I want to do something real, something practical. I gaze out over the garden. I guess I could see if Meera needs a hand with the gardening. I finish off my coffee and have a look around the guesthouse for her, but I can’t seem to find her anywhere.
I’m not really sure what to do with my day. I decide I’ll grab my bag and hop back on the scooter I borrowed yesterday to do a bit of exploring. I rev up my scooter and whizz out of the guesthouse. It’s another beautiful day and it feels good to ride along the dusty path, gravelly stones rumbling under my tires. I scoot past palm trees, the buffalo and the main hall. I’m not really sure where I’m heading. I figure I’ll stop when I feel like stopping.