--- In FairfieldLife@yahoogroups.com, Peter <[EMAIL PROTECTED]> wrote: > > Is this your story LB?
******** It is. It was published in the Fairfield Weekly Reader several years ago. L B S ******** > > --- L B Shriver <[EMAIL PROTECTED]> wrote: > > > Desolate in Delhi > > > > My stay in the Valley of the Saints was drawing > > toward its inevitable close. I accepted this > > without concern, even though I could not remember > > having been as happy anywhere as I > > had been here, beside the swiftly flowing waters of > > the world's most sacred river. I had > > been living a life of constant satsang among the > > saints, sadhus, and swamis, and working > > daily with the brahmacharis translating the 108 > > discourses of Brahmanandaji. However, I > > had also enjoyed the freedom of the lone traveler to > > explore and investigate, poking into > > obscure corners of a place that might have been > > better off if time had forgotten ita > > possibility that disappeared without a trace when > > the Beatles arrived in '68. > > No longer the pristine sanctuary of its legendary > > past, Rishikesh nevertheless remains > > a place where the real and the unreal can be > > compared like tomatoes at a supermarket. I > > had been generously treated to both. > > The Gangadharishwar Ashram, my home for nearly six > > weeks, is located on the west > > bank of the river, exactly across from Maharishi's > > ashram to the east. Like many of the > > ashrams in Rishikesh, it has a dual function: first, > > as a home for those in full time pursuit > > of Supreme Knowledge, and secondly as a retreat > > center for householders and others who > > can only come for weekends or summer courses. > > One such family from Delhi came to the ashram > > shortly before I leftfather, mother, > > daughter, two sons, aunt, and nephew. Late one > > afternoon a few days after they arrived, I > > watched as a trespassing monkey chased the little > > girl wildly around the inner courtyard , > > to the intense amusement of her father, uncle, > > brothers, and some of the workers at the > > ashram. I suspect he was in love. > > The next morning I was sitting in the sun beside > > the river when the young lady sat > > down beside me. Her name was Kanika. In the course > > of our conversation, which covered a > > surprising amount of ground in a fairly short time, > > she told me that she really liked > > studying Sanskrit because it was so easy. I > > flinched, but only on "that quiet level," so she > > didn't notice. I asked her how she liked > > mathematics. Just fine, she told me, math was also > > easy. I asked her if anything in school was > > difficult for her. She paused a moment and said, > > no, everything was easy. I was starting to feel awed > > by her radiant intelligence, almost > > forgetting that I was talking with a ten-year-old. > > Then I asked her what she liked best in > > school, and she told me that reading stories was her > > favorite activity. Her favorite stories? > > Sleeping Beauty and Cinderella. > > We met by the river again the following morning. > > Kanika sang me a hymn from the > > Christian school she attended in Delhi, and I sang > > "Long Black Veil," the only song I could > > remember from beginning to end. A few days later my > > little friend and her family left the > > ashram. Her father, Mukesh, asked where I would be > > staying in Delhi and when I would > > arrive, and then they were gone. > > My own departure came shortly thereafter. The most > > difficult part was saying > > goodbye to Swamini Maneeshananda, who had been my > > dearest friend and teacher during > > my stay at the ashram. At 75, Mata Ji had been at > > Gangadharishwar for 27 years. As I sat in > > the back seat of the taxi , she reached through the > > window and gently touched my facea > > rare blessing from a Sannyasi, and especially > > poignant when given by this one. She had > > recently told me that she felt she had fulfilled > > life's purpose, and now she was only > > "waiting for the body to drop." I certainly hoped > > she wasn't in any kind of hurry, and as the > > taxi wound its way through the village streets of > > Purani Jhadi, I finally realized how > > reluctant I was to leave. > > The Maha Kumbh Mela was still in progress at > > Haridwar, and the train station was > > packed with sadhus and pilgrims. I took the Shatabdi > > Express to Delhi, arriving late on > > Wednesday afternoon. Then I checked in at the > > Namaskar hotel, just off the Main Bazaar in > > the Pahar Ganj, a low rent commercial district west > > of the main railway station. > > Thursday morning I went back to the railway station > > to buy my ticket for the two-day > > trip to Bangalore. On the way back to the Namaskar I > > bumped into Mukesh, who had > > looked me up as promised. The next day he came back > > to accompany me on various > > errands I had to run in Delhi before leaving. We > > took an autorickshaw through Connaught > > Place and south along Janpath, past the India Gate > > and deep into the southeast part of > > New Delhi, where I had located a photo lab that > > could process my film quickly and cheaply. > > Then we headed west across town to visit a friend I > > had met in Rishikesh. > > The pollution in Delhi is among the worst in the > > world. I had heard that a day of > > breathing in Delhi is equivalent to smoking 20 packs > > of cigarettes, so I found no reason > > to object when Mukesh offered me a smoke. However, > > he couldn't conceal his disgust later > > when I bought a bede and smoked it. > > The afternoon wore on. As we headed north again, a > > peculiar thought arose: I am > > leaving this world, a voice inside me said, and the > > voice was my own. I have since been > > told that this is a perfectly reasonable thought for > > anyone traveling by autorickshaw in > > India, but somehow it seemed more profound and > > insistent. No, I did not take it as a > > premonition about leaving the body. I knew full well > > that this "vehicle" still had a few good > > miles in itthe problem was that there was nowhere > > left to go. > > The dirt and the noise seemed more oppressive than > > ever, and the endless clouds of > > diesel fumes and carbon monoxide didn't help. But it > > was more than that. In the world to > > which I was presumably returning, I could think of > > nothing that had the faintest bit of > > charm left in it. Would I continue to write? Why > > bother, when I really had nothing to say? > > Would I seek fulfillment in a relationship? What > > would be the point? None of my toys, none > > of my enthusiasms, none of my old haunts appealed to > > me in the least. > > We continued jolting and sputtering northward on > > Janpath, past Sonia Ghandi's > > palace with its armed guards at the gate, rolling > > into Connaught place shortly after five > > the peak of the rush hour, a literal and figurative > > descent into the maelstrom, where the > > noise and the intensity of the traffic are simply > > unimaginable if you haven't experienced > > them. It's probably as close to hell as you can get > > without a one way ticket. > > As we got closer to the Pahar Ganj, the enormity of > > my loss continued to reveal itself. > > There was no bliss of the effulgent Self, no > > immanent merging with the Supreme, only the > > certain knowledge that the life I had lived was > > gone. The thought came again: I am leaving > > this world. > > Mukesh dropped me off at the entrance to the Main > > Bazaar, and a few minutes later I > > was back at the hotel. As I climbed the steps to my > > room, I realized that I had just enough > > time to meditate, pack, and eat before catching the > > train to Bangalore. > > I settled into a bleak and empty meditation. After > > about ten or fifteen minutes there > > was a knock on the door. Someone on the other side > > informed me that I had a phone call > > downstairs at the desk. I made my way down the > > narrow marble steps, vaguely wondering > > what fresh insults the universe was concocting to > > further crush my spirit. > > The manager handed me the phone. > > "Hello?" > > The voice in my ear was sweet and familiar. > > Suddenly the cleansing waters of the > > Ganga were flowing all around me, and the brilliant > > morning sun of Rishikesh was > > sparkling in every wave and ripple. > > "This is Kanika. I've been missing you " > > > > > > > > > > > > > > ------------------------ Yahoo! Groups Sponsor > > --------------------~--> > > AIDS in India: A "lurking bomb." 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