Indian Saga: God Thine Lambs
Neeshant Srivastava

 

Fifteen days to go. Nikhil’s father would be away for four long months. Nikhil had planned his dream holiday to the hills. No one, including his mother knew about his plans and he was about to flee, uninformed. A school of thought constantly knocked on his mind. It preached freedom at a very young age – that all are born free and is the essence of survival. For a small town Indian boy who had barely turned sixteen, it was ‘women’ that excited him the most.

Not knowing what lay ahead Nikhil set out on that destined day, all alone. It was the same sun up in the morning sky. One could hear birds, fresh out of nests, flying freely hither and thither. Young leaves glistened; noisy squirrels ran nuts under the radiant blue October sky. A nature man, Nikhil always turned to signs around him, a harbinger of blessed October. Changing signs brought the month of fall on palanquins shrouded in pale yellow leaves. There was no news from home so far and Nikhil forcibly turned a blind eye to ’signs’. All he could see was the bus to take him away. As he sat in the chartered bus, his thoughts began to wander. How could he help his mother miles away, worried sick? On the brighter side, he felt manhood slowly creep into him. He had planned on his dream life, a small cottage by the hills and the most beautiful woman waiting for his sight.

Fifteen minutes to go. Nikhil lit a cigarette. Halfway through and the smoke choked his lungs. How wondered how grown ups loved to smoke one every hour. As a young kid he sucked those ‘Phantom’ cigarette candies but found it most unexciting.
In his grandfather’s white slacks, striped shirt and brown sweater, Nikhil waited patiently. Proud to be a part of a school of thought Nikhil pondered over its next clause that all great men have run away from their homes while very young. On the route to greatness, Nikhil could feel his proud shoes. The bus took off for Bitjung. A first step to explore the quieter side of life with no helping hand around. There was a lag before his mind once again could read signs; the blowing wind approved this escapade. The sun was weighing down on the sky as its rays mellowed in the distance. The bus driver’s eyes burnt under the load of dust and silt narrowing on time before it could rest. On final bent and the tires screeched to rest. There were evening snacks for tourists at a roadside food joint. The hills had arrived and Nikhil saw it in the eyes of a young girl by the joint. Lost and spellbound, he forgot why he alighted from the bus. There was a sudden silence around him with an old lady prodding with her finger for attention.
Nikhil had barely finished his snack before jumping into the moving bus. He couldn’t explain what went on when his eyes met those of the young girl. He felt a sense of belonging and oneness, recollecting many such fleeting encounters in the folds of time.
He could imagine many more incidents like those by the hills. Sixteen was such a stage in someone’s life like tender petals of a rose unfolding in the morning sun making those captivating unheard sounds as they rubbed against each other. Sixteen is period long forgotten in the history of man. It is a tiny dew drop, now pearly and now gone in the heat of the harsh sun. A most beautiful period in a life. Sublime, yet edgy at times.
A thin line between innocence and maturity.

Mother would be worried sick for her little child and would have looked all over to find him. It was getting dark outside. Nikhil longed for his corner on the dilapidated sofa and warm evening snack with tea. He felt he had gone too far when life could be a lot simpler. How could one beat mother’s warmth and music on his surround sound stereo system?
It was a time for survival; like little birds, in a jungle, out free after months of feeding in warm nests. It is a time when wild ones must wander fending for themselves. Some grow up only to be prey, rotund yet thorny. They live their days, apprehensive, only to be swallowed after the deadly ‘chase’. Their lifetime is a mirage of invincibility, yet going by their instincts they don’t give in easily.
The bus chugged along to the shores of Bitjung. Nikhil’s eyes were wide opened. It was a time to react under the same shield of invincibility. Lights were turned on as the bus circled around its final curve to Bitjung. The engine was finally laid to rest before the driver hopped out of his stiff posture. Nikhil moved confidently, lest he succumb to the present. His eyes went to a rickshaw under a dim streetlight. Ten rupees and he could be across the border to Pol, no strings attached. He knew his father had a valid passport, visa before he entered the USA. Nikhil carried nothing of that sort, except himself before entering the hilly country, Pol. Was it preplanned by destiny; Nikhil felt like a king about to embark on his horse chariot. Was there a room for bargain with the rickshaw-puller, perhaps there always is. Nikhil slowly climbed up the rickshaw while going through the ritual. The old man on the rickshaw tried to hush up the teenage kid lest it stir dead monsters. The check post had several, who cared no less for Nikhil’s or old men on rickshaws. Their fast buck came from kings on horse chariots. All they wanted was a visa with a valid passport which even the affluent sometimes ignored. For the latter Pol was a dot in the hemisphere, undemanding yet significant. The check post was now receding in the distance as the two were now in Pol. Nikhil wondered what separated the two countries. No boundaries, no air, just an etch in ones mind. The world is one yet there are boundaries that separate people.
Next stop, a hotel to welcome tourists from across the border. Nikhil booked a small room on the second floor that peeped into the busy road. Luckily there was a counter for exchange of currency and he filled his coffers with Pol currency. Out on the street at night, Nikhil could smell the fragrance of tea leaves by a wayside stall. Tea was found in its purest form in the hilly country. Somehow Nikhil didn’t feel hungry, what with the temporary estrangement from his home town. There were clouds of thought in his mind he had to conquer. An empty stomach was the lowermost. Nikhil quietly returned to his room.
There were buses scheduled for Mandy, the capital city early next morning. He had heard about the city in all his living years. He presumed there were Kings that ruled the country from atop a hill in Mandy. That the common folk gathered all over the hill to listen to the King’s decrees. Kings with bejeweled dress, lofty crown, tiny eyes, long moustache that fell on the chest came to mind. Chunks of snow on embroidered roof tops, mist blurring out the sun and folks with hats like lamp shades. Our very own Santa could be a Mandy-man, he surmised. Miles away from Mandy and the picture was gradually fading. It was greener with no mist in the distance. His sketches of lama and hilly countryside on walls
of his room spoke of a different perception.

Dear Hills
When I speak of thee,
Deep in clouds,
In a round halo of the sun,
Under a warm blanket of air,
Knit with threads of silver and gold,
Battling the winter,
To keep You warm as,
Sound of bells,
Roll down your warm lap,
And touch wondrous,
Ears of a lamb

Nikhil thought he had enough money to last the entire trip. He booked himself a seat by the window on a bus bound for Mandy, the following day. First night alone away from parents, Nikhil didn’t know what he was after. Do lambs make great men, he pondered. Yet he did believe in alienation from the protected at some stage and that all must find their own way in an undulating world. He fell asleep in contemplation.

Five in the morning and the city woke up to cock-crows. Nikhil couldn’t remember his thoughts last night. Before he tried to, there was a knock on the door. The hotel attendant was at the door with a smile and the morning paper, some tea and breakfast in his hands. The sweet ginger tea was reminiscent of the long trips he took with his father. An Army man, his father was frequently posted at different locations around the country. He couldn’t remember staying at a place for more than three years. He would often comment:
“Wee old wanderer, say chaps”
For him life was a highway and where we ride on a fast moving vehicle to its never ending limits. Stoppages on the way were like pieces of heaven. It was time then to stretch, reflect and sip ginger tea. Father wiggled his cuppa staring at the final sip with joy. These were the moments that brought happiness to little Nikhil’s eyes. Nikhil too wiggled his china feeling one with his father. He felt a sense of betrayal by not informing his dad about the trip. Mother would have given up on her son by now, her dried eyes reflecting a great loss.
It was time to board the bus to Mandy. It had alloy wheels, wide front pane decked with flowers and proprietors name ‘Hill Top Travels’ written in blue on the body. Mostly common people besides some tourists from other lands sat on the bus. A man in his middle age sat next to Nikhil. Strongly built with a thick moustache, one could see hair jutting out of his chest. Complete strangers, the two looked in different directions.
It was half past eight when the huge bus wheels rolled as the driver gave the first push to the accelerator. Nikhil’s plans had come alive. He had seen four seasons go by before the moment arrived for his freedom. Nikhil was finally there and doing it.
His long established imagery of Mandy was slowly fading. He could see green hills in the distance with shops staggered unto its colossal reach.
The bus began its mountainous climb, negotiating sharp curves along the way. The morning sun washed green slopes with its first rays. Nikhil, the artist could imagine a green-yellow canvas with a black brush softly working on the wings of a black bird.

Come ye sons,
Of the winter month,
Let gold fingers toss the green,
On a basket of bread,
Creaking to wandering eyes,
In moments of wallow,
With jaws that know the smile,
To the sun O! Mighty,
In tears to His blaze,
And a bow to touch,
The soggy earth,
Look ye,
Where back birds fly,
On a winter month,
Too far in freedom,
To the sun may fall,
In scathing pain,
On a soggy patch,
Undone,
As eyes wait,
For someone to fly with

Nikhil could see terraces along hillsides. It was the sophisticated Mrs. Garner, his geography teacher in school who walked him through pictures of green terraces in chapter six of his untouched book. They helped him draw sketches and write a paragraph about terraces in a class test. Nikhil was happy to get full marks for his sketch, though his paragraph had a single line:
‘Water seeks its own level’
He began the test with a sketch of terraces and then answered the remaining questions.
Nikhil tried to complete the paragraph in the end but in vain. His answer brought a smile to Mrs. Garner’s lips who quite unwillingly gave no points for the paragraph.
Nikhil could recollect reading in the book about how a meager rainfall was enough to water the entire hillside along huge terraces. He wondered if it took a genius to come up with a simple idea like ‘terraces’ on hills.
Nikhil’s eyes turned left and right along winding roads resting awhile on green foliage. The bus made a steady climb up the hills. In the distance he saw people in straw hats plucking tea leaves and filling up baskets on green slopes. The farther he moved away from his home town, the lonelier he felt. Would he know his way back if for some reason he had to return right now? Perhaps he would, not knowing how. Yet Nikhil constantly wore a smile on his face, ready to take on the world. The bus moved on. Sometimes eyes met with the middle-age stranger sitting next to him. Looking for an opportunity to make a conversation with the stranger, Nikhil finally found one. Eyes met and both agreed that they were going to Mandy. After a short spell of silence the stranger began speaking,
“You are a brave lad to have come so far on you own.” His faith in the school of thought that defined greatness was even stronger. He imagined the press gathered at his doorstep in his hometown with microphones and curious faces. They all wanted to know how little Nikhil did it. He smirked,
” Certain things are meant to be, so hear all, just
‘ Let it be’ “.
Nikhil was happy to see someone recognize his efforts. He shone like a bright star in someone’s eyes. Was he lucky to meet the kind stranger? He had heard his father say:
“Sunny, little boy, the world today is an unsafe place to stay. People like you and me find a warm corner, far away from the crime and deception of the city.”
It seemed the stranger had a lot on his mind for he fell silent after every few sentences he spoke. A warm smile and he started again,
“Come stay at my bungalow if you don’t have other plans”
An excited Nikhil stammered,
“S…S…Sure”.
The two smiled in harmony. Nikhil assumed they were friends. Had there not been any age difference between the two, he would have proclaimed his friendship; perhaps at another press meeting;
“Could be” he smirked.
Nikhil was in a playful mood, with ‘life’ his new found toy.
The bus slowed down at blind turns on curved roads by the mountains. Farmers worked on the fields, regardless. It was early afternoon and a little warmer. Nikhil was lucky to have a thick sweater on and the cold countryside didn’t make him shiver.
After a long climb up the mountains the bus found straight roads into the city. It had entered the outskirts of Mandy. There was smoke out of its engine and Nikhil presumed it would come to a halt, soon. Nikhil was impatient. He wanted to walk out with the stranger like two men with somewhere to go.
Nikhil remembered those preachers on the morning radio talking about Faith; how a single act of faith can see you through difficult times. Those preachers may be trying to spread the word of Christ through their sermons but they made good sense. Nikhil had faith and believed no matter where one roams, alone, God makes us meet the right people and takes us through the right path on the way, until we find what we set out searching.
Nikhil was pensive. Was it women he was searching for? He remembered looking into the eyes of the girl at the food joint, the other day. Their meeting was short-lived, left too much to desire. Not all encounters he had with girls were short lived. Dear uncle Chopsi came with his daughter one evening to his father’s place. Spirited, drunkard uncle Chopsi had said:
“Beta (son), meet my daughter, Lovely. Why don’t you show her your room while we old guppies catch up on some old times?”
Nikhil could never show her his bedroom but did manage to show her the bathroom.
Nikhil thought he was too shy for his own good, or was it the girl?
The bus was now slowing down like it would stop any moment. Its heavy tires finally ceased to roll and kicked off some dust by the pavement. Nikhil leaped out of his seat to get out of the bus. He felt like a kid leading the way to a candy store when out on a spree with his parents. He could see yellow cabs plying on the main road, reminiscent of ‘Postcards from New York’ sent by his brother on his fifteenth birthday. There were yellow cabs to be seen, set in New York landscape.
Three people walked into a yellow cab parked near the entrance of the bus. Nikhil was one of them and he never raised a question. He simply followed his friend with a third unknown person. The cab moved on like it knew where it was going. It was like walking into a bar and being served ones ‘regular’ before even reaching the bartender.
The cab went far and wide into by lanes and wide metallic roads. On a deserted road the cab driver had time to turn around briefly and smile at Nikhil’s friend on the back seat. Nikhil grew anxious with sweat on his forehead. Things were happening too fast around him and there was no time to react. Yet he did raise his hand, bewildered. He now sensed a lag between him and his friend who had turned rather cold. Nikhil’s eyes grew weak and he squirmed in his seat. He decided to jump out when suddenly the cab tires screeched to rest. There was betrayal in the eyes of the hilly gentleman as he quietly walked off by the roadside, hands in his coat pockets. It left poor Nikhil in two minds trying to calm an irate cab driver pointing a deft finger at the cab meter. Nikhil’s hilly friend receded in the distance and his cries went unheard. There was no time to think as Nikhil searched his pocket to clear dues. This saga hardly over, there was another person nagging Nikhil for attention. This was a small time hotel agent to be seen on the tourist bus just before its final destination. His job was to solicit young johnnies and offer a cheap place to stay.
“Come with me shir (Sir), I give you some good time” he pleaded
Nikhil was livid.
“Is this the way you treat first time tourists to your land? I will never come here again”
Nikhil never understood how a good outing turned ugly.
“No harm, shir (Sir), they do it for the money, no money, no food!” the agent persisted.
“Come with me shir (Sir), we take a taxi”
Nikhil walked away in anger and let the agent follow him. Five yards later he stopped to reconsider his decision. Did he have enough cash for an expensive get away? Besides wasn’t the agent someone Nikhil had been looking for all these years? Wasn’t he lying to himself by thinking otherwise? Was he really interested in looking at remnants of lost kingdoms in Pol? Convinced he succumbed to the agents offer and quietly got into the taxi.
“Come, we find you a nice place and let the good times roll” the agent smiled.
The planes were burning under the sun, still. Far away hilly Mandy saw cold winds sweep across its slopes. Nikhil could feel a weather change when he reached Bitjung across country borders. Mandy had a festive look with Christmas not far away. New couples moved under a blurry sun with crossed elbows and holding hands. There was romance on pavements and busy markets. The streets had a different look with heavy rush of traffic.
Nikhil’s taxi was different from the yellow cab he rode with his estranged friend; rickety frame chugging merrily. A three-seater similar to ones found in Nikhil’s hometown.
Nikhil had not spoken a word since he stepped into the taxi. He hoped the taxi would stop soon and he could rest.
He could hear the agent speak but ignored him and looked elsewhere.
Every passing minute was unbearable for young Nikhil and there were questions piling up on his mind. What if he could never find his way back home? What if mother had informed father about the trip? What was going on in mother’s mind? Finally the big one; where am I going?
The small taxi did not stop as it worked its way across narrow lanes with uneven terrain.
“Where is your hotel, I can’t go on” Nikhil sounded desperate.
“We there very soo (soon). Look! It is visible from here” the agent reassured.
“I don’t see it, would you please stop and let me go” Nikhil was adamant.
“No worry, shir (Sir), we there, we almos (almost) there”
The agent never lost his smile in the entire taxi ride and it helped in calming Nikhil.
Nikhil decided to wait and watch. A few more trying moments for him before the taxi finally slowed down near a small hotel.
It was twilight and he could hear birds cry before fading away in the distance.
“Welcome to Mandy shir (Sir), your room on the first floor and I see you soo (soon), have a nice day” the agent left.
The manager stood near the hotel reception and greeted Nikhil with a smile. He was a middle-age man with Polian (like someone from the hills) looks; thick moustache, short muscular built, heavy hilly accent. He gladly handed the room keys to Nikhil and sent an attendant to carry his luggage. Nikhil’s meager luggage consisted of a small duffel bag. The attendant smiled and swung the bag onto his shoulders. Nikhil didn’t know how to contact the agent; he let him go without even asking his name or business card.
The attendant slowly pushed the room door open. Long white curtains draped over a bright red carpet, wall hangings with red dragons resting on coiling tails in jute could be seen.
Nikhil could see bleak outlines of hills through the curtains in the fading light. His eyes settled on a TV set with remote control. He has an old color set at his house but it did not have a remote.
The night lamp light slipped into his bedroom as night fell in Mandy. The air was cold outside and Nikhil could feel it on his stretched hands out the window. He pressed the intercom for room service and asked for some tea. A loud jump on the bed cushion, Nikhil turned on the TV with the remote control. The channels mostly spoke Chinese with very few international. Finally he settled for some upbeat music, singers strutted in tight faded jeans while playing loud in mandarin. The music filled his heart with belonging and love even though the words didn’t seep into him. It was like he was one in their clan, like his extended family in the hills. Sixteen and going on seventeen had indeed brought beautiful moments in his life. He was on a high and couldn’t understand why. Was it his age when his tender shoulders did not feel the thrust of life, cruel, indifferent on occasions. He decided to savor the moment as he looked around at wall hangings, smell of paint on walls, softly blowing curtains on a subtle breeze, mandarin band going bonkers and closed his eyes. He believed that eyes were like a picture camera and to capture a moment in ones mind one had to feel the instant and shut them for a while.
Tea had arrived and Nikhil decided to take a walk by the night on the cold streets of Mandy after a cuppa. The tea had a strong flavor and it took him to those tea gardens he saw on way to Mandy. By now the workmen must had retired to their hillside cottages and lit them with bright lamps.
With a strong tea flavor in his mouth Nikhil stepped downstairs for a walk outside.
The manager received his guest with gratitude:
“How are you doing Sir? Going for a walk? Take care”
Nikhil walked out of the hotel and marked his way using signs in the form of shops and signboards on the way so that he could get back safely. There were small houses on both sides of streets with very few shops. He took to the main road and then onto some bright lights he saw at some distance. Before long he reached those bright lights given out by a busy market place. Most of the shops were selling artworks in the form of miniature craft, wall hangings, fancy bangles, laughing Buddha in various positions, necklace of different shades and variety, et al. To his surprise majority of the crowd belonged to foreign lands. They had white skins akin to Europeans and Americans. There were young couples holding hands and ladies with hanging babies on their backs. Nikhil was lost in the crowd as he walked on looking for signs to add in his trail. He stopped and looked back in the direction of the hotel. He wondered if the agent would contact him soon.
It was getting late in the night and Nikhil on his way back gazed at closed shops for cigarettes. He could read signs to usher him to his warm bed by the window.
Stepping into the hotel he found the manager talking to an attendant.
“Excuse me, did anybody come here looking for me” Nikhil questioned the manager.
“No, no sir is there anybody special that you were expecting” manager looked puzzled.
“Never mind, thank you” Nikhil walked up the stairs.
Nikhil thought he would meet the missing agent whenever he could and return home. He had enough money to last for a few days but not any more. Nikhil tried to avoid the manager who seemed rather courteous, after his well being. He hoped the manager would help him on his own in contacting the agent but never asked him. He couldn’t understand why he felt restless in all the euphoria. Back into his room, he gently laid his head on the pillow against the wall with fingers busy on the remote. He was looking for a higher level of excitement than those mandarin rock bands provided. He waited for hours before dead silence outside. The street light spread its glow in the quiet distance and no one was to be seen. Nikhil’s eyes were heavy with sleep and he laid down to get some rest. Maybe he could meet the agent first thing in the morning.
Next thing Nikhil could remember was a loud knock on the door. He looked up at the clock on the wall show three in the morning. Half asleep, Nikhil dragged himself out of bed. Rubbing his eyes, he reached out for the door knob when suddenly the knock died down. Nikhil opened the door but no one was there. Half asleep he quietly went back to bed. Could it be that agent’s knock on the door?
Nikhil pushed himself out of bed, put on his shoes and stepped downstairs. It was dark outside. The manager was at the front desk making entries in an old register.
“Excuse me, was anybody looking for me?” Nikhil asked the manager.
“Yes Sir, someone knocked at your door for half an hour but got no reply. He waited in the lobby for another forty five minutes and went away. I think it was the same agent that you were trying to reach.”
“I must look for him. Do you know where I can find him” Nikhil was looking for clues
“Don’t step out so late in the night. There is police patrol in the area .They may harass you and take you in without any reason, besides, don’t listen to that agent. Such people may mislead you. Go and get a nice sleep, Sir”
Nikhil wont budge, standing there looking at nothing. The manager insisted,
“Sleep Sir, not good enough to trust, they do drugs and run a night show down a chain of brothels. They are constantly under the suspicious eyes of Mandy Police. That’s a fact, please, I insist”. His gentle hands skewed Nikhil’s shoulders; feet reached this lad up to the wooden stairs. Nikhil gained momentum walking up seeing truth in manager’s eyes.
Next morning Nikhil never knew when the sun came out. He tried to recollect last night’s dream but it had escaped his mind. Down in the eating area and the manager had an offer:
“Join us on our tour bus to take you around the beautiful city of Mandy. It’s cheap, don’t have to think so hard, join us, the bus leaves in half hour.” Nikhil had enough cash for the trip; hesitated and took his time to accept the offer.

Sitting in his father’s easy chair Nikhil’s reflected on his trip to the kingdom of Pol. Mother was glad to see him back safe. Nikhil looked at the souvenir, a ring with embroidered silver, tight, around his finger; pictures which spoke of domes and pigeons captured in flight, colorful streets with sea of people, worn out structures with Chinese architecture and him nowhere to be found. He had lunches on roof top restaurants replete with foreigners and those hilly waiters walking around tables to sweet jazz in the background. And he did across some women:

Yonder,
On valleys of gold,
Hard to escape the gaze of,
Fiery eyes,
That follows me,
With hunger,
And I am a traveler,
After dusks of colors you will,
Served by instinct,
Tipped by hands,
Made of steel.

God thine lambs,
Shall fathom,
With quivering courage,
Those eyes that follow,
Yonder,
On valleys of gold.

Nikhil had a tough time getting back home. The Indian check post officials on the border rummaged his meager belongings to his anger and nearly held him in for inappropriate behavior. Had it not been for some kind of distraction from the unknown Nikhil would have paid dearly for his solitary sojourn to the hills. However, he was glad to have been able to tour the entire city of Mandy, courtesy the kind hotel manager. He even witnessed a parade in honor of the king of Pol. He thought of ordering beer at a restaurant but never did.
Nikhil had a narrow escape from near death. He managed to escape the hands of dealers of the dark. How could he forget a near fatal accident while on his way back home? Was it a reserve bus that took him homewards, he never knew. Its driver dressed up casually and appeared to be a family man. Half way through, on a bridge, he realized that there had been a brake failure. Every one was kept in the dark about it and the driver kept shifting gears to slow down the vehicle, but in vain. He saw a slow moving bus ahead and instead of overtaking he followed it at great speed. Suddenly there was a loud noise of smashing glass and people were thrown away from their seats. Due to the huge impact on the slow moving vehicle ahead, the bus stopped completely and no one was injured. The driver had reacted at the right time and many lives were saved. Nikhil looked down the bridge to see the waters of the huge river below.
“What if…?” he thought?
Nikhil closed his eyes.
It took another hour for a replacement to arrive.
This brought to an end the saga of a little Indian boy from a small town. Nikhil was confident of visiting places on his own now and so were his parents about him. It takes some courage to do what Nikhil did and come out unscathed by the grace of God. Nikhil drew pictures as recollections from his visit and it even appeared in a popular magazine.
This act may not have brushed greatness onto young Nikhil but he sure witnessed beauty, the kind he had never seen before. How could he forget those quiet yet colorful moments by the mighty hills..

Dear Hills
When I speak of thee,
Deep in clouds,
In a round halo of the sun,
Under a warm blanket of air,
Knit with threads of silver and gold,
Battling the winter,
To keep You warm as,
Sound of bells,
Roll down your warm lap,
And touch wondrous,
Ears of a lamb.

 

 

Copyright © 2010 Neeshant Srivastava
Published on the World Wide Web by "www.storymania.com"