MADE IN NIRVANA
Chapter 9
The Valley of the Gods
On the journey down from Mcleodganj, Maria recognized the road they had covered just a few days before. At the chai-shop when they stopped for a break she ate the samosas that she remembered were not too spicy. Everything seemed much easier than the first time. It was nearly four o'clock when they arrived in Mandi. The bus station, the street stalls, even the cows that gobbled up whatever was lying on the ground, were the same as the week before. They bought their tickets for the next day, Maria and Franca for Manali, Barbara for Delhi. Then they walked up the hill, trudging up the steep steps that led to the Tourist Bungalow. It was like coming home. Unfortunately, their friend Rup Singh, the receptionist, was in Chandigarh for a few days. The waiter who had helped Maria when she had fainted came past at that very moment and his eyes lit up when he saw her. She greeted him as if he were an old friend and he bowed with his hands clasped in front of his chest and said 'Namaste Ji'! Only Paul was missing. Maria looked around, it was as if she could see him coming down the stairs, or walking through the door. Did they want a room or three beds in the dormitory? It was cheaper in the dorm. They signed the guest book and the receptionist went to get the key. Wondering what Paul's full name was, she turned the pages backwards; it was a week ago, approximately. There they were! Karen Shaw and Paul J Spencer.
"What are you doing?" said Franca from behind.
She gasped, feeling like a thief caught red handed, and blushed violently: "I found Paul and Karen's names. Look!"
"Here we go again with this Paul," said Franca, winking at Barbara.
"Dreaming doesn't hurt anyone," demurred Maria.
"No, no, of course! Are you sure you don't want to go and see them?"
"Very sure," she said, red in the face, "even more than before!"
The receptionist came back with the keys and showed them outside. The dormitory was in a separate building from the main hotel, just two minutes away. From there, they had a spectacular view of the mountains and, for the moment, they were the only guests. Of the six beds, they occupied three next to each other. They unpacked the bare minimum for the night and were putting their sleeping bags out when the waiter arrived with three glasses of steaming chai on a tray. "I thought you'd appreciate a cup of tea, after your journey," he said, smiling with pride at Maria, whilst placing the three glasses on the table.
"Wonderful, thank you!" she thanked him.
"One moment," Franca stopped him. "How much do you want for these chai?"
The waiter smiled kindly and said he didn't want anything; he had prepared them in his kitchen. "No paisa," he said. No pennies! They could leave the empty glasses on the table; he would pick them up the next morning. He walked away smiling happily.
"You were a bit abrupt with him," Maria said, feeling uncomfortable.
"Yes, of course. It seems strange that someone gives us things for free. They're not rich, are they?" She pulled out the bag with her toiletries and put it on her bed.
"The first time we came here, the receptionist offered us a bottle of beer each, and spent an hour talking with us," mused Maria on her bed, smoothing her wrinkled sweater. "And Surinder helped me spontaneously. Don't you ever do something for nothing?"
"Of course! But that's me. They're different!"
"Maybe they're less suspicious than we are," said Barbara. "Often it is the people who have the least who give the most," she mused, as she counted the money she kept inside her passport bag.
"They seem happier than we are, in our society, and certainly more relaxed," said Maria, sitting cross-legged on the bed. "It's exactly what Surinder said, isn't it? Be selfless, think of others as well as yourself and see how happy you feel!"
"I am selfless, I don't need him, or anyone else, to tell me," said Franca, still in a bad mood. "If you remember, I even stopped the bus that would have left without you!"
"I remember, yes. You did me a great favour. And how did you feel afterwards?"
"Irritated!" replied Franca, pulling out her chillum and her piece, which was now quite small. "I've almost finished the charas! Tomorrow I'll have to find some more in Manali. If only our friend here could be bothered to go and see the English guy..."
"You'll find loads. Don't worry," Barbara assured her, "and really good!"
Maria got up from the bed and walked to the window, there was no rain here, not even a cloud. The mountains silhouetted against the pink sky. It was a beautiful and peaceful sunset. She wanted to change the topic of conversation and asked Barbara how she felt about travelling alone. She wasn't worried, after so many months in India, she knew there was no problem. Compared to Iran, Afghanistan and Pakistan, India was a doddle! What worried her was the thought of having to speak to Carla's mother, but for now she wanted to forget about that. She'd go to Jaipur to buy semi-precious stones to take to Italy: turquoise, garnet, amethyst, tiger's eye, moonstone. They were cheap in Jaipur, where they were cut. She would sell them to friends who made silver jewellery.
"What a good idea," said Maria from the window. "Maybe I'll do something like that, too."
The colours in the sky were fading quickly and night was creeping in. She went back to her bed and lay down.
"You'd make a lot more money if you take back some charas," said Franca, turning to Barbara, as she finished preparing the chillum. "Don't tell me you're not taking even a little bit."
"No way! I'd be terrified. It's too dangerous."
"No, it's not! If you do it well, it's easy! Especially if you look innocent."
"You don't look innocent," said Maria.
"No, I don't, but you do!" said Franca, pointing her finger at Maria, and laughing. "You really look the part and you'd get away with it because of that."
"Maybe, but I wouldn't do it," said Maria, sitting up straight on the bed.
"I know! It's written all over your face, and it is precisely for this reason that they wouldn't catch you."
"Not a chance in hell!" declared Maria, lying on her bed again. She was shocked by Franca's new gimmick. She wouldn't put it past her at all. She could easily imagine her taking some. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to travel back home together.
"Who's going to help me light the chillum?" asked Franca. Barbara stood up and lit the match while Franca shouted 'Bom Shankar'. She passed it around and after a while they all became quieter. Maria drank the last sip of her cold chai and slipped into her sleeping bag. It was early but they were tired and the next morning they would get up at dawn. It was cold. As the minutes passed life seemed to shrivel. In a foetal position, trying to warm up her feet, she realized that when she smoked, fear always crept in and her world seemed to shrink. Everything seemed difficult, worrying.
The bed was comfortable and Barbara turned the light out. Through the window Maria could see the moon shining in the black sky. She thought of Ugo, but soon her thoughts turned to Paul. She saw him before her, his golden hair, his profound green eyes that looked at her and made her blush. Her head was spinning. Once again she had smoked too much.
"Wow! That chillum was strong," she said. "I feel faint."
"Don't worry. Close your eyes and it will pass," advised Barbara.
"Yes. What an effort to speak!"
"Breathe deeply," suggested Barbara.
"Mm, mm, thank you!"
"It's good this charas, eh? I absolutely love the substance!" said Franca.
"Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm."
"Yes, it's good, but now I'm hungry," said Barbara.
"Hungry? Now that you mention it, I'm hungry too... for something good!" mused Franca.
"A 'tramezzino'," said Maria, thinking of those amazing soft sandwiches full of mayonnaise.
"Yes, with mushrooms and ham," chose Franca
"Mine with prawns and mayonnaise. And a beer," decided Barbara
"My mouth is watering just thinking about it. I want one so much! Why did you start talking about 'tramezzino'?" complained Franca.
With her eyes closed, Maria laughed. Her mouth was dry. She groped for her water bottle and took a long sip. She laid her head on her pillow, the dizziness was passing.
"I'll also have 'mozzarella in carrozza'," continued Barbara, dreaming of a special snack, 'mozzarella in a carriage', made of a cheese and anchovy sandwich, dipped in a batter and deep fried in oil.
"Do you remember the 'mozzarella in carrozza' they make in the grill in the square?" said Franca to Maria. "With the melted mozzarella that becomes half a metre long?"
"Yes, with the little anchovy inside. Mamma mia, how delicious!"
"Three mozzarella in carrozza," ordered Franca.
"Waiter! Here, thanks," and they began to giggle.
"What an elegant name 'mozzarella in carrozza'. What style, what grace!" mused Barbara. "Weird though!"
"Do you know why the mozzarella is riding in a carriage?" asked Maria. "Because it's an aristocratic cheese. Coachman, get the carriage ready!" She chuckled at the image of the aristocrat mozzarella giving orders to the coachman, who, with a plumed hat, drove a gilded carriage.
"I can picture it. Fat and white... and wobbling," Barbara said, "with skinny, toothpick-like arms and legs," she continued, tickled by the image forming in her mind.
"Yes, white, fat and NAKED," Franca shouted. Their laughter became louder.
Barbara elaborated: "And such an effort to get into the carriage... that the coachman has to get behind her, grab her arse and push her up with all his might!" Laughter spread from their chests through their bodies.
Maria visualized the scene. "And when she finally settles down in her seat, she pulls out a lace handkerchief... and wipes the sweat from her forehead!" The mirth became hysterical.
Barbara was able to add: "And while she's at it, she also wipes her armpits!" Her voice had become shrill, trying to talk and laugh at the same time. The beds were shaking with laughter.
Maria wiped her tears. "No more, no more, I can't breathe, my stomach hurts."
Barbara was holding her belly, and Franca was rolling on the bed.
"Oi oi oi! I am so hungry! I want pizza," she panted.
"No, don't say it! I can smell it already," pleaded Barbara.
"Have you noticed how all 'these words have a lot of Zed? Tramezzino, mozzarella, carrozza, pizza," remarked Maria.
"You really are an intellectual!" commented Barbara.
"No joke, she is. Good night everyone!" said Franca.
"Shall we sleep?"
"No, let's just take a nap!"
"Good night then!" Maria turned to one side, after glancing one more time at the moon, with an empty belly and a big smile resting on her lips.
Very early the next day they walked to the bus station. Maria bought bananas, apples, biscuits and samosas. She wanted to have more food than she could eat during the trip and was determined never again to set off on a journey disorganized or hungry. They drank chai all together and then embraced. Good luck Barbara! They waved goodbye, their arms raised, while their friend leaned out the window from the bus bound for Delhi. Would they ever see her again? Their bus to Kulu-Manali was leaving half an hour later.
"What are you doing?" said Franca from behind.
She gasped, feeling like a thief caught red handed, and blushed violently: "I found Paul and Karen's names. Look!"
"Here we go again with this Paul," said Franca, winking at Barbara.
"Dreaming doesn't hurt anyone," demurred Maria.
"No, no, of course! Are you sure you don't want to go and see them?"
"Very sure," she said, red in the face, "even more than before!"
The receptionist came back with the keys and showed them outside. The dormitory was in a separate building from the main hotel, just two minutes away. From there, they had a spectacular view of the mountains and, for the moment, they were the only guests. Of the six beds, they occupied three next to each other. They unpacked the bare minimum for the night and were putting their sleeping bags out when the waiter arrived with three glasses of steaming chai on a tray. "I thought you'd appreciate a cup of tea, after your journey," he said, smiling with pride at Maria, whilst placing the three glasses on the table.
"Wonderful, thank you!" she thanked him.
"One moment," Franca stopped him. "How much do you want for these chai?"
The waiter smiled kindly and said he didn't want anything; he had prepared them in his kitchen. "No paisa," he said. No pennies! They could leave the empty glasses on the table; he would pick them up the next morning. He walked away smiling happily.
"You were a bit abrupt with him," Maria said, feeling uncomfortable.
"Yes, of course. It seems strange that someone gives us things for free. They're not rich, are they?" She pulled out the bag with her toiletries and put it on her bed.
"The first time we came here, the receptionist offered us a bottle of beer each, and spent an hour talking with us," mused Maria on her bed, smoothing her wrinkled sweater. "And Surinder helped me spontaneously. Don't you ever do something for nothing?"
"Of course! But that's me. They're different!"
"Maybe they're less suspicious than we are," said Barbara. "Often it is the people who have the least who give the most," she mused, as she counted the money she kept inside her passport bag.
"They seem happier than we are, in our society, and certainly more relaxed," said Maria, sitting cross-legged on the bed. "It's exactly what Surinder said, isn't it? Be selfless, think of others as well as yourself and see how happy you feel!"
"I am selfless, I don't need him, or anyone else, to tell me," said Franca, still in a bad mood. "If you remember, I even stopped the bus that would have left without you!"
"I remember, yes. You did me a great favour. And how did you feel afterwards?"
"Irritated!" replied Franca, pulling out her chillum and her piece, which was now quite small. "I've almost finished the charas! Tomorrow I'll have to find some more in Manali. If only our friend here could be bothered to go and see the English guy..."
"You'll find loads. Don't worry," Barbara assured her, "and really good!"
Maria got up from the bed and walked to the window, there was no rain here, not even a cloud. The mountains silhouetted against the pink sky. It was a beautiful and peaceful sunset. She wanted to change the topic of conversation and asked Barbara how she felt about travelling alone. She wasn't worried, after so many months in India, she knew there was no problem. Compared to Iran, Afghanistan and Pakistan, India was a doddle! What worried her was the thought of having to speak to Carla's mother, but for now she wanted to forget about that. She'd go to Jaipur to buy semi-precious stones to take to Italy: turquoise, garnet, amethyst, tiger's eye, moonstone. They were cheap in Jaipur, where they were cut. She would sell them to friends who made silver jewellery.
"What a good idea," said Maria from the window. "Maybe I'll do something like that, too."
The colours in the sky were fading quickly and night was creeping in. She went back to her bed and lay down.
"You'd make a lot more money if you take back some charas," said Franca, turning to Barbara, as she finished preparing the chillum. "Don't tell me you're not taking even a little bit."
"No way! I'd be terrified. It's too dangerous."
"No, it's not! If you do it well, it's easy! Especially if you look innocent."
"You don't look innocent," said Maria.
"No, I don't, but you do!" said Franca, pointing her finger at Maria, and laughing. "You really look the part and you'd get away with it because of that."
"Maybe, but I wouldn't do it," said Maria, sitting up straight on the bed.
"I know! It's written all over your face, and it is precisely for this reason that they wouldn't catch you."
"Not a chance in hell!" declared Maria, lying on her bed again. She was shocked by Franca's new gimmick. She wouldn't put it past her at all. She could easily imagine her taking some. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to travel back home together.
"Who's going to help me light the chillum?" asked Franca. Barbara stood up and lit the match while Franca shouted 'Bom Shankar'. She passed it around and after a while they all became quieter. Maria drank the last sip of her cold chai and slipped into her sleeping bag. It was early but they were tired and the next morning they would get up at dawn. It was cold. As the minutes passed life seemed to shrivel. In a foetal position, trying to warm up her feet, she realized that when she smoked, fear always crept in and her world seemed to shrink. Everything seemed difficult, worrying.
The bed was comfortable and Barbara turned the light out. Through the window Maria could see the moon shining in the black sky. She thought of Ugo, but soon her thoughts turned to Paul. She saw him before her, his golden hair, his profound green eyes that looked at her and made her blush. Her head was spinning. Once again she had smoked too much.
"Wow! That chillum was strong," she said. "I feel faint."
"Don't worry. Close your eyes and it will pass," advised Barbara.
"Yes. What an effort to speak!"
"Breathe deeply," suggested Barbara.
"Mm, mm, thank you!"
"It's good this charas, eh? I absolutely love the substance!" said Franca.
"Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm."
"Yes, it's good, but now I'm hungry," said Barbara.
"Hungry? Now that you mention it, I'm hungry too... for something good!" mused Franca.
"A 'tramezzino'," said Maria, thinking of those amazing soft sandwiches full of mayonnaise.
"Yes, with mushrooms and ham," chose Franca
"Mine with prawns and mayonnaise. And a beer," decided Barbara
"My mouth is watering just thinking about it. I want one so much! Why did you start talking about 'tramezzino'?" complained Franca.
With her eyes closed, Maria laughed. Her mouth was dry. She groped for her water bottle and took a long sip. She laid her head on her pillow, the dizziness was passing.
"I'll also have 'mozzarella in carrozza'," continued Barbara, dreaming of a special snack, 'mozzarella in a carriage', made of a cheese and anchovy sandwich, dipped in a batter and deep fried in oil.
"Do you remember the 'mozzarella in carrozza' they make in the grill in the square?" said Franca to Maria. "With the melted mozzarella that becomes half a metre long?"
"Yes, with the little anchovy inside. Mamma mia, how delicious!"
"Three mozzarella in carrozza," ordered Franca.
"Waiter! Here, thanks," and they began to giggle.
"What an elegant name 'mozzarella in carrozza'. What style, what grace!" mused Barbara. "Weird though!"
"Do you know why the mozzarella is riding in a carriage?" asked Maria. "Because it's an aristocratic cheese. Coachman, get the carriage ready!" She chuckled at the image of the aristocrat mozzarella giving orders to the coachman, who, with a plumed hat, drove a gilded carriage.
"I can picture it. Fat and white... and wobbling," Barbara said, "with skinny, toothpick-like arms and legs," she continued, tickled by the image forming in her mind.
"Yes, white, fat and NAKED," Franca shouted. Their laughter became louder.
Barbara elaborated: "And such an effort to get into the carriage... that the coachman has to get behind her, grab her arse and push her up with all his might!" Laughter spread from their chests through their bodies.
Maria visualized the scene. "And when she finally settles down in her seat, she pulls out a lace handkerchief... and wipes the sweat from her forehead!" The mirth became hysterical.
Barbara was able to add: "And while she's at it, she also wipes her armpits!" Her voice had become shrill, trying to talk and laugh at the same time. The beds were shaking with laughter.
Maria wiped her tears. "No more, no more, I can't breathe, my stomach hurts."
Barbara was holding her belly, and Franca was rolling on the bed.
"Oi oi oi! I am so hungry! I want pizza," she panted.
"No, don't say it! I can smell it already," pleaded Barbara.
"Have you noticed how all 'these words have a lot of Zed? Tramezzino, mozzarella, carrozza, pizza," remarked Maria.
"You really are an intellectual!" commented Barbara.
"No joke, she is. Good night everyone!" said Franca.
"Shall we sleep?"
"No, let's just take a nap!"
"Good night then!" Maria turned to one side, after glancing one more time at the moon, with an empty belly and a big smile resting on her lips.
Very early the next day they walked to the bus station. Maria bought bananas, apples, biscuits and samosas. She wanted to have more food than she could eat during the trip and was determined never again to set off on a journey disorganized or hungry. They drank chai all together and then embraced. Good luck Barbara! They waved goodbye, their arms raised, while their friend leaned out the window from the bus bound for Delhi. Would they ever see her again? Their bus to Kulu-Manali was leaving half an hour later.
⸹⸹⸹
Franca decided that, this time, they were going to travel separately. Why don't you want us to sit together? Maria asked. Because it was always the same, said Franca and we 'never get to know anyone new'. If we sit one here and one there we'd speak with different people and then, on arrival, we'd have things to tell each other. She had shown she was comfortable with new people, hadn't she? Maria sensed the sarcasm in Franca's last comment and remembered her question as to whether she preferred Barbara to her. She also remembered her critical comment, and the disapproving expression with which she looked at her when she crouched to speak with Surinder. What a contradiction this woman was, so free and independent but, underneath it all, she resented it if she didn't receive her full attention… unless there was something else, that Maria didn't understand. In any case, a break would do them good. "It's an interesting idea," she said, preparing to climb the vertical ladder on the back of the bus to place her backpack on the roof.
She got on board through the front door and went to sit behind the driver, next to a man about thirty years old, who smiled at her with enthusiasm. Franca went up through the back door and sat next to an Indian woman wearing a blue sari. From her seat Maria tried to meet her eyes, but Franca was busy and didn't look at her. After hooting twice and stunning everyone with the deafening noise, the bus began to move. From outside they could hear someone shouting 'cheloh, cheloh'. They were off! Soon, the bus was climbing the mountain road, bend after bend. The frequent rains had cleared the atmosphere, the sky was a deep blue and the sun began to warm the fresh and clean air. The colours were bright; the greens especially seemed unreal, varying from shades of pea green, emerald green, olive green, bottle green, to blue-green, and the darker, almost black, of the trees immersed in the shadow. In a certain way she was travelling alone. Was she afraid?
"Excuse me, Madam! Are you French?" asked the man sitting next to her.
"No, I'm Italian," she replied.
He looked at her, smiling: "I have a French friend. Is France close to Italy?"
Maria laughed to herself at the naivety of the question. Smiling, she explained that the two countries were neighbouring, but Italy was more south. "And where are you from?" she asked.
He was from Kulu, near Manali. He wanted to know whether she was going there. Maria confirmed that she and her friend were going right there, was it a nice place? 'Her friend' had she said? And where was this friend? He looked very surprised when Maria told him that she was sitting far away. In India, friends wanted to be together, he said, not one here and one there. In Italy it was the same, said Maria, but this friend was very independent and besides, as he could see, she was right; it was thanks to her idea that they were talking together. True, true, said the man, who introduced himself as Chaman Lal. He shook her hand, showing that he knew the western way to introduce himself. He wanted to take a look at this particular friend and stood up to find her, without trying to hide his curiosity. Maria looked out of the window and let him watch. Satisfied with having checked, he sat down again and continued with his answer: Manali was much more than a nice place, it was stunning. Did she know how the British called it when they ruled India? No, she didn't know. "The Valley of the Gods, they called it," he said with pride.
"What a beautiful name. It must be really a fine place!"
Yes it was, and the people were friendly and polite. The Indians had this belief that the Himalayas was the place where many gods lived, especially Shiva, the god of destruction for reconstruction, the destruction of the old for the creation of the new. Shiva lived in the Himalayas and from his hair the River Ganges flowed. He gestured with his hands as he spoke; he had fine hands, maybe he was a teacher or a musician. "This is Hindu mythology. Do you know Hindu mythology?" he asked.
"I know very little about Hindu religion and mythology," replied Maria, "but I'm very interested." Chaman Lal's eyes shone with enthusiasm and intelligence. "Can you tell me something about the Hindu Gods? We have many hours travel ahead of us."
He was more than happy! "We have many gods," he began, "but the main three are Brahma, god of creation, Shiva, god of destruction, and Vishnu, the god of preservation. There are very many gods, some are more popular than others. Ganesh, the one with the elephant head, is one of the most loved of all, because he brings good luck."
Yes, she had seen him on many posters. Why was he so popular? Did she want to know the legend of Ganesh? Maria nodded and smiled at him happily. He began to tell:
"Well then, Ganesh was Shiva's son. After marrying the goddess Parvati, Shiva retired to meditate on top of a mountain and didn't return home for several months. Tired of waiting, Parvati wore her most beautiful sari and went to look for him." He was full of enthusiasm and spoke with a clear and beautiful voice. "Though he was in deep meditation, Shiva became aware of Parvati's presence and looked at her with desire... and so they conceived their son. The goddess gave birth to Ganesh. One day, many years later, while Parvati was having a wash and Ganesh was guarding the door, Shiva returned home. Finding a strong and handsome young man blocking his entrance, the god Shiva became very angry and cut off his head."
Chaman Lal looked at Maria, who was visibly surprised, and continued, undaunted: "When Parvati realized what had happened, she was desperate and told her husband that he had killed their son. Shiva was so sorry that, in order to repair his terrible mistake, ran out to cut off the head of the first living creature that walked by, and put it on his son's body."
Maria was listening, smiling and looking at him in amazement.
"As you already guessed, the first creature that passed by was a small elephant and this is why Ganesh is like that," he concluded, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
He wasn't offended that Maria was laughing; he obviously loved to talk about these things. He then continued, explaining that the Hindus turned to Ganesh whenever they began a new enterprise: they held a ceremony, made ritual offerings in his honour and sought his protection. It brought good luck to have a picture of Ganesh in the house. Did she know Shiva's story? When Maria said she didn't but would like to hear it, he began to tell.
Time passed quickly, and absorbed by the stories of the Hindu gods, Maria hadn't realized that several passengers had noticed her interest. They were also listening to Chaman Lal's stories, as if they had never heard them before. Some of them were curious to ask her some questions.
A man sitting behind touched Chaman Lal's shoulder and said something in Hindi, whilst looking at Maria, smiling. There was a brief exchange and then her companion said: "I told him that you are Italian and he wants to know if there are Indians who live in Italy and if there are many Indian restaurants."
Maria thought for a moment and then said, "I don't know of any Indian people who live in Venice, perhaps in other larger cities... And, from what I know, there are no Indian restaurants."
The answer was translated to the other passengers and an animated discussion began. Soon, all the attention was focused on Maria. "What do they say?" she asked her friend.
"They say that opening a restaurant is good business. People who have restaurants in Germany or England make a lot of money and, when they visit India, they are very generous. In Europe they become rich."
Another man, sitting a few rows behind him, asked another question, this time in English: "How much was the price of the airfare to India?"
Maria didn't need to think about that: "About three hundred dollars. One dollar is about eight or nine rupees," she said. The answer was received with great interest and launched a lively discussion, as people calculated the corresponding cost in rupees. When they agreed, exaggerating, that it corresponded to approximately three thousand rupees, great exclamations of surprise and various comments were heard coming from all over the bus. There was another man who had a pressing question. Chaman Lal translated: "This man wants to know if you are rich."
Maria laughed heartily: "Oh no. I work, and I saved for months and months. I couldn't spend such a sum very often." While answering she turned, trying to make eye contact with as many people as possible. After her answer was translated, people began to talk more animatedly. They were all involved, including the driver, who, from time to time, turned to ask his own question, something that worried her very much. "What are they saying?" she asked Chaman Lal.
"They say you must be rich. For many of these people it is impossible to save, even ten rupees."
"How much do they earn?" she asked.
"A salary of six hundred rupees a month is not bad, with a family to support."
Maria was shocked; that couldn't possibly be enough. She explained that in Europe prices were much higher than in India, so even if the wages were better people were not rich. After her sentence was assimilated, they began to ask how much a house cost, and a pair of shoes? And a car? Since they were all so interested, Maria stood up and turned to face all the passengers who looked at her smiling, their eyes alight with curiosity. It had become a conference. For every answer she gave, a loud discussion between the people followed; everyone had something to say. She saw Franca talking with the woman sitting next to her, but even her attention was drawn to Maria when a woman asked the next question in Hindi. Chaman Lal translated: "This woman wants to know how old you are and if you are married."
Everybody was waiting for her answer: "I am twenty-four and I'm not married."
A string of comments and giggles crossed the bus. A couple of women said something out loud and everyone started to laugh. What did they say? "They say you should already have children."
Maria laughed and everyone joined in her laughter. "Thanks, but not yet. In Italy, women get married later than in India, and also have children later," she explained.
A woman sitting at the back of the bus stood up and said in English: "We will pray that you have many children soon!"
Maria reacted instinctively and with her palms forward, feigning fright, said: "No, no, please, don't pray, not yet!" Everyone laughed aloud and the merriment continued for quite a while. She felt at home.
The questions kept coming. They wanted to know how engagements and weddings were. Did women have to have a dowry? Did parents ask the astrologer's opinion before deciding on their children's future husband or wife? Their surprise was immense when Maria said that a dowry wasn't necessary and that young people decided who to marry, without having to obtain their parents' approval. Since astrology was one of Maria's great passions, she asked her own question: Did people pay much attention to what the astrologer said? Chaman Lal explained that not only did they pay attention but that, if the possible partners didn't have a good chart, the marriage wouldn't go ahead. Maria asked if it was true that the couple could divorce in the Hindu religion. Yes, confirmed Chaman Lal, after five years of separation.
"It's the same in Italy, five years," said Maria.
This piece of information spread through the coach, passed from mouth to mouth, and was received with great enthusiasm. They had found a point in common between the two cultures and everyone was happy. Maria was beginning to feel nauseous from standing facing backwards. She apologized and sat in her seat, quietly. After a while someone passed her an orange, then came two biscuits. When the bus stopped for a break, the driver invited her to his table and insisted on offering her chai and biscuits. Franca was invited to join them, but tried to refuse. Nevertheless, they ordered a chai for her too, which she accepted reluctantly.
"You're the star of the bus!" she said with half a smile.
"I'm having fun and learning lots of things. They are very nice," said Maria.
"I can see that," said Franca, quieter than usual.
"You were right saying that by sitting separately we get to know new people," said Maria.
Franca gave a wry smile. "I'm always right," she said, half joking.
She got on board through the front door and went to sit behind the driver, next to a man about thirty years old, who smiled at her with enthusiasm. Franca went up through the back door and sat next to an Indian woman wearing a blue sari. From her seat Maria tried to meet her eyes, but Franca was busy and didn't look at her. After hooting twice and stunning everyone with the deafening noise, the bus began to move. From outside they could hear someone shouting 'cheloh, cheloh'. They were off! Soon, the bus was climbing the mountain road, bend after bend. The frequent rains had cleared the atmosphere, the sky was a deep blue and the sun began to warm the fresh and clean air. The colours were bright; the greens especially seemed unreal, varying from shades of pea green, emerald green, olive green, bottle green, to blue-green, and the darker, almost black, of the trees immersed in the shadow. In a certain way she was travelling alone. Was she afraid?
"Excuse me, Madam! Are you French?" asked the man sitting next to her.
"No, I'm Italian," she replied.
He looked at her, smiling: "I have a French friend. Is France close to Italy?"
Maria laughed to herself at the naivety of the question. Smiling, she explained that the two countries were neighbouring, but Italy was more south. "And where are you from?" she asked.
He was from Kulu, near Manali. He wanted to know whether she was going there. Maria confirmed that she and her friend were going right there, was it a nice place? 'Her friend' had she said? And where was this friend? He looked very surprised when Maria told him that she was sitting far away. In India, friends wanted to be together, he said, not one here and one there. In Italy it was the same, said Maria, but this friend was very independent and besides, as he could see, she was right; it was thanks to her idea that they were talking together. True, true, said the man, who introduced himself as Chaman Lal. He shook her hand, showing that he knew the western way to introduce himself. He wanted to take a look at this particular friend and stood up to find her, without trying to hide his curiosity. Maria looked out of the window and let him watch. Satisfied with having checked, he sat down again and continued with his answer: Manali was much more than a nice place, it was stunning. Did she know how the British called it when they ruled India? No, she didn't know. "The Valley of the Gods, they called it," he said with pride.
"What a beautiful name. It must be really a fine place!"
Yes it was, and the people were friendly and polite. The Indians had this belief that the Himalayas was the place where many gods lived, especially Shiva, the god of destruction for reconstruction, the destruction of the old for the creation of the new. Shiva lived in the Himalayas and from his hair the River Ganges flowed. He gestured with his hands as he spoke; he had fine hands, maybe he was a teacher or a musician. "This is Hindu mythology. Do you know Hindu mythology?" he asked.
"I know very little about Hindu religion and mythology," replied Maria, "but I'm very interested." Chaman Lal's eyes shone with enthusiasm and intelligence. "Can you tell me something about the Hindu Gods? We have many hours travel ahead of us."
He was more than happy! "We have many gods," he began, "but the main three are Brahma, god of creation, Shiva, god of destruction, and Vishnu, the god of preservation. There are very many gods, some are more popular than others. Ganesh, the one with the elephant head, is one of the most loved of all, because he brings good luck."
Yes, she had seen him on many posters. Why was he so popular? Did she want to know the legend of Ganesh? Maria nodded and smiled at him happily. He began to tell:
"Well then, Ganesh was Shiva's son. After marrying the goddess Parvati, Shiva retired to meditate on top of a mountain and didn't return home for several months. Tired of waiting, Parvati wore her most beautiful sari and went to look for him." He was full of enthusiasm and spoke with a clear and beautiful voice. "Though he was in deep meditation, Shiva became aware of Parvati's presence and looked at her with desire... and so they conceived their son. The goddess gave birth to Ganesh. One day, many years later, while Parvati was having a wash and Ganesh was guarding the door, Shiva returned home. Finding a strong and handsome young man blocking his entrance, the god Shiva became very angry and cut off his head."
Chaman Lal looked at Maria, who was visibly surprised, and continued, undaunted: "When Parvati realized what had happened, she was desperate and told her husband that he had killed their son. Shiva was so sorry that, in order to repair his terrible mistake, ran out to cut off the head of the first living creature that walked by, and put it on his son's body."
Maria was listening, smiling and looking at him in amazement.
"As you already guessed, the first creature that passed by was a small elephant and this is why Ganesh is like that," he concluded, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
He wasn't offended that Maria was laughing; he obviously loved to talk about these things. He then continued, explaining that the Hindus turned to Ganesh whenever they began a new enterprise: they held a ceremony, made ritual offerings in his honour and sought his protection. It brought good luck to have a picture of Ganesh in the house. Did she know Shiva's story? When Maria said she didn't but would like to hear it, he began to tell.
Time passed quickly, and absorbed by the stories of the Hindu gods, Maria hadn't realized that several passengers had noticed her interest. They were also listening to Chaman Lal's stories, as if they had never heard them before. Some of them were curious to ask her some questions.
A man sitting behind touched Chaman Lal's shoulder and said something in Hindi, whilst looking at Maria, smiling. There was a brief exchange and then her companion said: "I told him that you are Italian and he wants to know if there are Indians who live in Italy and if there are many Indian restaurants."
Maria thought for a moment and then said, "I don't know of any Indian people who live in Venice, perhaps in other larger cities... And, from what I know, there are no Indian restaurants."
The answer was translated to the other passengers and an animated discussion began. Soon, all the attention was focused on Maria. "What do they say?" she asked her friend.
"They say that opening a restaurant is good business. People who have restaurants in Germany or England make a lot of money and, when they visit India, they are very generous. In Europe they become rich."
Another man, sitting a few rows behind him, asked another question, this time in English: "How much was the price of the airfare to India?"
Maria didn't need to think about that: "About three hundred dollars. One dollar is about eight or nine rupees," she said. The answer was received with great interest and launched a lively discussion, as people calculated the corresponding cost in rupees. When they agreed, exaggerating, that it corresponded to approximately three thousand rupees, great exclamations of surprise and various comments were heard coming from all over the bus. There was another man who had a pressing question. Chaman Lal translated: "This man wants to know if you are rich."
Maria laughed heartily: "Oh no. I work, and I saved for months and months. I couldn't spend such a sum very often." While answering she turned, trying to make eye contact with as many people as possible. After her answer was translated, people began to talk more animatedly. They were all involved, including the driver, who, from time to time, turned to ask his own question, something that worried her very much. "What are they saying?" she asked Chaman Lal.
"They say you must be rich. For many of these people it is impossible to save, even ten rupees."
"How much do they earn?" she asked.
"A salary of six hundred rupees a month is not bad, with a family to support."
Maria was shocked; that couldn't possibly be enough. She explained that in Europe prices were much higher than in India, so even if the wages were better people were not rich. After her sentence was assimilated, they began to ask how much a house cost, and a pair of shoes? And a car? Since they were all so interested, Maria stood up and turned to face all the passengers who looked at her smiling, their eyes alight with curiosity. It had become a conference. For every answer she gave, a loud discussion between the people followed; everyone had something to say. She saw Franca talking with the woman sitting next to her, but even her attention was drawn to Maria when a woman asked the next question in Hindi. Chaman Lal translated: "This woman wants to know how old you are and if you are married."
Everybody was waiting for her answer: "I am twenty-four and I'm not married."
A string of comments and giggles crossed the bus. A couple of women said something out loud and everyone started to laugh. What did they say? "They say you should already have children."
Maria laughed and everyone joined in her laughter. "Thanks, but not yet. In Italy, women get married later than in India, and also have children later," she explained.
A woman sitting at the back of the bus stood up and said in English: "We will pray that you have many children soon!"
Maria reacted instinctively and with her palms forward, feigning fright, said: "No, no, please, don't pray, not yet!" Everyone laughed aloud and the merriment continued for quite a while. She felt at home.
The questions kept coming. They wanted to know how engagements and weddings were. Did women have to have a dowry? Did parents ask the astrologer's opinion before deciding on their children's future husband or wife? Their surprise was immense when Maria said that a dowry wasn't necessary and that young people decided who to marry, without having to obtain their parents' approval. Since astrology was one of Maria's great passions, she asked her own question: Did people pay much attention to what the astrologer said? Chaman Lal explained that not only did they pay attention but that, if the possible partners didn't have a good chart, the marriage wouldn't go ahead. Maria asked if it was true that the couple could divorce in the Hindu religion. Yes, confirmed Chaman Lal, after five years of separation.
"It's the same in Italy, five years," said Maria.
This piece of information spread through the coach, passed from mouth to mouth, and was received with great enthusiasm. They had found a point in common between the two cultures and everyone was happy. Maria was beginning to feel nauseous from standing facing backwards. She apologized and sat in her seat, quietly. After a while someone passed her an orange, then came two biscuits. When the bus stopped for a break, the driver invited her to his table and insisted on offering her chai and biscuits. Franca was invited to join them, but tried to refuse. Nevertheless, they ordered a chai for her too, which she accepted reluctantly.
"You're the star of the bus!" she said with half a smile.
"I'm having fun and learning lots of things. They are very nice," said Maria.
"I can see that," said Franca, quieter than usual.
"You were right saying that by sitting separately we get to know new people," said Maria.
Franca gave a wry smile. "I'm always right," she said, half joking.
⸹⸹⸹
After the chai break, the bus began climbing again up the winding road. Out of the opposite window she could see the side of the mountain, while the view from hers was a sheer drop of hundreds of metres. Every time she looked out, Maria could see the raging green river rushing at the bottom of the slope, cutting the huge valley in two. The bus was driving dangerously close to the edge of the road. Maria was feeling dizzy and her stomach clenched with nausea as fear swept through her. She forced herself not to look down. After just over an hour the bus stopped again. There was a pink temple next to the road. Only the driver got out and entered the temple. Maria saw him pray. A man climbed aboard and began to distribute handfuls of puffed rice, placing it on the palms that people held out to him. In exchange for the rice the passengers gave him an offering of a few paisa. Maria took the rice and gave him a rupee. She turned to look at Franca and saw that she was giving her contribution, too. She had a serious expression.
"Why are we stopping here?" she asked her travelling companion.
"This is the last temple before Kulu, and after this point the road becomes dangerous. The driver is doing 'puja'. It's a prayer for our protection. The passengers too will now do 'puja'," he said simply.
"Do many accidents happen on this road?" she asked, trying to hide her anxiety.
"Sometimes," he replied, nodding his head from side to side. Maria looked at the driver who was climbing back up to his seat. He folded his hands and bowed on the steering wheel, remaining motionless for a moment. Then he started the engine and began to drive.
"And, sometimes, do coaches roll down the embankment?" she asked shyly. She wasn't sure she wanted to hear the answer. Once again he rocked his head.
"Sometimes," replied Chaman Lal, trying to reassure her; but then he added: "If you look down you'll see some. Sometimes it is difficult when two buses have to pass. In some places the road is not wide enough."
Maria couldn't hide her concern. "Aren't you scared?" she asked.
Chaman Lal thought for a while before answering: "In a way, yes, I am a little afraid, but that's why we pray for protection. On the other hand, we Hindus don't worry too much about dying. When it's our time to go, we go! In the meantime, we try to live well." He looked at her openly, and seeing the anxiety in her face, added: "The driver is very experienced."
Maria thought that at least it wasn't raining. God knows what the road must be like when it was wet and muddy. Just then their coach turned a corner and she saw a large, old bus coming from the opposite direction. She desperately hoped her coach would stay on the side of the mountain, but no! To her horror, she saw that it moved toward the edge of the escarpment. The two drivers nodded at each other and began to focus on the delicate manoeuvre of going through, side by side. They advanced inch by inch. Their driver checked all the time the side of the bus and the edge of the road. Maria looked out the window and saw that there was no road beneath her, only the green river, hundreds of metres below. She could feel her heart in her throat. She could barely whisper: "The coach is off the road," feeling on the verge of throwing up from fear.
"It seems that way, because of where you are sitting. But the wheels are still on the road... Well, at least three," said Chaman Lal in a low voice. "Don't worry. The driver is good."
On the bus there was absolute silence and the people prayed. Maybe it would be better if she prayed, too. She tried to remember the Ave Mary, but the words didn't come easily, she was too anxious, and quickly dismissed the idea. She decided to speak directly to God, wherever he or she was. Another look at the river below persuaded her to close her eyes. Protection, please. Don't let the bus fall over the edge. Do us this favour, God, please! Her life went by before her eyes: she loved her mother, her father, her sisters, her brother, her friends. She loved life and wanted to live for a long time. She even loved herself, the way she was now, with the Indians, and Franca. This prayer didn't make her feel any better. Why on earth couldn't the passengers get off while they did this manoeuvre? The nausea was mounting and she felt faint, her mouth was dry. She remembered Nam-myoho-renge-kyo. She had to transform her fear... into what? Courage, confidence? One of those two. Nam-myoho-renge-kyo, Nam-myoho-renge-kyo, Nam-myoho-renge-kyo, she muttered between her teeth. She felt a gentle touch on her arm and Chamam Lal said softly: "We're through. You can relax." She opened her eyes but didn't look at the road.
She looked at him instead, he looked calm. "You look very relaxed," she said.
"I have confidence in the driver, and in life. When you have confidence you don't worry so much. Trust fights fear." He was right. The road was still narrow but at least they were no longer on the edge of the abyss. Everyone on the bus remained silent. She turned back to the window, the scenery was amazing.
The mountains were imposing and their jagged shape was dramatic, so impressive. They resembled the Alps, except that they were much taller. Dense forests of fir trees lined the road and the valleys below, the sun was shining. The deep blue sky was completely clear. Two hours later they arrived in Kulu. Chaman Lal and many other passengers had reached their destination. Maria got out and waited while they unloaded their luggage from the roof. Many of them gave her their address, making her promise to come and visit them, and whatever she needed, she only had to ask. Maria sensed they really meant it and felt great affection for them. Franca was taking down the address of the woman she had sat with.
Back on the bus they sat next to each other. It would only take an hour to get to Manali. Let's hope we find a good hotel, said Maria, but Franca had other ideas. She wanted to find a house and stay with the locals. Her intention was to go to a bar or restaurant, get to know Italians who already lived there and tag along with them. It was easy, she said, so they wouldn't have to buy a kerosene stove, dishes and utensils. Maria was perplexed, but she didn't want to argue with Franca; there was already a distance between them. However, if it's not today, maybe they'd find somewhere tomorrow, she suggested. "We'll see!" responded Franca dryly; in any case, she liked Indian people's company, right? She had proven that during the trip. It was true, Maria thought and chose to be open to any possibility. The landscape was becoming even more spectacular. At every bend they drove closer and closer to the high mountains. Her heart swelled to see the beauty surrounding her. The air was cleaner, fresher.
Finally, the bus arrived in Manali's square, surrounded by a forest of tall pines. All around there were stalls selling blankets and colourful shawls, hand-woven rugs and mats, plastic toys and posters of Hindu gods. Maria recognized Ganesh, Kali and Laxmi, the goddess of wealth and prosperity. There were also a couple of chai-shops and stalls frying samosas and pakhora, creating a relaxed and welcoming atmosphere. As they climbed onto the roof to fetch their backpacks, Maria paused to feel the sun warming her back and the high mountain's cool air. The view in front of her took her breath away!
The sunny valley was bordered by a belt of green mountains while behind them stood the peaks of the Himalayas, covered with snow and ice, clearly silhouetted against the crisp blue sky. Instead of climbing down right away, they sat on the roof and looked around in silence. The Valley of the Gods, they called it, and she could see why. Filling her lungs with fresh, clean air, Maria felt a great sense of peace in her heart. Slowly, she slung her rucksack over her shoulders and went down the vertical ladder.
They went for an exploratory walk and, walking uphill on the main road they quickly arrived at the centre of the small town. They continued a little further, the towering mountains ahead dwarfing everything around them. She was beginning to understand why Paul and Karen wanted to live here. Who knew if she'd bump into them? She was both excited and anxious at the thought. She looked around, hoping to catch a glimpse of him.
On the road side there were several shops, a fruit and vegetable store, a grocery store, one that sold bread and biscuits, a pharmacy, and a little further down, the tourist office. Soon after that, the forest began again, thick with trees and plants. They walked slowly uphill, gasping for breath.
"I can't breathe easily and I feel so heavy! What altitude are we at?"
"About two thousand metres, six thousand feet, I think," said Franca panting. "Beautiful though, eh?"
In the Alps, at that height there were no more trees, while here it was all very lush. Once they reached the edge of the village, they retraced their steps and went downhill easily, returning to the centre of Manali. After the shops there were a couple of restaurants, and the first one was very inviting. Inside, they saw it was almost empty. They chose a table, suddenly hungry.
The menu was amazing! Maria ordered chicken Kiev, boiled vegetables and even a dessert, while Franca requested the Indian dish of bhaji and chapatis. They ate almost in silence and Maria enjoyed the best meal since leaving Italy. She felt much happier and stronger. There were some foreigners, German and English people, but no Italians. Maria looked at the door, half expecting to see Paul coming through at any moment. She wondered where their village was, Sarsai it was called, and if they often came into Manali.
"Do you expect to find any mail here?" Franca asked, shaking her from her daydream. No, it was too soon, Maria said, they had left only two weeks ago. And you? Maybe Gabriele, or some other friend. Tomorrow she would find out. The waiter brought the second chai; this had been prepared with ginger, whose strong spicy taste lingered for a long time. It was now late afternoon and there were no Italians in sight.
"Maybe it's better if we find a hotel for the night," suggested Maria.
Fortunately Franca agreed. "Yes, but only for tonight!"
They asked the waiter if he knew of a cheap but clean hotel. How much did they want to spend? Five rupees each was too little, he said, ten was better. They'd find a room just around the corner, on a small street parallel to the main road. Yes, the hotel was clean, he assured, no rats.
"Rats?" cried Maria, her eyes wide open.
"No, not at your hotel, Madam, don't worry," he replied, smiling charmingly. "Only mice. Nice little mice."
They laughed loudly, while the waiter smiled primly.
Following his instructions, they arrived at the hotel, a stone building only slightly larger than the surrounding houses. In the past the houses were made of wood, the waiter had explained but, a few years ago, a fire had destroyed almost the entire village, and after that, those who could afford it, had rebuilt their houses with stone. They saw no rodents but were so tired they could have slept through a raging party of 'nice little mice.'
"Why are we stopping here?" she asked her travelling companion.
"This is the last temple before Kulu, and after this point the road becomes dangerous. The driver is doing 'puja'. It's a prayer for our protection. The passengers too will now do 'puja'," he said simply.
"Do many accidents happen on this road?" she asked, trying to hide her anxiety.
"Sometimes," he replied, nodding his head from side to side. Maria looked at the driver who was climbing back up to his seat. He folded his hands and bowed on the steering wheel, remaining motionless for a moment. Then he started the engine and began to drive.
"And, sometimes, do coaches roll down the embankment?" she asked shyly. She wasn't sure she wanted to hear the answer. Once again he rocked his head.
"Sometimes," replied Chaman Lal, trying to reassure her; but then he added: "If you look down you'll see some. Sometimes it is difficult when two buses have to pass. In some places the road is not wide enough."
Maria couldn't hide her concern. "Aren't you scared?" she asked.
Chaman Lal thought for a while before answering: "In a way, yes, I am a little afraid, but that's why we pray for protection. On the other hand, we Hindus don't worry too much about dying. When it's our time to go, we go! In the meantime, we try to live well." He looked at her openly, and seeing the anxiety in her face, added: "The driver is very experienced."
Maria thought that at least it wasn't raining. God knows what the road must be like when it was wet and muddy. Just then their coach turned a corner and she saw a large, old bus coming from the opposite direction. She desperately hoped her coach would stay on the side of the mountain, but no! To her horror, she saw that it moved toward the edge of the escarpment. The two drivers nodded at each other and began to focus on the delicate manoeuvre of going through, side by side. They advanced inch by inch. Their driver checked all the time the side of the bus and the edge of the road. Maria looked out the window and saw that there was no road beneath her, only the green river, hundreds of metres below. She could feel her heart in her throat. She could barely whisper: "The coach is off the road," feeling on the verge of throwing up from fear.
"It seems that way, because of where you are sitting. But the wheels are still on the road... Well, at least three," said Chaman Lal in a low voice. "Don't worry. The driver is good."
On the bus there was absolute silence and the people prayed. Maybe it would be better if she prayed, too. She tried to remember the Ave Mary, but the words didn't come easily, she was too anxious, and quickly dismissed the idea. She decided to speak directly to God, wherever he or she was. Another look at the river below persuaded her to close her eyes. Protection, please. Don't let the bus fall over the edge. Do us this favour, God, please! Her life went by before her eyes: she loved her mother, her father, her sisters, her brother, her friends. She loved life and wanted to live for a long time. She even loved herself, the way she was now, with the Indians, and Franca. This prayer didn't make her feel any better. Why on earth couldn't the passengers get off while they did this manoeuvre? The nausea was mounting and she felt faint, her mouth was dry. She remembered Nam-myoho-renge-kyo. She had to transform her fear... into what? Courage, confidence? One of those two. Nam-myoho-renge-kyo, Nam-myoho-renge-kyo, Nam-myoho-renge-kyo, she muttered between her teeth. She felt a gentle touch on her arm and Chamam Lal said softly: "We're through. You can relax." She opened her eyes but didn't look at the road.
She looked at him instead, he looked calm. "You look very relaxed," she said.
"I have confidence in the driver, and in life. When you have confidence you don't worry so much. Trust fights fear." He was right. The road was still narrow but at least they were no longer on the edge of the abyss. Everyone on the bus remained silent. She turned back to the window, the scenery was amazing.
The mountains were imposing and their jagged shape was dramatic, so impressive. They resembled the Alps, except that they were much taller. Dense forests of fir trees lined the road and the valleys below, the sun was shining. The deep blue sky was completely clear. Two hours later they arrived in Kulu. Chaman Lal and many other passengers had reached their destination. Maria got out and waited while they unloaded their luggage from the roof. Many of them gave her their address, making her promise to come and visit them, and whatever she needed, she only had to ask. Maria sensed they really meant it and felt great affection for them. Franca was taking down the address of the woman she had sat with.
Back on the bus they sat next to each other. It would only take an hour to get to Manali. Let's hope we find a good hotel, said Maria, but Franca had other ideas. She wanted to find a house and stay with the locals. Her intention was to go to a bar or restaurant, get to know Italians who already lived there and tag along with them. It was easy, she said, so they wouldn't have to buy a kerosene stove, dishes and utensils. Maria was perplexed, but she didn't want to argue with Franca; there was already a distance between them. However, if it's not today, maybe they'd find somewhere tomorrow, she suggested. "We'll see!" responded Franca dryly; in any case, she liked Indian people's company, right? She had proven that during the trip. It was true, Maria thought and chose to be open to any possibility. The landscape was becoming even more spectacular. At every bend they drove closer and closer to the high mountains. Her heart swelled to see the beauty surrounding her. The air was cleaner, fresher.
Finally, the bus arrived in Manali's square, surrounded by a forest of tall pines. All around there were stalls selling blankets and colourful shawls, hand-woven rugs and mats, plastic toys and posters of Hindu gods. Maria recognized Ganesh, Kali and Laxmi, the goddess of wealth and prosperity. There were also a couple of chai-shops and stalls frying samosas and pakhora, creating a relaxed and welcoming atmosphere. As they climbed onto the roof to fetch their backpacks, Maria paused to feel the sun warming her back and the high mountain's cool air. The view in front of her took her breath away!
The sunny valley was bordered by a belt of green mountains while behind them stood the peaks of the Himalayas, covered with snow and ice, clearly silhouetted against the crisp blue sky. Instead of climbing down right away, they sat on the roof and looked around in silence. The Valley of the Gods, they called it, and she could see why. Filling her lungs with fresh, clean air, Maria felt a great sense of peace in her heart. Slowly, she slung her rucksack over her shoulders and went down the vertical ladder.
They went for an exploratory walk and, walking uphill on the main road they quickly arrived at the centre of the small town. They continued a little further, the towering mountains ahead dwarfing everything around them. She was beginning to understand why Paul and Karen wanted to live here. Who knew if she'd bump into them? She was both excited and anxious at the thought. She looked around, hoping to catch a glimpse of him.
On the road side there were several shops, a fruit and vegetable store, a grocery store, one that sold bread and biscuits, a pharmacy, and a little further down, the tourist office. Soon after that, the forest began again, thick with trees and plants. They walked slowly uphill, gasping for breath.
"I can't breathe easily and I feel so heavy! What altitude are we at?"
"About two thousand metres, six thousand feet, I think," said Franca panting. "Beautiful though, eh?"
In the Alps, at that height there were no more trees, while here it was all very lush. Once they reached the edge of the village, they retraced their steps and went downhill easily, returning to the centre of Manali. After the shops there were a couple of restaurants, and the first one was very inviting. Inside, they saw it was almost empty. They chose a table, suddenly hungry.
The menu was amazing! Maria ordered chicken Kiev, boiled vegetables and even a dessert, while Franca requested the Indian dish of bhaji and chapatis. They ate almost in silence and Maria enjoyed the best meal since leaving Italy. She felt much happier and stronger. There were some foreigners, German and English people, but no Italians. Maria looked at the door, half expecting to see Paul coming through at any moment. She wondered where their village was, Sarsai it was called, and if they often came into Manali.
"Do you expect to find any mail here?" Franca asked, shaking her from her daydream. No, it was too soon, Maria said, they had left only two weeks ago. And you? Maybe Gabriele, or some other friend. Tomorrow she would find out. The waiter brought the second chai; this had been prepared with ginger, whose strong spicy taste lingered for a long time. It was now late afternoon and there were no Italians in sight.
"Maybe it's better if we find a hotel for the night," suggested Maria.
Fortunately Franca agreed. "Yes, but only for tonight!"
They asked the waiter if he knew of a cheap but clean hotel. How much did they want to spend? Five rupees each was too little, he said, ten was better. They'd find a room just around the corner, on a small street parallel to the main road. Yes, the hotel was clean, he assured, no rats.
"Rats?" cried Maria, her eyes wide open.
"No, not at your hotel, Madam, don't worry," he replied, smiling charmingly. "Only mice. Nice little mice."
They laughed loudly, while the waiter smiled primly.
Following his instructions, they arrived at the hotel, a stone building only slightly larger than the surrounding houses. In the past the houses were made of wood, the waiter had explained but, a few years ago, a fire had destroyed almost the entire village, and after that, those who could afford it, had rebuilt their houses with stone. They saw no rodents but were so tired they could have slept through a raging party of 'nice little mice.'
To read chapter 10 click here Chapter 10
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