11. DISCOVERIES
A gentle prod on the shoulder. "Time to deplane, sir."
Maan let out a muffled groan as he jerked awake and worked on uncrumpling his stiff frame. His body ached all over, his limbs were like dead stumps of wood and his gravelly tongue appeared stuck solid to his palate. Even his neck was horribly askew. Yet he didn't grumble. Instead, he hobbled to the exit and stumbled out only to be walloped by a blast of searing hot air.
With difficulty, he braced himself and ventured forward to peruse the vicinity. In a mere few hours, the entire landscape had undergone a drastic transition. Lush, verdant fields of maize, barley and jowar had given way to a brown arid expanse of scrub and brush. There were no tall dense groves of banyan and peepal to provide welcome shade; just an occasional thorny acacia trying to make its presence felt. Yet there was plenty of something else---dunes, loads and loads of them, rolling out in all directions as far as the eye could see. He had landed in the middle of a desert, hostile and downright deadly.
"Where in hell is this?" he seethed, seeking the slim figure of his reluctant spouse.
"We are in my hometown," she responded, suddenly popping into his line of vision. "Rathods---Rajasthan... Get it?" Her lips twisted into a smile.
"Doctor Sahib! This won't do at all! You look like a desiccated vadi!" She clucked in disapproval. "This place comes with a few but very basic rules." She thrust a bottle of water at him. "Hydrate and cover your cranium." Her tone rang with dry ridicule.
But before he could rally around and deliver a sound whack on her behind, she had disappeared leaving only the resonance of cheeky laughter in her wake. He felt like a henpecked husband already. I can't tolerate this!
"Get back here, right now! I command you!" he shouted.
But she didn't obey. His words were inaudible, lost in the parched realms of his throat. Damn!
Then all of a sudden, he became aware of a strange sensation. He was being watched. The locals were eyeing him with curiosity and of what could only be interpreted as amused sympathy"another desi kid straying off the beaten path in search of eternal moksha, instead discovering (too late) that he had seriously miscalculated his bearings.
I have to pull myself up and get my act together or I'm surely done for, Maan thought ruefully.
He emptied the bottle in one big gulp, feeling a sliver of revival rush through his core. Armed with a renewed sense of purpose, he embarked on the dusty road, steering toward a profusion of tiny shops, and stepped into what appeared to be the main bazaar. The partial shade provided by the gaily decorated awnings supplied instant succor. His eyes, so far narrowed down to tiny slits, snapped ajar. What he saw were narrow alleys of packed mud, crammed with vendors on either side, branching out in diverse directions"a situation he found most confounding. And as if that wasn't enough, he also had to endure a relentless wave of humans, seemingly bent on uprooting and evicting him from their midst. But tenacity was a trait he had been born with. He remained dogged in his quest. Fortunately it didn't last long---pagris were quite a popular commodity.
Toning down his accent the best he could, he haggled with a stone-faced stall owner and arrived at what he presumed to be a bargain"a bright orange and green turban for a mere 2500 rupees!
"1500! They cheat you mister!" a voice said beside him.
"Huh?"
He watched bemused as his unsolicited champion plunged into a heated exchange with the merchant. It ended just as abruptly, with him being presented with his purchase, at a paltry Rs.250 savings and much worse for wear. Gingerly Maan placed it on his head and assessed his reflection in a foggy mirror.
"Ahh! You look just like a Rajput prince! Shandaar! All you need is a mustache!"
Despite himself, Maan found it hard to suppress a smile. He turned to his rescuer and proffered a couple of 100 rupee notes. They were pocketed promptly.
"You need help? I speak English very good! You American? Me Rafiq." An eager hand was extended.
Though barely reaching above Maan's midriff, Rafiq was a grown man, somewhere in his mid-thirties. Dressed in clean yet threadbare clothing with worn out leather sandals on his feet, topped by a pair of cheap shades, he looked like what he was"a seasoned veteran of the hapless tourist trade.
"Me Maan, and yes, I'm from America." Maan solemnly shook the man's weathered hand. "And no, I don't need help."
But the hint was forsaken. The little man redoubled his pitch while trying to keep pace with the much taller Maan who took off down a thin lane in search of Geet.
"You need guide? Me very good guide. I show you lake, bird sanctuary, Rathod palace. Just $100.00. I have car, very nice and AC." He pointed to a beat-up Ford that could have put many junkyard rejects to shame.
Maan regarded him warily. The fellow had probably a very good view of his bulging wallet"Geet's warning still lurked fresh in his mind. He patted his rear to assure himself of its presence and observed Rafiq's eyes following the movement. "No, thanks! I'm not a tourist." He muttered it dismissively while frantically scouring the vicinity for a particular bright green and blue sari. It was a tough task"the whole place was a virtual impressionist palette.
"There you are! Here's my biwi. My wife!" With a broad grin of discovery, he pulled the baffled Geet (whom he'd found at a stall struggling with some ridiculously tiny green bangles) firmly around by the shoulders and positioned her in front of Rafiq who, after surveying them both skeptically for several moments, reluctantly slinked away.
Sighing with relief, Maan turned to her. "Why did you disappear and leave me to fend for myself? In any case, why do you need these bangles?"
It took her but a few seconds to recover and disengage herself from his grip. Kohl-lined eyes with mile long lashes fluttered, quickly taking in his headgear. They appeared to approve which infused him with a sense of immense content for no apparent reason. "I can't go home without bangles on my arms. I wouldn't be considered married," she explained.
"Is sahib your marad?" Interjected the shopkeeper, claiming Maan's attention for the first time. The shopkeeper happened to be a pint-sized old woman with a lined, leathery face, bright beady eyes and a toothless smile.
"Yes, I am her marad. We just got married," he affirmed, nudging Geet who reluctantly dipped her head.
"Then he must make you wear these bangles, the smaller the better, so you'll have a wonderful honeymoon!" the crone cackled, her shriveled frame convulsing with delight.
"Might as well comply. I happen to be very superstitious in some ways," he muttered softly, proceeding to manipulate the baubles of colored plastic around Geet's dainty hand with distinct glee. Her features screwed up in distress but she didn't utter a whimper.
What the heck's gotten into me? He checked himself, tossing aside what he had and replaced them with a larger size. Then after arraying his new bride's arm with an abundance of color, he paid for the purchase, failing to notice the gleam of regard in her eyes. "Give us your blessings, they are worth a lot more than fake superstitions." He told the old woman who was clearly taken aback by his generous tip.
Then turning to Geet, he asked, "What now wife?"
She colored, appearing markedly disconcerted and made toward the auto-rickshaw stand.
He yanked her back. "No, that's not what I had in mind."
A few minutes later they were on their way.
"Are you sure you're okay?" Geet looked at Maan, concerned.
"I'm perfectly fine. Couldn't have asked for anything better." He let out a contented sigh, allowing his head to sink back into a pillow of fresh straw, and his worn out body to stretch along the length of the traditional tanga. With eyes closed, he inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with a mixture of the sweet hay and horse dung. The jerking rhythm, the clip clop of horse's hooves, punctuated by the shrill cries of the tangawallah as they made their way through the busy thoroughfare was strangely comforting.
***
"This is bliss, pure bliss," he said.
Geet smiled, shaking her head as she turned her attention to the outside. The streets of her hometown were still the same"little had changed in this relatively remote outreach of the Hindi heartland. True, technology hadn't spared anybody; even the lowly chaiwallah and the maid conducted their business on cell phones. Television had brought the world to every doorstep and the light bulb had swapped places with the customary lantern. Yet the attitudes of the populace remained constant; they continued to exist in perpetual darkness.
Her morose contemplation was abruptly interrupted when a young boy caught her eye. He stood in the middle of the street, waving to her vigorously while pointing upward, sporting a carefree grin on his nut-brown face.
She followed the directive without much interest and found herself catching her breath. The cloudless blue sky had metamorphosed into a canvas of dazzling art. Myriad kites in all colors of the rainbow frolicked high above, tethered to invisible hands. They played an innocent game, vying for prominence in a battle of superiority and skill.
Craning her head, she watched a bright red and yellow kite climb higher and higher; it's progress seemingly unstoppable, when suddenly a roar erupted from the crowd"the kite had been snagged. She saw it drop like a wounded bird in mid-flight and gasped.
"What's up?" Maan asked. "Anything wrong?"
Geet started and glanced over her shoulder, not realizing that all along she'd been subject to his surreptitious perusal.
"No, it's nothing," she said, her voice short.
"Fine," Maan retorted. "You're welcome to your miseries. But please help me out of mine. I'm dying to meet my in-laws!"
The flash of anger in her eyes deepened his grin which infuriated her even more, but she chose to look away so he wouldn't see her expression.
"Hold on!" Their driver let out a shrill warning just as he took a sharp turn and began climbing a steep incline.
Maan reached over and made a grab for Geet's waist. She didn't struggle as she was too preoccupied with her own thoughts. Holding her close, he stared at her face while the rickety cart lumbered up the hillside.
The scenery was rustic and the situation tranquil, yet it couldn't belie the upheaval in both their hearts.
tbc
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