A Trip to the Beyond

The beguiling image moved towards me, as though a shadow with no grits and guts followed. In the clammy tapered alley, I could hear my heart pulsating my eardrums hurriedly. The eerie looking graffiti on the dirt-splattered walls seemed to form a nefarious canopy over my head, under the full moon night. My eyes were wide and astute, I could feel my unearthly deep breaths turning chillier as they hit the freshly wet brick walls, making my throat as dry as a bone. I took the hardest and loudest gulp I had ever taken and gathered the courage to move away from this daunting imagery. The shadow strutted closer…

Wait, wait, wait…Let’s fast-track back to what on planet Earth was I doing here in the first place?

I was in Haridwar, one of the seven sacred cities in India where pilgrims seek blessings of the divine power and wash their sins away in the Holy Water of the Ganges River. Alas, no wonder India’s so filthy! Well, being born and brought up in Indonesia I was always detached from the fascinations of my country. All our movies spectacle snake charmers, chaos, corruption and cows. But believe me, there’s so much more than “curry” in this vibrant, captivating country.

Interestingly so, why was I here? I wouldn’t say Millennials are ethereally down in the dumps, but I can definitely say our parents’ generation is much keener to delve into the spiritual path. Or perhaps, it’s their age. Every Indian parent I have ever known has had this ever-lasting desire to take a pilgrimage to these seven sacred cities, or as I would say, cover the checkpoints to Moksha (Liberation from the cycle of death and rebirth). After relentless weekly investments in sheer luck, instead of a calculative stock gamble, we did have enough dough to splurge. With a $20,000 lottery win, what were we going to do anyway? So, here our family was, hoping to be “liberated”. Jokes on my 7-year-old brother!

It was 4 P.M, B.C. Before Coronavirus as I may say, when nobody ‘batted’ an eye, gazing at the enormous crowd that had assembled there. We reached Har Ki Pauri, which translates to ‘The steps of Lord Shiva’, a revered site on the banks of the Holy River Ganga. The place was enveloped with colourful temples and the river flowed right across the city. All I could see was unholy people jumping into the waters. Some washed off their sins, some washed off their clothes, some washed away their loved one’s ashes and I washed away the notion of leaping into the “Holy Water”.

Thousands of priests with saffron and yellow robes, intriguing forehead markings and their necks filled with chains of prayer beads had gathered around the bank in their makeshift marquees, where they either minted money out of tourists or smoked their greens off. While my naïve parents were consulting an astrologer, trying to understand the fault in our stars, my eyes fixated on this one priest who seemed to look out of place.

While the other priests were busy engaging in entrepreneurial deceitful activities, this man with his messy nest-like black hair and conspicuously suspicious glares, caught my attention. His eyes were demonic as if he was taxing himself to look at the interiors of his brain. His perpetual chants didn’t appear to put him at ease, in fact, they seemed to be tormenting him. His clothes were dark and so was his aura. His protruding gut vibrated because of the irregular deep-breaths he took. The teeth were blackened as if he had feasted on coal or they could be tobacco stains. In the blink of an eye, he managed to block all the positive energies this holy place was emanating. He was like an eclipse.

As I was scrutinising this sceptical act, the man stopped at that split second and gazed right into my soul with his bloodshot round eyes. I looked away. I could feel my soul leave my body momentarily. Regaining my breath, retracting my eyes, I spotted a Little Black Book with him which he sneakily ensured was tucked under the mat where he sat. He looked from left to right, scanning for potential threats and then resumed to his probable satanic chants.

India is an encroaching place, I realised. I had seen a number of people staring at me from top to bottom already as if I were some extra-terrestrial object. Probably for the clothes I wore, possibly for the way I looked or perceived. Maybe because I was a girl? Who knows?

At dusk, thousands of people assembled at the Har Ki Pauri riverbank to be a part of the auspicious Ganga Aarti (Veneration of Goddess Ganga). Short, tall, sweaty, neat, hassled, rich or poor, all were bowing their heads in devotion. When I say, ‘unity in diversity’, this is what I mean, only to realise that I had been standing in the shorter ‘VIP’ queue and the maximum crowd was standing in a different one which extended miles behind. They say money can’t buy happiness, well, I had bought liberation!

With uncountable earthen Diyas (fire bowls) floating in River Ganga, and their reflections creating a universe-like mirage, it seemed as if the stars had too bowed down, bestowing respect to the Holy River. An inexplicable sight! For a second my pragmatic self too stopped questioning it all and endeavoured to capture this breathtaking realm in my head. It was either that or the priests’ monotonous chanting of mantras that made me numb. I was in awe. And at that very moment, I felt as if I was being watched. I looked around to find that same dark clothed man with bloodshot eyes staring right at me. This time he smirked and walked away, vanishing into thin air.

“I AM IN TROUBLE!”, I knew. “What if that Little Black Book was for black magic and witchcraft? What if he was planning on doing Voodoo on me? What if he made my doll and was going to pierce it with pins and needles this full moon night? What if he was a terrorist?”, I anxiously thought to myself.

But before I could give any more thought to it, he was out of sight and out of my mind because how could a swarm of folks from all over the country let you fixate on some irrelevant concurrence? I knew this was my denial talking but I did not mention this to my parents. After shepherding our way out of the herd of devotees, fighting the rains, we finally and thankfully left for our hotel. “What an escape!”, I quietly pondered in the car.

As I left the hotel, after my family was fast asleep, I rolled some grass for myself and wandered around in the piously quiet streets of Haridwar to find the perfect baking spot. The reckless youngster that I am, I decided to walk down a couple of blocks while I gazed at the starry lit night. The deafening silence was stirred by my sluggishly fatigued walk and the faint crackling of the grass, with every puff I took.

Unexpectedly, I heard the sound of distant footsteps. Startled and occupied in all my preconceived thoughts, my trembling hands dropped the last of the spliff and I heard the footsteps getting louder. I started running towards the hotel, when I saw a silhouette-like figure right in front of me, standing tall and upright with long unkempt tresses. The moon’s light was not enough to comprehend what was coming my way. But I knew it was that man with the Little Black Book! It was either fight or flight! However, how could I possibly fight a man possessing a book of black magic? I stepped back and ran fleetingly to save my life! I didn’t look back. I just ran in the pitch-black darkness as if I was a horse with Blinkers on. I tip-toed into an alley to take a breather and hide from that ghastly devil. But that lane led to nowhere and I thought this was possibly the worst place to hide.

While I was contemplating my next move, I saw the beguiling image moved towards me, as though a shadow with no grits and guts followed. In the clammy tapered alley, I could hear my heart pulsating my eardrums hurriedly. The eerie looking graffiti on the dirt-splattered walls seemed to form a nefarious canopy over my head, under the full moon night. My eyes were wide and astute, I could feel my unearthly deep breaths turning chillier as they hit the freshly wet brick walls, making my throat as dry as a bone. I took the hardest and loudest gulp I had ever taken and gathered the courage to move away from this daunting imagery. The shadow strutted closer when suddenly a warm blinding angelic light lit the entire place up.

-Akshita Jain

(If you liked this fictional drama, I would love to get your feedback and support, as I have just started writing in this space and would be beyond grateful to connect with people sharing similar interests.)