The body burned.
Set atop a rectangular pile of wooden logs, stiff with rigor mortis, the old, shriveled, lifeless body slowly caught fire. Aided by the gentle breeze, the flames of the still reluctant fire spread the smell of burning flesh mixed with the sandalwood essence sprinkled on the wood pile. The white sari crackled as it burned, sending sparks high into the air, competing with the musical sounds of rushing river water.
Kesh sat in the dirt, after having paid his respects, cross legged, and solemn, tears in his eyes. Sherlock sat next to him, as he observed the unfamiliar proceedings silently.
Men, all wearing white, stood around the funeral pyre, mostly mute and in a reflective silence. Women, wearing white saris, stood in a group, several feet away, many sobbing, consoling each other. Akrur, tall, slim, face covered with a white stubble, wearing a white dhoti and kurta, stood with his head bowed and tears rolling down his eyes.
The backdrop could not have possibly been more picturesque. The mighty Ganges flowed just fifty metres away, tall mountains surrounded the narrow valley entirely covered with lush green vegetation . The river bank was covered with small stones and pebbles, and further away from the clearing, there was a huge apple orchard.
Akrur came up to Kesh and bent down to whisper something. With a small nod, Kesh agreed. As Akrur straightened, Kesh closed his eyes.
And he began to chant. In the weighty silence, his lips moved to chant a stirring hymn in Sanskrit. His voice slowly rose as it progressed, majestic and otherworldly, enveloping everything. A hushed silence fell, as the crowd of people gave themselves up to the soothing, rhythmic spiritual notes.
The fire was raging now, torso lost to view in the blazing crimson flames, feet peeking out at the edges of the inferno. Two men went to put more logs around the feet, and coaxed the flames towards them.
Sherlock watched, and as he watched and listened, his eyes closed instinctively, as he surrendered; to the soulful vibrant melody and the atmosphere which encompassed the merciless reminder of death along with the promise of perpetual existence.
Afterwards, Kesh, Akrur and three other relatives collected the still smouldering ashes with their bare hands and put it in an earthen pot. The entire assembly walked barefoot to the river, and after a short ritual scattered the ashes into the river. The assembly walked back towards the huts. Kesh and Sherlock stayed back, looking at the river flow. Kesh looked like he was far away in his thoughts as he sat down on the pebbled river bank. Sherlock sat silently next to him.
After some time he asked, "Alright?"
Kesh looked at him, and sighed, "Yes." With a deep breath he continued, "She had led a full life, doing what she loved, with loved ones. She died of old age. What more can one ask for in life? Death is a fact of life, part of a single duality. If you accept one, you have to accept the other." He looked back at the river and mused, "Between the two singularities of birth and death, bounty and menace, we busy ourselves as best we can." Tears rolled down his face. Sherlock shuffled closer and held him as he let go and wept.
After a while Kesh looked up and smiled ruefully, "I know this, but it is still hard not to grieve." He held Sherlock's hand as he stared at the river, the surrounding mountains for a long time. "Birth, death and everything in between...It is as though we are all held in captivity inside this huge fence. All of us busy trying to live a life, running around making relationships, building institutions and alliances, learning, fighting over personal grievances, territories, running around seeking money, fame, happiness, fulfilment...so many ways to keep busy. Instead of focusing on the most important, the most pressing need of all." He looked up towards Sherlock, his gaze intent, questioning. "Do you know what is the most pressing need, Sherlock?"
"Studying the nature of the fence," Sherlock said softly turning to face Kesh, who nodded, satisfied. They gazed at each other, brilliant blue-grey and sparkling dark brown, a conversation without words.
Eventually, Sherlock walked back with Kesh, stones digging into his bare feet, in a thoughtful silence.
"Sherlock, lunch will be served soon. Sorry about the delay," said Kesh as he sat down alongside Sherlock, gesturing to about twenty women who were bustling about getting food organized for the large gathering. "In India, when someone dies, it is not permitted that food be cooked in that house for thirteen days. All the food is cooked at the neighbour's houses and brought here."
Sherlock watched, as a flurry of white saris fluttered, as women called out to each other, pots banged with the tinkling notes of glass and metal bracelets that the women folk traditionally wore.
The front yard was covered with red dirt, swept clean, and at one end stood a square mud hut. The walls were high, covered in dried cow dung, sprigs of undigested vegetation poking out of the walls. The roof was made of thatched leaves stitched together, covered with a black tarpaulin. Lining the yard, were some trees and plants interspersed with small hills of dried cow dung shaped into patties, the size of plates. Outside the yard, in a separate area, three cows chewed dried hay, swatting flies off their backs lazily with their tails.
Around fifty men sat in groups on the ground outside, talking in hushed whispers.
Everyone who came in to pay their condolences, stared with unabashed curiosity at Sherlock who sat alongside Kesh, pale and silent. They whispered to ask each other who this foreigner was. As soon as they were informed that he was with Kesh, they either did namaste to him or bowed their head deferentially and moved away.
"Relatives and friends come from far and wide to attend the funeral, and close ones stays with the family for the thirteen days," explained Kesh.
Akrur walked up to them and bowing respectfully he addressed them both. "Kesh, Sherlock, lunch is about to be served, you can wash your hands and please take a seat."
As the men sat down in a line, the women came, bearing plates and bowls made of dried leaves, stitched together with small wooden toothpick shaped shards. They lay one in front of each man. A humble offering of simple lunch served on leaves. Sherlock could not remember when he had had a more satisfying meal.
"Sherlock, do you want to come for meditation with me tomorrow?" asked Kesh, as he lay on his side on a cotton mattress on the ground, his arm tucked under his head like a make-shift pillow.
Lying on a similar mattress from across Kesh, Sherlock adjusted his pillow as he pulled the thick blanket around him and said, "Are you up to it? Shouldn't you take a break?"
"On the contrary, Sherlock. It is when you feel least up to it, that it is needed the most."
"Then yes, we will go together."
The night air was cool and fragrant, the gushing river water created a soothing backdrop. There were around twenty men including Sherlock and Kesh, sleeping outdoors in the yard. There were not enough mattresses or pillows to go around. So some slept with just a sheet on the ground, using their arms as pillows.
"Okay I'll wake you. There is a small, beautiful Shiva temple close by. It is probably the only peaceful place around here where one can sit comfortably, without pebbles and stones digging into one's bottom," Kesh said with a smile.
"But won't the temple be closed?" asked Sherlock.
"Lord Shiva's temple is never closed," replied Kesh. "The women will be up early too. You see, there is only one big communal place to take a bath, so they wake up before the men and use it and proceed with the housework. Then the men take a bath, as the women get breakfast ready," he explained.
Sherlock succumbed to a loud open-mouthed yawn as he said, "I'm buggered. It's been a long day, Kesh."
"Yes, it has. Good night, Sherlock."
Sherlock slept under the stars.
It was a less subdued and more animated group on the next day, as men gathered around talking.
Sherlock watched all afternoon, as many came to express their condolences. A steady stream of people walked up to Kesh, and bowing their heads in respect, palms folded, speaking to him in hushed whispers. Kesh stood tall and dignified and listened to each one, with a warm, welcoming attitude, no sign of irritation or pride.
Standing next to Sherlock, Akrur said, "Kesh owns a lot of land in this area. Before my father passed away, he was very worried about the plight of the poor villagers. Kesh wanted to give them money, build houses. But my father did not permit him. He preferred that they learn to earn their own livelihood. So Kesh set up a Farmer's Cooperative, where the local farmers can get subsidized seeds and fertilizers. And he arranged for experts to visit every three months, to teach them about farming techniques, and other improvements. Some don't own land for farming, but have cattle. Along with Kesh, we set up a network to have milk distribution centralized, so that everyone gets a fair rate. I have been managing things here the past few years. Kesh never interferes, but he would come every couple of months to see my mother."
Akrur's smile was fond, proud, "Every time he came, he was compelled to stay for at least two to three days. Word would spread that he was here, and people would come in droves to meet him, from this village and all the scattered surrounding regions. Ordinary people, tribal people, the locally important people…"
Sherlock watched silently. One man started crying as he was talking to Kesh; Kesh put his hand on his shoulder obviously giving reassurances.
Akrur continued, "Kesh has done a lot for this village and other villages around here. These people owe him a lot. They are all coming to either thank him or ask for his help. I have never known him to turn anyone down."
Someone called out to Akrur, so apologizing to Sherlock, he left.
Sherlock observed.
The two friends sat on the banks of the river, watching the hypnotic fast flow of the water. They were perched on big black rocks, letting their feet dangle in the cool water, which formed eddies around their feet. The midday sun was overhead, but it was a cloudy dull day, the need for shade had not yet driven them towards shelter.
For the past three days, Sherlock and Kesh would wake up before daybreak, and using a small kerosene lantern, make their way to the temple. It was the most serene place Sherlock had ever experienced. They would take positions and Sherlock would follow Kesh's instructions, clarify his doubts before proceeding on to meditate. Kesh was delighted but not surprised at the pace at which Sherlock was progressing.
Now, Sherlock traced lazy patterns in the river with a large stick he had found on the ground. "Why are there so many rituals surrounding death over here, Kesh?" he asked, curious.
"It is believed that with death, it is the body which dies, the soul is immortal," answered Kesh after a pause. "Just like one removes old used clothes, and puts on new ones, the soul removes the old body once the incarnational intent is complete and takes on a new one. The rituals are prayers for the soul to get a body conducive to spiritual success. You see, it is believed that inner growth and spiritual progress are supreme. Everything else is meaningless."
Sherlock stared at the river, as he reflected on this.
"Do you believe in all this, Kesh? Do you believe in God?"
Kesh glanced at Sherlock silently before looking away and staring fixedly into the distance. The silence became weighty as he pondered on his answer.
He changed his position to face Sherlock, looking intent as he finally spoke. "Sherlock, I never asked you, how it is that you decided to come to India? Can you tell me in detail what happened, what prompted you, the events that led to it?"
Sherlock's eyes narrowed as he scanned Kesh's face trying to deduce the meaning behind the specificity of the question. Kesh's tone was deliberate, his eyes were shining with intensity, purpose. Mentally shrugging his shoulders, Sherlock threw his mind back and started to recount in faithful detail the day at the hospital when John's daughter was born, coming home, crying in the shower, asking himself for help, lying down on the couch to analyse, falling asleep, waking up thinking of Kesh. Mycroft's arrival and what they had discussed.
Kesh listened without interruption, and once Sherlock was done, he asked softly, "Whom did you ask for help in the shower?"
"My own self."
Kesh leaned forward, his face eager, urging Sherlock to think."Which self, Sherlock?... Your outward self with which you faced the world and exhibited a nonchalance and irritation to the world, and tried to pretend you were functioning well?... Your emotional self, who was the cause of the unrequited love and grief and frustration in the first place? ….Your intellectual self, who had tried ceaselessly to analyse and compute the situation, but was unable to find a solution, having become a slave to the vagaries of your emotional self? …..Or some other self?"
Sherlock frowned as he reflected in silence and then his eyes widened with understanding.
"No, none of those. Not the outward, not the emotional, not the intellect. My inner self. ME," he said finally.
Tears shone in Kesh's eyes as he leaned back with a soft, satisfied smile, "That is your Higher Self. That is the real you. That is your innermost confidante, guide, friend. Thatwill never abandon you. That is the eternal subject, the substratum over which all your life experiences happen, over which all your thoughts and emotions are reflected. That always has your highest good in mind. That is the reflection of Divinity in you."
His hand came forwards to grasp Sherlock's, "People confuse religion and spirituality all the time." He shook his head with frustration. "Spirituality is a dogged, unwavering pursuit of the highest Truth. Religion is merely the maintenance of a belief system. Belief in your higher Self or Divinity is not a choice, Sherlock. It dawns upon you, through doubt, through experience, through grace and through life itself. Divinity as a belief is simply religion. Divinity as an experience is spirituality. Do you understand?"
They sat by the river side for a long time, feet dipped in the flowing water as they contemplated, argued, debated...
It was the afternoon of the fourth day.
Everyone was in the yard for an afternoon siesta; some sitting, some lying down. Summer had arrived and here on the plains, the temperature climbed in the afternoons, making it a sluggish, lazy period for most.
A car parked close by and Uddhav walked into the yard. Kesh rose as Uddhave came up to him. The two friends hugged. "Kesh, I'm so sorry about Guruma. And sorry I took so long to come. I got tied up with postponing the weddings."
"What! Why?" Kesh exclaimed.
"If you think either Radha or Meera or I are getting married in your absence then you are crazy, my friend," said Uddhav simply. "Don't worry, it's only been postponed by a fortnight. I've made all the arrangements, with the wedding hall and caterers etc. And we've informed all the guests. It's all taken care of."
He squeezed Kesh's arm before he could reply and walked over to Akrur to hug him and offer his condolences.
Uddhav left later in the evening, many commitments awaited his attendance. "Kesh, you will of course stay the full thirteen days. Sherlock, would you like to come back with me?" he asked.
"Thank you, Uddhav, but no. I will return with Kesh."
Sherlock and Kesh sat by the banks of the river, talking and laughing.
Life had settled into a pattern temporarily. Get up, go for meditation for around three hours. Come back, have a bath. Sherlock had gotten used to the communal bath enclosure by now. Then usually Kesh had to take part in some religious ritual. After that they would sit around in the yard talking to various people. Go for a walk in the evening by the river. Talk for many hours and come back for dinner. And finally, sleep under the clear night sky, listening to the sounds of the gushing river water.
On the first morning, Sherlock and Kesh had entered with towels in an open air enclosure, made of four bare brick walls. Sherlock looked around curiously as he took in the sparse amenities. Three other men had been bathing at that time, wearing only tight dhotis forming a sling around their hips to cover their crotches. Two of them were sitting on a plastic mat on the ground and one was standing. Even as they used their plastic tumblers to pour water from the bucket next to them, they were talking and laughing. As soon as Kesh and Sherlock entered all chatter stopped. They respectfully greeted the duo and finished their bath with hurried movements before doing namaste and leaving.
"Why did they leave so quickly? Did we interrupt them?" Sherlock looked bemused.
"It is just a gesture of respect and deference," Kesh shrugged his shoulders. "When someone they consider important is in their midst, they consider it rude to be in their presence without purpose. Besides, they probably felt that you might be embarrassed or shy since you are new to this; that you may find it awkward to bathe in front of them."
"Well, it's certainly novel," Sherlock smiled as he looked down at the tattered low plastic stool, the old leaky tap, the tarpaulin above the brick walls that fluttered precariously in the wind and was covered with holes. He marveled at the sudden wave of fondness that swept over him; for these people, their humble homes and their simplicity. Following Kesh's lead he quickly undressed to his pants and sat on a stool adjusting his long gangly legs with some considerable difficulty and started to bathe himself. An urge to tease Kesh, watch him get ruffled overcame him. He raised a suggestive eyebrow and asked, "Kesh, is anyone likely to come here?
"Well, yes, it is possible," Kesh answered innocently. Then looking at Sherlock's mock leer he laughed and splashed water from the bucket on Sherlock, "You are incorrigible."
They laughed and jostled in that spartan room as they bathed.
Kesh pointed at the tall mountain flanking the opposite bank of the river and said, "Sherlock, I want to take you up there. It is a very auspicious pilgrimage site, called Gangotri, just an hours drive from here. There is a big temple for Mother Ganga up there. We won't go beyond that but a few hours hike from there is the edge of the glacier from which the Ganges originates, called Gaumukh. Tourists come from far and wide to hike upto that glacier."
Sherlock looked up the mountain, as Kesh continued, "Religious tourism is big in India. There are four major sites in these ranges, called Char dham- the four places. I will take you to Gangotri before we leave and I am quite determined to take you to Kedarnath. Which means you will have seen at least two out of the four sites. In fact, in about a fortnight's time, the tourist season will start. Rudraprayag will be crowded beyond belief. Literally hundreds of thousands of people come during the short four months that the season lasts for."
Sherlock nodded, feeling too lazy to respond. After some time he sighed, "I feel like I never want to move. Maybe I'll go for a swim if that's alright?"
"You go on, I'll get your towel" Kesh said as he stood up. He jogged back to the house.
Kesh waited, sitting under the shade of a tree as he watched Sherlock enjoying his swim. I could sit here all my life and watch him and it still would never be enough...Eventually, Sherlock came out.
Sherlock walked towards Kesh, his almost naked body glowing with droplets of water shimmering in the afternoon sun, long locks plastered to his high pale forehead, his smile getting increasingly wicked as he watched the hungry, desperate look in Kesh's widened eyes as they roamed over Sherlock's body and lingered over his crotch. He paused a few feet away, and shook his head like a dog, spraying drops of water from his hair on all sides. And then he lifted his arms over his head with fingers interlocked and stretched like a cat, twisting his torso as though posing, seemingly oblivious to Kesh's mute reverent gaze.
He straightened and neared Kesh, a seductive teasing smile on his face. Standing in front of Kesh with legs slightly spread such that his crotch was in front of Kesh's face, he said softly, "Kesh?"
"Hmm…," said Kesh absently, his wide eyes fixed unblinkingly on Sherlock's bulge, his mouth parted slightly.
"Kesh…." Sherlock repeated, suppressed laughter in his voice. Focus broken, Kesh's eyes dragged up from Sherlock's groin to reach his amused gaze. He blushed, embarrassed at being caught out and looked away shyly. Sherlock tied a towel around his waist as he changed the wet pants and put on his linen trousers, laughing as he sat down. Oh, Kesh...They sat staring at the river, acutely aware of each other, the air between them crackling with sudden heat.
Sherlock slid his hand across the ground to hook his little finger to Kesh's as he asked, voice husky, "Kesh, is there anywhere we can be alone?"
Kesh shook his head as he looked around desperately, noting the occasional farmer who waved as he walked past, to the village women coming to fill water in their earthen pots. Want him...want to feel his touch...please, God...want his hands on me so badly... Sherlock ran his tongue over his lower lip as his observant eyes looked around casually as though taking in the scenery...need to be alone...need to touch him...
Suddenly Kesh's eyes brightened and he hissed urgently, "Sherlock, the apple orchard," gesturing to the dense growth of numerous apple trees beyond the clearing. Sherlock narrowed his eyes as he peered, "Isn't it likely that we'd be interrupted? There may be workers around..." Kesh's answer was simple, "Well, it is my orchard. And it is not apple growing season, so I doubt anyone will be there."
Sherlock frowned as he considered for a while and then jumped up abruptly, "Let's leave our towels and clothes here….. race you to it?" he challenged, as he ran barefoot towards the dense groove. Kesh followed, and both ran straight in, dodging trees as they weaved, laughing like two schoolboys. "Over there!" Sherlock pointed, after they were engulfed in the thicket as he ran to a rundown tin shack filled with rusted farming equipment and led Kesh behind it. There was a huge banyan tree a few feet from the shack and by standing in between the shack and the tree they would be easily hidden. The orchard was deserted anyways.
They both leaned against the wall of the shack, laughing as they caught their breath.
"I feel like a horny teenager, for God's sake," laughed Sherlock. His smile slowly faded as a heated look passed between them. Pulling Kesh towards him, he crowded him against the tree. They kissed gently at first, savouring their closeness after this long. Sherlock's lips roamed over Kesh's face, his neck...just little nips and pecks. His hands moved down to knead Kesh's ass, slotting their erections together, rubbing against each other. One hand came up to tangle in Kesh's locks; he pulled Kesh's head back, lips sucking gently at the pulse point on the neck, careful not to leave a mark. "Want you so much," he murmured against Kesh's lips. Kesh arched into him, pliant and responsive, welcoming the rough, bruising kisses. "So long, it's been so long….." Sherlock gasped as his fingers found a nipple under Kesh's t-shirt and pinched it. Kesh moaned, "Sherlock...Sherlock... please….."
"Touch me," Sherlock's voice was a rough demand. Kesh palmed his crotch, rubbing along the long turgid length. "Fuck, Kesh... just like that…so good."
Kesh panted in his ear as he continued to stroke Sherlock's length through his trousers. "Please...Oh God... Sherlock….I want..." Kesh broke of with a gasp as Sherlock hand moved down to fondle his balls
"Tell me, Kesh. Tell me what you want, " Sherlock held Kesh's face between his palms, eyes searching. Kesh looked up, a mute plea in his eyes, face blushing, feeling suddenly tongue-tied.
"Are you sure?
Sherlock bit his lower lip between his teeth, a gleam of elation in his eyes as he watched Kesh's shy nod. "God yes, I'd love for you to do it."
He looked around urgently muttering, "You can't kneel on the ground, your knees will hurt… Here, sit on this," as he pushed Kesh towards a rock and guided him down.
A warm palm came to rest gently on the nape of Kesh's neck as he squatted down to peer into Kesh's eyes. He squeezed, his tone tender, "You don't have to do this, Kesh…it is…it is fine….you have to do anything."
"I want to Sherlock... so badly…. Please?" answered Kesh. Sherlock bent forward to touch their foreheads together. "I'm clean, Kesh. I had myself tested after Serbia and haven't been with anyone since."
Love spilled from Kesh's eyes as he whispered softly against Sherlock's lips, "I don't care."
Sherlock snorted as he pulled back, shaking his head with bemusement, "Oh Kesh…my loving, trusting Kesh..."
He took a deep breath as he asked once more, "Are you sure?"
"Yes….please, Sherlock."
Sherlock stood up and looked around again and then back down at Kesh's upturned face. His tongue ran over his lower lips slowly, his eyes hungry, ravenous even...He unzipped his trousers, pulling out his turgid cock, stroking himself as he watched the eagerness on Kesh's face. His voice was husky with desire, "Gently, Kesh. Don't let me hurt you. Don't take too much in…"
Kesh looked at the thick hard cock in front of him, greedily inhaling the scent of river water mixed with male arousal. A pearly drop of precome glistened at the tip as Kesh leaned forward to hold the base of the cock in his fist and licked the drop off. Sherlock groaned loudly. Kesh opened his mouth wide to accommodate the thick mushroom head into his mouth.
Bitter...salty... Sherlock. Look at him, so beautiful, even his erection is so beautiful... I wonder how much I can fit in... Right, I'll suck and stroke just like he did to me... I want to do it right…. want to please him….give him pleasure…..Oh God, I have Sherlock's cock in my mouth!
At the first feel of Kesh's mouth, Sherlock moaned loudly...fucking hell... and leaned forward to hunch over the wall, both hands clasped in fists as he watched his length disappear between Kesh's eager lips. He steeled himself for restraint. "Hold the base, Kesh...don't try to overdo it…." he said huskily.
God...so long... it's been so long since I've done this. Look at him, all uncoordinated but so enthusiastic... Behave, Sherlock. Don't move, let him find his rhythm….Fuck, that feels good…..don't hurt him, don't scare him. Good, he is getting it…..Kesh...my lovely Kesh.
Kesh found his rhythm as he stroked and sucked, swirling his tongue the way Sherlock had. Sherlock was panting open mouthed, his eyes looking down as they watched his glistening cock going in and out of Kesh's mouth. He gasped, "That's perfect, Kesh. It feels so good….." Putting a gentle hand on Kesh's head he paused the bobbing motion. "Kesh, I'll warn you when I'm about to come...you can just jerk me off when I say..."
Kesh looked up to ask, his voice hoarse, "Why? Why would l make all that effort and let go of the best part?"
Sherlock smirked as he put a gentle hand on Kesh's head and guided himself back in, "As you wish." Kesh sucked in, his tongue moving, licking, his head bobbing, as he tried his best, "So close, Kesh…..suck harder….Just like that….so good…..faster, Kesh," Sherlock slowly started to move his hips as he thrust in and out of the hot cavern of Kesh's mouth. As his orgasm approached, his moans got louder, "Kesh, I'm close….Kesh…Fuck, I'm coming…" He pulsed, heaving loudly, his hand tangled gently into Kesh's hair, as Kesh sucked and swallowed.
Loose limbed and a bit dizzy from the intense contractions, Sherlock slid down between Kesh's legs, showering uncoordinated open kisses on any part of Kesh he could reach, trembling in reaction. Kesh slid to the ground as well, holding Sherlock's shaking body close. Sherlock head rested on his chest; after a while he looked up at Kesh, feather light fingers tracing Kesh's lips, "Thank you. That was literally mind blowing. I think my brain short circuited." He smiled, sated and happy.
Kesh laughed with delight as he bent down to kiss Sherlock, "I can't believe I did that. I can't believe I was allowed to do that. Thank you, Sherlock."
Sherlock arched a disbelieving eyebrow, "You do know, Kesh that it is the other way around. I am the one supposed to be doing the thanking."
"I don't care…..I only know I feel thankful….Sherlock, did I please you?" Kesh asked eagerly.
"Oh Kesh, if you think I did you a favour, let me tell you I'd be happy to do this favour again and again. And yes you pleased me a lot" said Sherlock looking up at an awestruck but gleeful Kesh and laughed.
Kesh smiled and nuzzled Sherlock and kept whispering over and over, "I love you, Sherlock…..I love you so much."
"Sherlock bhaiyya, Sherlock bhaiyya," a female voice called out.
Sherlock was sitting alone on the river banks, staring at the water as he thought. At the sound of his name, he turned around so fast that he almost gave himself a whiplash! It felt surreal to hear the familiar "bhaiyya", meaning "brother" added to his name.
Akrur's wife stood a few feed away wearing her white sari, petite and lovely as she smiled at him, "Please, Sherlock bhaiyya, can you help us? All the men are out to the Farmer's Cooperative meeting and we need a tall person to help us finish putting cow dung on the walls of our house."
Sherlock smiled reassuringly as he rose. Nodding his acquiescence, he approached her and wordlessly followed her home.
Put cow dung. On the walls of their house. Bloody hell...cow dung….. cow dung….
They reached the house where two other women were standing next to the wall. Two buckets filled with cow dung lay close by. Akrur's wife explained, "We take the dried cow dung patties," pointing to the piles, "and when we want to apply it, we mix the patty with a little water to make it a bit soft. And then apply it with our hands to the wall and smooth it down so that it looks nice." She bent down to grab a cow dung patty and demonstrate the technique as she spoke.
"Here let me show you," she grabbed one of Sherlock's big hands and dipped it in the mixture. It felt cool and had a unique odour that was surprisingly inoffensive. She guided him into cupping his palm to hold a good amount and then plaster it to the wall. Her little hand pressed down on his hand as he ran it over to smooth it till no more bumps were left. Satisfied, she stepped back, "Please Sherlock bhaiyya, we can't reach the top... we are short. Can you do it?"
With a wry grin Sherlock got into the spirit of it, as he slowly began to plaster. When he was not satisfied with the smoothness he started to scrape it off and began reapplying, taking care to make it perfect. The women supervised him for a while and then left him, to do other household chores.
He was still hard at it when Kesh returned with Akrur and other men.
Kesh's mouth fell open as he watched dumbstruck; the lithe pale figure, brows furrowed in concentration, blue-gray eyes darting hither and thither, working away busily, hands soiled up to the elbows, cow dung splatters on his clothes, feet caked in mud and cow dung. A slow delighted smile spread across his face; he leaned against a tree, arms folded across his chest as he watched and watched as the love of his life worked on, oblivious.
"The Ganga is very sacred to us, Sherlock. It is believed that if you bathe in her or drink her water then all your sins will be washed away. At this place, the Ganga is called Bhagirathi," explained Kesh as he spread his arms to gesture to the vision before Sherlock.
"Why? Why is she sacred?"
Kesh laughed, "Every seemingly silly ritual is actually highly symbolic. The Ganga stands for knowledge. Knowledge always purifies. She falls from the locks of Lord Shiva. He is symbolic of the Soul. The import being that the fountainhead of knowledge is the Soul and that knowledge is always steadily flowing from it. When you look away from the world and bathe in that knowledge, you are purified."
Sherlock looked fascinated as he looked around.
They were at Gangotri, a bit past the huge white temple, having moved away from the heaving mass of people who had come to visit the temple.
The river roared. Huge boulders were in her path and the speeding water currents created numerous eddies as the waters danced and glimmered and sprayed and foamed. The sound was deafening, the sight spectacular.
"I can't let you bathe here though, it is too dangerous…..but perhaps I will get you to drink some of her water," Kesh called out as he ran to the river and dipped his hand in. He brought out a cupped palm, with fresh, cold mountain water, and extended it to Sherlock's lips. Sherlock tilted his head back and drank.
"Sorry to bother you, Kesh bhaiyya, I just wanted to confirm that we are leaving in the morning," asked Vedant, as both Sherlock and Kesh emerged from the apple orchard, giggling like girls, nudging and jostling each other.
Taken aback, Kesh just managed to gather his wits and keep the embarrassment off his face, "Yes, Vedant, that is correct. You can make sure we are ready to go."
Vedant did namaste as he left. As soon as he left, they turned to each other and started giggling again. "Almost caught in the act, Kesh," Sherlock drawled.
"Almost," agreed Kesh.
It was the morning of the fourteenth day. Dawn had set in though the sun had yet to make an appearance. Sherlock watched, overwhelmed, as about a hundred men, women and children had gathered in and around the compound; they were there to farewell Kesh and Sherlock.
Even as they inched towards the waiting car, men took turns to come up and said a few words, women came up with shy smiles and handed parcels of food, fruits, pickles insistently in the hands of Vedant and Sherlock.
Finally Akrur stepped up as the car door opened. The weather beaten, gaunt face looked up at Sherlock as he stood in front of Sherlock and said, "You came to us in our hour of grief. Thank you for coming." Folding his palms in namaste, he continued, "If we made a mistake in caring for you, please forgive us. We are humble village people, we sometimes make mistakes. And do come back, whenever you want. This is your home too. Never forget that."
Sherlock blinked back tears as he spontaneously stepped forward to embarce the simple man in front of him, surprising himself. He cleared his throat, "It is I who am grateful. For all your hospitality. I am sorry for the loss of Guruma. Take care of yourselves and all of these people."
"Shall we go?" asked Kesh, holding the car door.
Sherlock looked around, at the mountains, the river, the people, before turning back to Kesh and nodding solemnly…..A fortnight I will always carry with me…..
"Yes."
To be continued…