Part II: Riot!
Chapter III: Nirvana: No, Not The Band
At first, he was a bit worried. Had the total close off of India mean absolutely no entrance? As well, what pilot would willingly trap him or herself in a foreign country?
He was rather surprised by the number of people willing to trap themselves within India for the simple sake of curiosity. There was actually a group of people willing to do exactly that, he found out with some research.
So, he flew to the meeting place (Fairview, South Dakota) and waited for six days at a motel for the departure day. The town (more like a village) didn't even have enough people to even need a motel. It was more like a place for the homeless.
Nevertheless, the owners were happy to see some business for once.
It sort of reminded him of South Park. He really missed that place.
Out of the six nights he stayed, he only slept for one.
The wind was strong as it pressed against his face. Hs hair tussled around his bandages and against his skin. He shivered as the air chilled straight through to the bone.
He airplane was, in simple terms, a wreck: a crude little plan at a tiny hand-me-down plane terminal. It seemed very dangerous but he played along.
The group of around twenty crammed themselves deep into the tiny plane, crammed themselves into the seats, and crammed up next to each other. So very close they were; it was certainly no place for someone who couldn't handle close places.
The man next to him hissed with annoyance at the proximity. "It's so tight in here!" He groaned.
Pip nodded with agreement, feeling his arms sting against the wall and the man's flabby forearms.
"So boy," the man said, red-faced, "What happened to your head?"
Boy?
He shook off the odd comment and replied in a muddled tone, "Gunshot," while keeping his eyes adverted.
"Yeah, and my butt sucks buttermilk."
His frown deepened, "What an odd saying." He muttered as he slowly ground his teeth together. He didn't know how long he'd last next to this strange New Yorker crammed within a plane that was more suited to be calling a can. He wasn't sure how long it would take the little thing to get to the peninsula, but he was certain that it would be too long.
Pip held his head and stepped out of the plane.
Twenty-two bloody hours.
He felt like shit. He and the other curious travelers walked down the terminal and stared at the groups of different families waiting to go home.
The sorrow was pretty much palpable as the people sat amongst one another, wallowing, and waited for the isolation to lift.
Pip parted from the group once they made it outside and flagged a taxi.
As the taxi veered away from the airport, he couldn't help but notice that the roads leading out of India were heavily guarded with large walls and many people who served as guards. The decreasing amount of poverty seemed evident as they traveled further into the area of Bodh Gaya.
Pip was amazed at how well India was going in its efforts to cut their poverty levels. Whoever was leading this country was doing a good job so far.
Communication was hard.
He found himself becoming lost as he walked down the streets, surrounded by people, seeing and hearing a language he never experienced before. There were very few people, of whom he had asked, who understood English. But finally, he found someone who could help.
"Where could I find the president?"
"Our leader…? Oh! Yes, he is at Mahabodhi Temple, of course!"
"Right-o! Thank you!" He rushed off.
He stopped suddenly and turned back to the man, "Which way is that?"
Mahabodhi Temple was a gigantic Buddhist/Hindu temple that rested in front of a sacred tree of sorts.
Pip found the whole thing peculiar, but he knew that was just his mono-religious thinking at work. Had he ever been really surrounded by more variety other than Christianity, he was positive the whole concept of a temple like the Mahabodhi Temple wouldn't have given him the chills the way it did.
Apparently, India's president resided within said temple. He had sworn to keep himself locked away within 'The Temple' (for simplicity sake) until he had reached a level of divine understanding (or nirvana.)
So, he was meditating within the main room of 'The Temple'. There was even rumor that he didn't need to be fed or allowed to use the bathroom.
As if the man were already divine.
But that was simply and rumor and only the most devoted believers truly believed in it.
The whole 'reaching nirvana' thing had Pip on his guard as well. The concept as well felt so odd and weird.
In fact, he wondered if this was how Kyle's family felt, being the only Jewish family in a town of Christians…
As well, he had to wonder why the people of India would elect such a man to rule their country. His priorities seemed to be in the wrong places.
He supposed that his intense state of diligent and religious vigor made the people like him; it was one of the things that influenced their decision to make him their leader.
By the time he had made it there, people who were waiting for a chance to get in and meditate next to their spiritual leader surrounded the front of 'The Temple'.
Pip felt so very overwhelmed.
He spent ten days camping with nothing surrounded by hundreds of people.
By the time he made it towards the entrance, he was filthy, hungry (thankfully, people came around selling food) and sore.
But, he finally made it in.
Philip and the group of thirty-nine others walked down the halls and towards the main room.
The first thing Pip saw was a man with shiny brown hair.
His heart instantly fell. But, he continued on anyway, feeling privileged to even get this far despite the fact that he was not from this country and was most likely here illegally.
Pip sat down in front of the man and looked at him.
He looked nothing like Damien.
The younger looking man was sure that the charismatic man in front of his was not the male he was searching for. He felt horrible about this, but found that he didn't regret his decision to come to the country.
Surely if he stayed anywhere else, the government would catch slew of his actions in Germany and arrest him.
It was for the best that he lay low in a place that was out of contact with the outside world.
Even if the man near him wasn't the one, he found himself staring and pondering. He couldn't necessarily tell what nationality he was. The president was Caucasian (like that wasn't much of a surprise) but his shade didn't match a single group Pip could think of.
He wasn't pale. He wasn't pink. He wasn't even a slight tan.
He was more of a subtle gray color.
Pip folded his legs and closed his eyes. He inhaled and exhaled heavily, calming down his naturally fluttery heart and went into a state of half-sleep relatively quickly. He didn't know what to search for in his inner mind, so he kept still and thought about things.
"I've done it."
Pip's eyes flew open. He stared at the guards nearby and then at the leader.
A man whispered something into the leader's ear.
Pip's heart nearly stopped as the spiritual leader opened his eyes and brought his self out of meditation.
The other people gasped at the sight.
The man's eyes were the exact same black color as someone's pupils may be. But what was truly amazing was the sheer power that one felt when one where looking into them, as if they saw a burning yellow flame within them.
"Damien?"
The man stood up quickly and paced forward to him with speed that Pip didn't expect to see from such a plump man.
"Pip?" He peered at him with shock before he slid his hands onto the sides of the blonde's head.
Pip shifted in his spot and continued his long bout of staring at the odd man who acted so much like Damien.
They stared at each other.
The people all around them stared at both males with utter confusion.
"What happened to you?" His eyes shifted over to Pip's bandages.
Pip laughed humorlessly and awkwardly while blushing. He pulled away Damien's hands and replied in a cool voice, "That is a story for another day."
He could feel it. This man was Damien. He just knew it.
Damien looked around before he quickly turned a heel and smiled at every one of his onlookers, "Everyone, I have reached nirvana!"
Everyone cheered.
Pip didn't understand what had just happened but clapped and went along with whatever just happened. His heart was still pounding like crazy.
As he sat in 'The Temple' he finally remembered something of importance.
"My vision was a fake." Pip concluded with excitement.
"What?" Damien asked as he turned to his old friend.
Pip was happy to see that Damien looked more like he did when they were teenagers when he took off his disguise. Even though he was a little unshaven and messy appearing.
"One of my first visions was about Cartman shooting me. You appeared all of a sudden and helped me. I said you finally came back, so that must mean that we had just reunited at that time!"
Damien smiled triumphantly, "Yes!"
He smiled encouragingly, "Isn't that wonderful?" Pip leaned back against the mound of cushions and held back the urge to give the other a hug.
Damien sat down next to him and placed an arm across his shoulders. He leaned back and slouched in a very un-presidential like way.
They didn't speak as they relaxed their muscles.
Damien played with Pip's hair.
Pip twiddled his thumbs and tried not to look at him.
It was as if they were children again.
The thought made Pip sad.
So, he simply sighed and rubbed the sore spot under his bandages.
Damien looked at him in a way that told Pip exactly what he was thinking.
"You'll find out what happened if you reopen India." He would rather have Damien find out that way. Maybe delay the man's reaction to his reckless action, "There are people who want to go home. They seem nice. Some of them are a bit too curious, though."
"These people bring you here?"
He nodded with a "yes."
They leaned closer and stewed further in quiet.
Pip took the time to look over the room.
It was large with grand windows face to the north. The walls were pure, clean marble and the pillars were decorated with classic column engravings along with gold paper pressed around the details. Beautiful rugs lay and hung all over the temple, even one more different and exquisite than the last. Off to the east was a small waterfall that sprouted from the wall and flowed down into a half-circle fountain at the floor. As well, their wall was covered in mounds of pillows; both stacking up to the ceiling and organized along the floor.
The room felt fit for the finest.
Damien certainly fit that category.
The Anti-Christ pulled out a cigarette from his pants pocket and lit it via self-combustion. It was his favorite method of lighting. He took a deep drag and filled the room with smoke. The burning smell of smoke overcame the incense.
"Smoking turns your lungs black," he muttered, swatting away the smoke.
"Cool,"
"Says the man who is immortal. While the man with a very low life expectancy sits and inhales large amounts of second-hand smoke."
Damien grinned, "All the cool kids are doing it."
"If the cool kids were jumping off a bridge, would you do it?" Pip asked sarcastically.
"Yup. You?"
He sighed and rested his elbows against his knees, "Yeah, most likely."
He chuckled and pulled his arms away from the Englishman.
Everything about the current situation felt so odd and kind of wrong. He was practically out of his mind with joy with their reunion but he couldn't help but wonder why there wasn't that usual feeling of desertion.
But Pip wouldn't bring up anything about lonesomeness. He would keep his mouth shut and be happy.
"You've toughened up. Good for you,"
Pip looked at him, "You haven't changed much."
"You love me just the way I am." He said with a bright grin.
He chuckled, "Sure."
Damien glanced at him before he looked over at the east wall; away from him.