Chapter 1
Into
"A high crowned rose stone with a flaw at the bottom, and a small speck within..."
-Jean-Baptiste Tavernier’s misleading description of ‘Great Mogul’ Diamond
The metal wheels screeched, as the train moved slowly into the station. If it could be called a station. Located in lowland swampy surroundings, bent gnarled trees dotted the landscape around the ramshackle building. Surrounding small fields of sun browned hay lay interspersed amongst half-acre plots of green sugar cane stalks. The steel bars over the train windows added a horizontal view to the world of contrasting colors, feelings, and perspectives. As the train slowed to a stop at the station, the standing people parted quietly, and a brave little gray monkey came directly to the open window.... looking in for a treat. She was a nursing mother. Her two offspring scampered away, up the station railings, with innocent and quizzical looks in their eyes.
“Hey, look at the monkeys!”
“Aren't they incredible?”
“Here come some more! Hurry up, and hand me my camera Susan. I’ve got to get pictures for my kids - they won’t believe it.”
The small group of Indians sharing the train car exchanged knowing smiles, as they laughed kindly at the obvious tourists in a strange land. The train pulled away slowly, and moisture-laden air flowed through the crowded train car. As the visitor’s minds and hearts tried to assimilate the mysteries that they had been observing during the long train ride, the silence was broken sharply by the food vendor hawking his spicy fried chick pea and onion mixture from car to car; and calling out, loudly, about his milk tea.
“Chai, Chai. Hot Chai!”
The strong smell of spices lingered long after he had passed through the train car; held captive by the heavy, sultry, air. It nearly masked the almost forgotten, urine-like, smell of the slums through which they had passed. As fresh air began to waft through the slowly moving train car, the travelers sighed a collective sigh of relief. They had finally passed from the horrors of tenement cities, to the beguiling countryside of
Tom saw the Chai wallah pass through his peripheral vision. His movement woke Tom from his reverie, a beautiful vision of the scene playing out within his mind, and he called out to him.
“Hey! Hello? How much for a cup?”
“Four Rupee sir.”
”Here, I’ll take one.”
Tom pulled a handful of well worn currency out of his sweat stained pocket, and handed the man a 10 Rupee note.
“Sir, I have no change.”
“Oh, I guess I’ll wait then.”
“No, no, sir. Here, I find what I can…”
After the gaunt man handed Tom a steaming cup of sugared goats milk with a floating tea bag, he dug in his pockets for coins. He handed Thomas a five Rupee piece, and swore to bring back the remaining rupee later. Tom and the other people in the train car shared understanding glances. They all recognized that the man would never return - savoring the extra nickel that he had scammed.
“Such is the life of many in
Tom had experienced similar short shrift in
“In
Philip smiled at Tom with a warm look. His sparkling and intelligent eyes accentuated his serene countenance.
“Where are your thoughts, Thomas?” he asked gently, and with sincere interest.
“Oh, all over the place. I feel like a dam has broken in my emotions, and I’m trying to ride the waves of them without being overwhelmed.”
“How do you mean?”
“Well, for most of my life I’ve felt really strong emotions; and I thought I was expressing them clearly through my actions. I tried through my work, large sacrifices for others, things for my family, or in my gardens. But everything I did was misinterpreted. So now I’m allowing the feelings to wash through me, and trying my best to communicate them verbally. It’s something new to me...”
“Really?”
“Yeah, I guess like most men, I expected that the passion inherent in my actions was self evident to those around me. That they understood how I felt, by how diligently I supported them, or how expansive my creations were, or how elaborate my construction projects became. I only recently began to understand that most people interpret other’s actions relative to their own perspective, and their feelings. I thought I was accomplishing something through my actions, while they only related to how it affected them.”
Philip's smile widened, showing that he understood and could relate to what Tom was trying to convey.
“Men are often taught to do, rather than to talk, Thomas. Miscommunication of our emotions is both our greatest weakness; and, our greatest refuge from hurtful people,” Philip commented, then fell silent.
Soon after, Philip slid out of his seat and walked to the end of the train car to smoke of one of his ‘famous’ hand rolled cigarettes. As Tom reflected upon how they had connected so deeply in less than 24 hours, he noticed Sinjin - entranced by the same feelings of
So the day went, delimited by the sounds of clicking train tracks and lulling cruises in and out of minor station stops. Gentle, heavy, breezes passed through the train car - easing the heat, and soothing the passengers. With a calming whistle, many cars ahead of theirs, the engine warned the cows and people off of the train tracks.
“On and on we go,” thought Thomas. “On to
Tom felt a now familiar pull towards something. Something calling to his heart. He knew not how, when, or even if he would find it in his travels. But it was reassuring in its reoccurrence. It helped calm his mind, and heart, of all that was troublesome.
“It’s preparing me to accept what I must,” mused Tom.
Philip returned, and began talking quietly to Sinjin about his camera. Sinjin smiled, because of Philip’s genuine interest. Watching the happy duo lifted Tom’s flowing thoughts and emotions. But he sat quietly, observing; just letting the feelings flow through him...savoring the experience.
As the day progressed, the countryside transformed into neat plots of vegetables, waving sugar cane, and small mango groves. At first glance, the little villages seemed to epitomize squalor. Yet on closer inspection, Tom saw that they were comprised of simple homes shaped by three walls of bricks and rocks, with rush roofs. Many courtyards contained a black cow. Some held a large pig; while others housed random chickens.
While Tom surveyed the scenery, two eager brown dogs began running alongside the moderately moving train - with their little boy masters leading their way. The boys smiled benignly, and appeared happy to be alive. Tom’s attention then shifted to conical-shaped mounds of wheat, which rose randomly in the fields...many right next to similarly shaped, larger, mounds of dried cow manure ‘chips.’
“Food and feces,” mused Tom. “Beginning, and end. Life, and death. All accepted as part of nature. Part of life, part of the very fabric of their existence. Poor of money, they aren’t poor of spirit...accepting their lot in life as the will of whatever Gods they worship,” his silent voice spoke to his conscious mind...attempting to ameliorate the emotional shock of the mysterious world through which he traveled.
And so the day wore on, and Tom’s mind drifted in and out of a dreamless sleep; like station stops, for his roiling emotions.
©Tibet, Lamplight Unto a Darkened World…the American Delusion, a Parody of life ( L'illusion Américaine, une Parodie de Vie); is copyright protected, by author, Patrick Mahoney. Online Internet Reproduction/Propagation/Quotation Encouraged, with this citation. Any Printed reproduction, other than for personal reading, requires written permission by author, patrickm at http://patrickm.gather.com/ or patrick1000000000@yahoo.com
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