Chapter 12
“Kathmandu is a world unto itself, like a crack head with multiple personalities; and, just as predictable.”-Worldguide Travel Guide
The lyrics from an old song played on in Tom’s head.....”Escape from Reality......”
“Is that what I’m doing?”
He sincerely, didn’t know....yet.
At the very time he was ostensibly forcing himself to face brutal reality, was he really trying to use that as a denial method to escape his reality? He wondered.
“By putting myself smack into the face of human suffering, am I trying to face the pain of life straight up, or am I really trying to avoid it, by being confronted with other people’s more brutal existence?”
He didn’t know, and so the internal questions persisted.
He felt alone, tired, and vacant of most all emotion. His breakfast held little interest, seeming tasteless and bland. Even his favorite, rice pudding, was difficult to eat. Most was still in the bowl, turning cold and hard. Tea didn't pick him up either. Bored, he surveyed the darkly lit restaurant of the Tibetan Snows guesthouse. It looked like a little-used, inner-city, three story, brick school from the 1950’s. The floors were made of hospital-like, composite concrete. Colored in green, with flecks of brown; it looked like the ubiquitous floors of that era, something pervasively present, but unseen in its supreme blandness. Easy to clean; but it always seemed either dirty, or antiseptically clean. The whole building felt like a silent mausoleum to avant-garde 1950/60’s architectural materials. It reminded Tom of the Van Leer building at Georgia Tech, home to the school of Electrical Engineering; an impersonation of the infinite corridor at MIT . It was effective, functional, and devoid of any human emotion.
“Why here, in supposedly mystical
The place, regardless of how many guests were there, felt empty, isolated, abandoned, and totally flat. That’s what reminded him of his days in engineering. It was the absence of emotion.
“Jeez, it’s weird to feel nothing at all about the place,” he noted to himself.
Tom could see how emotional vacancy could be a relief from painful, messy, and ‘unmanageable’ human emotions - but, the concept remained so cold to him, that he had the burning need to escape.
“Are you ok, Mr. Tom?” the waiter asked sincerely.
His innocent questioning face only highlighted Tom’s concern.
“Am I so melancholy, that it shows?” he wondered.
“No use in denying it,” he thought. “That hasn’t worked for me in the past, why deny the obvious?” he asked himself.
“No, actually, I’m having a tough day. Thanks for asking. I want you to know, however, that the food was as good as always; I’m just not feeling very well. Maybe I should do something different today, eh?”
“Hmmmm, yes Mr. Tom,” the waiter said with a sad smile.
“I will come back in little while; ok?”
"Ok, thanks,” was all that Tom could manage.
“How can such waves of melancholy capture my spirit so completely?” He wondered, but didn’t know.
But; he did know that it was better to acknowledge it, and then do something to phase out of the blues - rather than to stuff it, and pretend it wasn’t there.
“Maybe I’ll go to the monkey temple? Seeing monkeys would be fun,” he decided.
“Scampering, playful, and cute little monkeys won’t let me sulk, eh?” he told himself, with forced enthusiasm.
“Anyway, what am I really sulking about?”
“Dunno,” was the answer that came.
“Mr. Tom? How is your breakfast?” asked the soft spoken Tibetan woman who ran the guesthouse.
She had quietly, yet firmly, seated herself opposite of Tom while he had been ruminating.
“Great, as always.....I’m just a little out of it today.”
Tom couldn’t help but to smile at her, even in his blue funk. Pasang was a wonderfully sincere, bright, and genuine person. She was the reason Tom stayed at the guesthouse. She was a person whom Tom immediately felt comfortable trusting his life with. They had bonded the moment that they had met, in that odd Tibetan way; where the mutual sincerity of both people was communicated instantaneously through the unblinking, loving consideration of each other’s eyes.
Tom couldn’t explain it; yet, he trusted it - and them. She was an intelligent and effective businesswoman, yet she emanated tranquility, love, and acceptance. So he often asked her advice and opinions of local protocol; knowing in advance, that he’d follow her advice to the letter. She smiled an understanding smile, and said nothing - waiting for Tom to elaborate on his “state.”
“God bless her,” he thought.
“I was thinking of going for a long walk, to help prepare me for my upcoming hike through the mountains. Do you know where the monkey temple is? Is it very far away? Should I take a cab?”
“It’s a long walk, but a safe one,” she replied simply, without hesitation.
“Well, here it is on the map. What’s the best way to leave Thamel? Which road should I follow?”
“Go up this street, then left. Then follow the road across the river, and up the hill to your left. It is a very steep hill, but interesting to walk.”
“Well, that seems easy enough. I’m sorry for wasting your good food. I’m just not up to eating much this morning.”
“No problem, Mr. Tom - you enjoy the temple. This is a very special place.”
“Are there monkeys? I’d like to see bunches of monkeys flying about,” he said with a small smile.
Seeing his obviously heightened mood over the possibility of seeing monkeys, she smiled in return, and responded.
“Sure, but not so many during the hot day. They come out in the evening. But, you will see many monkey.”
“Is it the
“No, that is in another part of town.....very far away. This temple you visit, is wonderful temple; that just happens to be home to many monkeys!” she said cheerily.
“I’ll never get all of these Hindu Gods and temples down; its soooo confusing to understand them all.”
“Don’t trouble yourself overly much - they were all developed over thousands of years. Do you expect to learn all of that so quickly?”
Humbled again by her soft spoken wisdom, he smiled and replied: "Ok, I’ll just go and be an American tourist today!”
“Good, have a wonderful day,” she said as she rose; then, disappeared into the kitchen.
“What a wonder she is,” he observed. “The waiter spoke to her about me, and within minutes she helps me see the way out of bleakness. I was lucky to land here,” he thought for the hundredth time.
Again, he wondered where Jacques had ended up. The last time Tom stopped by his decrepit ‘hotel’ on Freak Street , he’d found him in a drugged-out stupor - in bed with an equally phased, horse of a woman. They looked as though they’d been there for days; drawn, sallow, and deep into a pitiful state. Maybe that was the issue that had him feeling down? The loss of Jacque’s companionship, and seeing him descending into oblivion.
“Dunno,” he answered his own question.
“I’ll probably see him soon enough. Maybe he’ll have snapped out of it,” he said without conviction.
Tom finished what food he could stomach, and drug himself up the three flights of impersonal, green, concrete stairs to his room. After unlocking the door he entered the austere, yet pleasant, dormitory-style room. The three single beds were scantily made with very worn, but clean, sheets and blankets. The windows were open to a small balcony that overlooked an isolated courtyard. The courtyard was accessible only through the three other structures behind the guesthouse, and the guesthouse kitchen. As usual, the sounds of the morning radio news program was blaring out from the neighbor’s house; and the sing-songie voice of the Hindu announcer was theatrically interrupted by a canned ‘Ta da’ musical announcement every five minutes. It was a feeble attempt to imitate fast breaking, important, news bulletins.
“It probably would have that effect if they did it once an hour, or so; but every five minutes?” he puzzled.
It sounded like a tinny version of the intro music to a major TV network news program - yet, the trivial news that followed each trumpet blare was inane. To Tom, the whole effect was comical. Even more so because the neighbors felt compelled to share it with everyone in a five block radius, by playing their radio at its highest volume – which further distorted the sound. Tom wasn’t sure if it was a nice gesture, or a not-so-subtle way to brag that they owned a radio capable of playing so loud.
“WhatEver,” thought Tom; but, it still affected his mood.
The odd mixture of the news-break tones, combined with the growing, early morning, street sounds, created a strangely exotic backdrop for the loud screeching of cats fighting on the adjoining rooftops.
“It’s pure Thamel!” Tom acknowledged, aloud.
“Only here, do you have the wild confusion of Hindus hawking Chinese-made knock-off goods to throngs of backpackers. Tourists and hikers from all around the world, teeming through traffic choked streets. What fun!”
He picked up his camera, brushed his teeth using bottled water, plucked up his parrot off of her perch on a chair; and, jauntily sped down the steps to exit the quiet guesthouse. Without hesitation, he jumped into the building frenzy of morning in Thamel. All of the heavy steel garage doors on the front of the shops were now raised; rolled up, and invisible, in their hidden compartments. This made the shops appear wide open to the streets. The shopkeepers embellished this illusion by spilling their goods, invitingly, onto the streets themselves. The choked, narrow, streets wound snake-like around ancient three story buildings; and were awash with color and activity.
As Tom entered the melee through the alley gate, he descended into the fray; and was thus, instantly absorbed into the human mass.
Tom stopped briefly to look at an old man’s stand of incense, directly outside the guesthouse. While he stood there, a man approached him stealthily from behind without his knowledge.
“Hash, hash, want to some wonderful hash?” was what Tom heard in his right ear.
It was Tom’s first sales pitch of the day; by a willowy youth of mixed lineage. He walked slowly past Tom, repeating the same phrase over and over....waiting for a taker. He was soon followed by two rickshaw drivers who had already targeted Tom.
“Ride, ride, want a ride? Very cheap, very easy.....ride good sir?”
Even with the quick descent of hawkers upon him, Tom knew that the business activity wasn’t yet up to its regular fever pitch. So, he resolved to pass through the commercial district as quickly as he could, to avoid the worst of it.
“This level of assault is still manageable,” he thought aloud.
When Tom had first experienced Thamel, it was a bewildering scene of beggars, drug dealers, cabbies, and untold numbers of merchants. But, after a few days, the patterns began to show themselves to Tom’s observant eye. He was able to discern the tourist hype, from the real Thamel. He enjoyed his casual tea times with the local merchants; and they enjoyed talking to an outsider about the rest of the world. Tom had already bought hiking clothes, a backpack, and supplies from them; so they knew that he wasn’t in the market for anything other than conversation. One little Nepali friend in a sweater shop always pulled him in, off of the street, for a few cups of chai. It was casual, relaxed, and part of the Nepali culture; so Tom willingly complied - enjoying the unusual perspectives of the Hindu shopkeepers. Nearly all of the authentic Tibetan mountain shops had been run out of business by modern day consumerism; that was amply fed by cheap Indian and Chinese goods. Nearly gone, were the mountain boot and climbing shops, that traded in new and used equipment for Everest expeditions.
Gone were the quiet guesthouses of an exotic land. The old market district, Dubar Square , still bustled with an early morning vegetable market trade; but, the large outside market for used implements, knives, and sundry merchandise was now filled with cheap reproductions from
“You want army green, Mr. Tom?” was the incredulous question of the shopkeeper, when he ordered it.
“Yes, army green.”
“But it is so boring, and people might think.....”
“That’s ok, I don’t want to be noticed. Blending in is a good thing; better than standing out, eh?”
With a growing smile, the shopkeeper said: “Oh I see, we will make for you. Give me three days.
“How much?” asked Tom.
“For you, my friend, 1,500 Rupees.”
“I’ll pay 800 Rupees for the sweater and matching socks. I need the socks to be very thick, so I don’t get blisters.”
“But, Mr. Tom, that is not enough - I must dye the wool army green, and have the women knit it.”
"Ok, I’ll go somewhere else.”
“No, no, wait.....I like you. We do it right here. How about 900 Rupee?”
"Ok, you have a deal. Here is 400 Rupees so you can buy materials. See you in three days.”
“You are a hard bargain man, Mr. Tom. But, I like you.”
“I know,” Tom said with a smile.
They both knew and respected each others intelligence, tenacity, and honesty. That's how it worked best for Tom; and these were the kind of merchants he dealt with.....ignoring all the others.
“Well,” Tom thought to himself, “it was two days ago when I made that sweater deal. I had better check his progress.”
He swung by his friends corner shop, directly across from a small ancient mini-temple; one not more that 15 inches in height. He found the shop still shuttered tight.
“Oh well, I’ll come back this afternoon,” he thought.
He made a 180 degree turn, and kept moving to avoid the inevitable sales pitch from whomever was closest.
“Tiger eye, very cheap,” was the first one; and the next man pleaded “come into my shop and see the finest silks.”
Tom kept moving, shaking his head in refusal, and motioning them off with a quick movement of his right hand in a horizontal wave to signal ‘no arguments, or delays, will be tolerated.’ Upon seeing this, the hawkers cut off their sales pitch in mid-sentence, recognizing he wasn’t a tourist pigeon. It made walking in the streets bearable. Thus Tom passed through the winding streets of the Thamel district unimpeded, and quickly. Stopping in front of a bakery shop, Tom peered into the window hungrily.
“Hmmmmmmm, doesn’t this bakery stuff look good little bird?” he asked his feathery passenger.
“Look at those Pizza thingees! Lets get some food, girl, ok?” he asked his compliant parrot.
The bird chirped in response to his words, and Tom liked to think they were communicating.
“Well, it feels that way,” he thought.
The person who raised and trained his bird had taught it Nepali; but that didn’t help Tom too much. She amused local people by spouting out little phrases, yet Tom had to content himself with simply hearing chattering replies to his talking. He went inside the pristine little bakery shop, another glaring incongruence in
“This ‘Hot Bread’ store is the best,” he advised his bird, as he bit into the pizza anticipating the distinctive, biting flavor, of the cheese. He wasn’t disappointed, but again wondered about the ingredients.
“Oh well,” he blew off his worries. “They cook them a lot, so at least it’s safe. Well, it should be.”
There were a few of the ‘Hot Bread’ bakeries around
“Hello, Thomas,” a familiar voice spoke behind him as he picked up a couple of ‘Snickers’ candy bars at the adjoining shop. Turning around, Tom was surprised to be facing a drained and pale looking Phillip.
“Phillip! How have you been? You look.....“
“Terrible, I know. You don’t have to say it, or pretend that I don’t. I shouldn’t have eaten that Indian food on the streets. I got deathly ill by the time I reached
“Damn, I’m sorry. If I’d known.....”
You would have been there by my side. I know, Thomas. You’re a great guy,” he said sincerely.
“It was something that I got myself into, and just had to weather out myself. Susan and Margret helped out at first, but both had to leave; and I was none too sexy for the attention.”
“Sorry. I still think that you’re handsome, if that counts,” Tom joked.
“More than you know, Thomas, more than you know. Anyway, I can’t stay and chatter as I’d like. My bus leaves in two hours.”
“Are you still going on your solitary hike? Are you up to it?”
“Yeah, I’m weakened and washed out, but otherwise healthy. I’ll take it easy, and build up my strength again.”
“Well, good luck, mate!” Tom said, jovially, giving Philip a big hug as he did.
Beaming with an inner light, Philip hugged Tom back, though his frame shook with the effort.
“You sure about this? I can stay back with you a few days, if need be.”
“No, thanks Thomas. I appreciate it, but I’ll be o.k.. It’s good to see you doing so well, and that you have a little feathered friend there too! Thomas, you’re amazing! Not sure how, or why, you do it - but you sure do it! Wherever did you pick that up from?”
“The Bird, or the ’mate?’”
“Both!”
“One in the marketplace from a bird vendor, and the other from a right wonderful Aussie!”
“You’re too funny, Thomas. I’d love to talk more, but really have to leave before the bus departs. Email me when you get home, ok?”
“Sure enough, Philip; sure enough! Enjoy your solitude - you’ve earned it!”
Tom said his goodbyes to Phillip, and walked down the street where Pasang had directed him. Once out of Thamel, the shops changed character into the local version of a downtown area. Medicine shops, mom and pop grocery stores, bike shops, and outside butcher shops, were interspersed between old town home dwellings, that were two or three stories high.
The foot traffic changed from tourists to locals, and the intersections were mad messes of semi-organized chaos. A military policeman with a handgun directed traffic as much was possible, but merely seemed an impartial observer of the bedlam.
Passing by a butcher shop, Tom nearly lost his stomach. There were sheep’s heads sitting, serenely decapitated, on a chopping block table; and, chunks of read meat were arranged in an inscrutable manner on the table. The meats were from different kinds of animals, but placed in some order. Knuckle bones, and bones with hoofs still on them, stuck out from the lower shelf under the tables. There were a few flies hopping about the meat, and it was all relatively clean compared to
“What’s wrong with this picture?” he puzzled.
“Well there are obviously different animal meats mixed together, and it’s really clear with the hoofs and heads about, what animals they were earlier in the day. Yuck!”
As he continued walking down the street, these thoughts brought on natural comparisons with home. When he was young, there were butcher shops where his mother bought meat and sausages. But they were inside buildings, spotlessly clean, and they used paper to wrap up his purchases - not dirty plastic bags.
“Yet the butchers still had on white clothes and aprons that were smeared with blood, didn’t they?” he asked himself rhetorically. “That isn’t that much different, is it? Now we go to supermarkets, and wander through numerous refrigerated units of flesh wrapped in clear cellophane, on Styrofoam plates.”
For some reason, however, the meat in sanitized grocery stores didn’t seem as odd or as disconcerting.
“But if you were from an alien planet, and wandered into a grocery store, you’d probably be horrified to find packaged flesh for sale, eh?” he said to the bird absently.
“Is it worse to see the animal’s head; or is it more honest about what we’re doing?” he wondered.
“Just because my homogenized, sterilized, and disassociated Western sensibilities are ruffled, is that so bad? Maybe they need to be ruffled,” he thought.
Stripped of packaging, marketing, and comfortable surroundings, the reality was unavoidable - one couldn’t merely pretend to not understand.
“Yeah, life in this part of the world is brutal, but at least it’s honest and forthright.”
Now Tom understood the Tibetan Buddhist’s aversion to killing and eating animals. If someone truly respected and was utterly sensitized to life, and the suffering of all living things, then butchery was clearly reprehensible.
“How have we institutionalized other forms of societal denial?” he wondered.
“Gotta think about that one my little girl, huh?”
The street thankfully led out of the busy business district into the countryside. Ramshackle buildings, some rundown businesses and others homes, cropped up from time to time - without any sense of order.
“Very random,” thought Tom, as he continued walking.
Without any sense of landscaping, or any type of planning, the buildings appeared to be unnatural cancerous outgrowths on the earth. After a couple of miles, the road continued downhill to a river. The parrot enjoyed the trip. Perched upon Tom’s shoulder, she surveyed the surroundings like a regal queen.
“You enjoy getting out of the city, don’t you girl?” Tom said to her as he stroked her head, and neck.
The bird was visibly calmer, and genuinely appreciative of Tom’s attentions.
“Well, honey, daddy is gonna take you on a long hike outta the city soon....a very long hike. You’ll enjoy that, won’t you?”
The bird seemed to understand. She chirped a few thrills, and then began to talk in Nepalese. Neither of which was understandable to Tom, but her general mood was clear to him. The parrot was incredibly happy to be away from the city noise and confusion; and her happiness was evident in her very relaxed manner.
Occasionally a child would walk by, then realize that there was a bird on Tom’s shoulder, and would unceremoniously run back to him, and scream “Suga, Suga, Suga!”
The delight on their faces was wonderful; so he stopped often to play with kids. With the last of the kids behind them, they walked downhill to the river. Tom saw a bridge over the river, and an old temple to the right of the bridge. As they got closer, he could see that it was a very old temple, relatively large, and yet absent of life.
“Where are the monkeys little bird?”
The bird had no answer, as usual, though that didn’t stop Tom from talking to her. He slowly crossed the street, walked down the hill; and then, down the steps into the midst of the temple district.
The temple didn’t look like a temple to Tom. They weren’t temples like he expected temples to be. They were piles of stones, cut and shaped to form huge conical styled structures; which resembled oversized African ant hills. Niches appeared on each of the four sides, and contained statues of undecipherable Gods, in unexplainable poses. While the structures sometimes made sense in design, the figures of Gods and daemons never did. Well, to Tom anyway. He’d given up asking people for interpretations and explanations. While some tried, most people thought that the bemused puzzlement of the tourists was slightly entertaining. Additionally, it became clear that many didn’t really understand all of their religion. When stumped with questions, they made stuff up, or blew Tom off. Tom had therefore given up trying to understand the inexplicable, and just tried to enjoy the variation and quality of the architecture, individual statues, and the experience of the people. The emotions of the people were palatable, and easy to relate to.
“How could people be so incredibly devout to something that they didn’t understand?” he wondered.
“I guess that’s probably true of most religions, hey birdie? Why should they be any different, eh?”
The bird silently replied with a quizzical tilt of her head.
“Yeah, it puzzles me too! I guess it’s the whole mystery thing. If people can’t focus, or accept a couple of simple mysteries, like in Christianity, I guess that their religious leaders then think up a whole bunch more, huh?”
The bird didn’t respond to his question. She was eying the activity in the trees, as they approached the temple complex. Birds were everywhere, and she looked all around at her cousins. She showed no interest of flying away, although she was engrossed in all the aeronautical activity.
“Guess I’m not going to get a good philosophical discussion out of you today!” Tom said with smile, and then continued walking around the perimeter of the main temple structure.
“This one’s different than the rest,” he mused aloud.
The temple was surrounded by a group of large oak-like trees. The trees actually looked like a cross between an oak and a banyan tree. Their shapes were like oaks, with wide spreading canopies of ancient branches. Yet, the heavy branches were twisted, gnarled, and bent in weird curving angles. The bark was gray, and smooth like banyan trees, but no ‘roots’ grew down from the branches to the ground like banyans. Although, where the trunks stood, they seemed to flow around the ancient temple structures like melted gray caramel. Frozen in mid-flow.
There was colorful debris strewn all around the temple grounds. Flowers, red berries, and bits of rice were everywhere - evidence of many recent visitors. Again, Tom was puzzled. Was there an early morning service he missed, a wedding, or just leavings of visitors doing their morning devotions? Who knew? At this point, Tom didn’t care.
“Hey, birdie, see any fricking monkeys in those trees? I can’t see any. Where are the little buggers?”
The bird remained silent, and wiggled as she tried to find a comfortable pose to nap. She was tired from all the commotion of the morning, and was content to drift off to sleep; as her distant relatives flitted about, and chirped, in the trees above.
”It’s a peaceful place,” thought Tom.
”Where are all the people, and moneys, though?”
Frustrated, Tom walked all around the three buildings that comprised the temple district. It certainly was larger and more peaceful than the temples in the city of
“This could be the monkey temple,” he mentioned to the bird casually.
“But Pasang said that it should have some monkeys during the day, and that lots of people visited it. This can’t be the busiest temple in all of
“Like she’s listening to me,” he commented on his own silliness.
“Naw.... Oh well, we must’ve made a wrong turn somewhere, birdie, this isn’t the monkey temple, eh? Lets just give a look ‘round and see what there is to experience here, ok?”
Again the bird was non-responsive, although not sleeping either.
“Is daddy keeping his little girl awake with his rambling chatter? Poor baby,” he said as he stroked her head and back feathers. She loved attention, and preened in appreciation.
“God,” thought Tom, “parrots really are sensitive, and intelligent.”
And, once again, he felt a wave of love and appreciation for his little green companion.
He then walked away from the main temple structure, and down to the river’s edge.
“Oh my God, what a mess of filth, birdie.”
The river looked like a grayish brown soup, flowing along sluggishly. Plastic cartons, paper, Styrofoam, and miscellaneous trash floated about, and lay on the banks in huge, messy piles. The sight disgusted Tom, and made his temple visit even less enjoying. He had finally found some interesting ancient structures and trees, but they were surrounded by decimated land and a polluted river that served as an open sewer and trash repository for the
“Puke! Gotta get out of here, birdie, this place is creeping me out.”
The nearly empty temple had only a couple of visitors, who drifted through silently, like ghostly apparitions - while the pollution acted as a ghastly backdrop of death and decay. The scene was a bit too surreal for Tom.
“Lets move on, sweetie.”
Tom followed the narrow and ancient road alongside the river, and headed West towards an old part of the
“Maybe there will be something interesting here. I’m not ready to go back into Thamel yet, are you?”
Blank resignation was his only reply from the bird, but a little child’s happy voice broke the silence.
“Suga, Suga, Suga....”
The little girl magically appeared from the shadows of the warehouse building adjacent to the temple grounds. Startled at first, Tom was quickly entranced by her wide-open, lovely, deep brown eyes; and large, happy smile. She was a wisp of a girl, about three foot tall, and a little thin. She wore a simple, handmade, black pull-over dress; made from course cotton fabric, with large reckless stitches. Obviously, it was handmade from some scrap material; yet, the simple dress only accentuated the beautiful little girl’s short, straight, jet black hair.
“Suga, Suga, Suga...” she chanted in an entreating call.
Tom slowed down, and knelt on the ground so the little girl could come and pet the bird. She was a gentle little soul, and Tom had no fear for the birds’ safety in her hands.
“Hold Suga? Hold Suga?” Tom asked her as he lifted the bird with his left index finger towards the little girl. She jumped in surprise, giggled, and yet still held back.
“Nope, that’s a little too close, eh?” he said with a genuine smile.
“This little girl is captivating,” he thought.
Then on closer inspection, Tom saw to his dismay, dark green mucus draining from her nose. That signaled a sinus infection, or an ear infection. Her hearing seemed a bit poor; she hadn’t respond to quiet tones, and she had delayed responses. Because of this, Tom feared the worse. Additionally, her little body didn’t seem quite as healthy as a little girl should be. Small bumps were evident on her arms and legs.
“That looks like those little bugs that burrow under the skin. The poor little thing. Where does she live?” he wondered.
As these thoughts registered in his mind, he knelt before the little girl, and wondered what to do. She appeared to be totally alone as well. As he looked all around for anyone else, he realized that it was just her, and him, on the small river road. Then, from Tom’s right, an older boy approached from the dark shadows of the neighboring building. Without any perceived interest in the bird, he looked at Tom with suspicion. His facial features said: ‘What are you doing with my sister?’
To avoid any worries, Tom pulled the two candy bars out of his pack, and handed one to each of the children. This wasn’t the best thing, nutritionally, to do; but, he had to keep their attention for a while as he tried to form a plan to help them.
The candy bars worked. Both kids smiled beatific smiles, although the boy’s was marred by a similar infestation of parasites covering his neck and face.....his only exposed flesh. Again, his clothes, such as they were, were filthy. Shock registered in Tom, as he realized that they were either abandoned, or orphaned, and living on the streets....alone. Tom hadn’t seen this kind of poverty in central
“Mother?” “Mother?” Tom asked with hand motions shaping out a female figure in the air. The boy smiled and nodded “yes.”
“Good, a mom,” Tom thought.
“You,” he said, as he pointed at the boy.
“Your sister,” he said as he pointed to the girl.
“Mother,” he said as he retraced the female form in the air. The boy understood some English, and smiled broadly as he shook his head “yes.”
Then, the little boy added to the family by holding his arms as if he was holding a baby, rocking back and forth, and saying something Tom didn’t understand.
“Oh my God, there’s a baby too!” Tom thought bleakly.
Then he made a decision, and acted upon it immediately.
"Ok, stay here, and I’ll be right back. Don’t move, ok?”
All of Tom’s words were reinforced by hand motions, and physical holding. “Stay here,” was two hands to the shoulders. “Be right back,” was an upraised index finger, a smiling face, and pointing to the ground under the boy’s feet. The boy smiled and shook his head in apparent understanding. Tom didn’t want them to follow along with him. He worried that their mother or father, or whomever, would get the wrong idea of where he was taking the kids. So he decided that it was best that they stayed there, while he searched out some real food. He walked off, and went down a side street back towards
“There should be some type of small grocery shop nearby,” he thought.
After walking South, down a couple of blocks, he heard a noise behind him - an odd thing on the deserted streets. Turning, he saw that the little kids were following him; about ten meters behind.
“Oh well, birdie,” he said to the parrot absently.
“Maybe if we make this quick, we won’t upset anybody. If there’s anybody to upset, that is,” he commented aloud.
He motioned the kids to join them, and they searched for a food store together; making for an interesting band of wanderers. Motioning to the boy’s candy bar, his mouth, and a nearby building, Tom tried to communicate to the boy that he was looking for a grocery shop. The kid’s face beamed, and he bolted down another street leading West again. Tom had to carry the little girl, so they could keep up with the boy. Tom laughed as he saw where the boy went - right up to an exposed candy case, in the front of a store. Evidently, it was the only shop even in business in this part of town. The absence of activity once again felt creepy to Tom, given the tumultuous activity in the central part of town. The whole area was similar to an untraveled warehouse district.
“Odd, very odd. Oh well....” Tom concluded.
The two men in at the store looked equally puzzled to see Tom with two street urchins. A smile at Tom, and presumably his money, was replaced by a bitter and angry stare at the children.
“WhatEver,” thought Tom. “Get over it. How can you hate any children that much? People, stupid people!”
Tom mounted the three stairs into the open shop, and went inside. Shaking his head in negation over the candy counter, he pointed to packages of powdered mild, rice, and oats, arranged in shelves on the walls. After a few selections, Tom had all of the food that he wanted.....or could carry. He grouped it all onto the countertop, and waved some paper money with a questioning look.
“How much, all? Rupees, how many?” he asked as he waved the money.
The man raised four fingers. To Tom that said 400 Rupees, and that sounded about right for what he had selected. The milk was the most expensive, especially the fortified infant formula that he had picked.
Tom handed the man 400 Rupees, and took his leave. A weird look flashed over the man’s face, but it disappeared as he looked at, and considered, the money in his hand. Afraid of further delay, Tom went down the steps, and began walking quickly; retracing their steps to the building near the river and temples. Both children followed closely behind him, eating their candy bars, and oblivious to Tom’s intent. When Tom reached the building where he had found the little girl, he handed the groceries to the boy, and gave one package to the little girl. He knelt down in front of both of them, and smiled as he handed them the food.
“Take to mother. Take to mother.”
The kids were a bit startled at first. They had never considered that Tom was buying anything for them. But when they realized what Tom meant, they smiled broadly and scampered off into the deep shadows.
“That should keep them, little birdie; until we can figure out how to get them permanent help. We’ll ask Samarot, when we get back to town, where we can find an orphanage and clinic for them. Then, tomorrow we’ll get a cab, and take them there. I know that its kind of a bold thing to do, but Jesus those kids are going to die if they don’t get help soon. Real help.”
The bird just chirped as Tom talked, as if in reply.
“Yeah, yeah, I hear you. ‘Its none of your business, Thomas - just move on.’ Well, I’ll ‘move on’ as soon as I do something constructive, ok? Then I’ll let go, knowing that I did my best, ok? No more arguments bird, ok?”
The parrot sat silently through the last of the ‘conversation;’ then she shook out her wings, and flapped about to let Tom know that she’d had enough talking.
"Ok, I’ll shut up!” he said with a grin.
“Lets check out this direction,” he concluded. He walked over the river bridge, heading further West for half an hour or so. Then, he gave up.
“No monkey temple here! She said something about the river. By the river, across the river, in the frickin river! WhatEver! I’m beat!” he said in frustration and disgust.
So, they turned back and walked East, back to the main road. When they reached the spot where he’d left the kids, he found the little boy sitting quietly against the white washed building - just outside the cover of the shadows. When he saw Tom, he jumped up, and bolted into the shadows calling out some name as he ran. Before Tom walked very far, he saw where the boy had gone. It was a lean-to open shack that was attached to the large building that stood adjacent to the temple. There were sleeping rolls, blankets, a few assorted pans, and miscellaneous items. In the middle was a small fire, with a pot sitting above it.....suspended on a tripod of big sticks. A thin woman stood up as the boy reached her. She held a naked baby on her hip, and strode out of the shadows to approach Tom.
Tom stood transfixed. It was worse than he had thought.
“I’ve got to do something,” he said to himself quietly.
He had heard of beggars at the temples, but this was his first experience. It was very sad indeed. The woman was smiling as she approached Tom. Her smile was one of appreciation, at first. But, as she approached Tom, her smile turned into an approved appraisal of him. She said ‘thank you’ many times, and then smiled a beguiling smile at Tom. She motioned Tom to come into their ‘home.’ The action was friendly, and nice, but it also said: ‘come in, and I’ll show you my thankfulness.’ Her eyes glittered in appreciation, desire, and held a hint of the beckoning call of a siren. She was beautiful, and although obviously destitute and struggling with her children, not unappealing. But this wasn’t for Tom. Even if he wanted to have sex with her, he would’ve worried about the diseases the poor woman carried....and, what of the children? Tom couldn’t imagine what had happened to this poor woman, but she was willing to do anything for her children’s survival. It was clear that she had worked the brothels at one point.
“No, thank you. Thank you. You are very nice, but I must go now. I’m very late,” he said lamely as an excuse.
“Thank you, thank you,” he repeated with a genuine smile.
He didn’t want to hurt her feelings, on top of everything else she had to endure. Humiliation wasn’t what she needed now. So, Tom broke away from the family and moved quickly down the street towards the main thoroughfare.
“Birdie, sweetheart, we have to do something for those poor people......we have to.”
With these words, his resolve was hardened into a directive that couldn’t be ignored.
All thoughts of a long peaceful walk were gone from Tom’s mind. He just wanted to be back in Thamel, but he needed something to occupy his mind and emotions until he could assimilate what he’d just experienced. His entire emotional state shifted over to analyzing, and trying to fully understanding what he had just witnessed. First, so he could cope with the shock; and then, determine what was the best course of action. He had to learn how to cope with the stark reality of these people’s lives; yet, reconcile it with the waste of his culture. He now remembered those times his mother had chided him as a child to eat his vegetables with statements like: ‘there are starving children in Biafra that would love the food on your plate.’
His response, then? ‘Well, let’s put it into a box, and mail it to them then!’
The insensitivity that childhood memory represented, was another shock in itself.
“How can we live such an isolated, misdirected, and self centered existence, while knowing how widespread these conditions are in our world?” he wondered aloud.
Once he reached the main road, a cab approached from the direction of central
“Taxi, Taxi, Taxi!” Tom yelled, as he tried to hail the passing cabbie.
“In town I can’t escape them, now I can’t get one to save my life!”
Then it hit him how exposed he really was outside of the insulated tourist bubble in
“Oh well, I’ll consider that later,” he temporized.
His mind and emotions were now racing down another avenue - the woman and her children.
Another cab appeared and stopped. Tom jumped in quickly. Without any introductions or hesitation, Tom blurted out: “Can you go to the monkey temple, and back to Thamel?”
“To temple, and back Thamel?” the cabbie repeated for confirmation.
Tom nodded in assent.
“How long you stay at temple?”
“An hour, no more.”
“One hour, only?” he asked incredulously.
“Yes, I’ve done my prayers and devotions for the day; I’m just going to take pictures.”
The little bit of sarcasm was lost on the cabbie, but it helped Tom vent some of his frustrations.
“How much to temple, and back to
“300 Rupee.”
“100 Rupee,” countered Tom without hesitation.
“200.”
“150, and that’s my final price!” Tom said to finalize the deal as he made ready to leave the cab.
“No. No, sir. 150 o.k..”
"Ok, 150 it is,” confirmed Tom.
With that brief exchange over, Tom returned to his thoughts, and the cabbie shifted his entire attention to his thoughts, and to driving.
“They drive a hard bargain, birdie girl, but at least when you’re done, you’re done. You can trust their word, welllll.....generally,” he laughed.
With that all done, and out of his mind, he started to think about the wretchedly poor and starving woman, and her children. He racked his brain.
”What can I do that’ll he more than a mere band-aide?” Then, it popped into his head: “an orphanage for the kids, and that halfway house that I read about, for the woman. There’s a good solution!”
The article he had so casually read on his Swissair flight to
“Oh my God, she is one of those girls!”
Then, the pieces fell together quickly. Tom had learned to trust his mind with sorting out dilemmas. He would gather what information he could, then let it simmer a bit, apparently going on to other things, while his mind sorted things out and came up with possible scenarios. As they bubbled up, he would evaluate their relative merits in his conscience mind....then make a decision, trusting whatever his mind...however incongruent....came up with. It had taken him a long time to trust his intuition this way, but once he did, he soon learned that the results were better than any consciously constructed plans. It actually allowed him to make fairly quick plans, allowing his mind to work unfettered; and it was much less stressful than over-worrying a topic.
But the second shock of the situation reared its ugly head. The woman was one of the young Nepali girls who had been hired out by their families to
“Thank God for that woman who set up a halfway house for these girls in
“Now, all I have to do is to find out from my Nepali business friends where that halfway house is, then take the woman and her kids there....or, take the kids onto an orphanage while she recovered on her own.”
Relieved to have come upon a good solution, Tom relaxed and tried to enjoy the rest of the ride to the monkey temple.
The cabbie took a sudden left turn, down a ragged side street, then took a near immediate sharp right handed turn. The impossibly steep road twisted up and further up, past homes and occasional shops. The winding seemed endless, and very steep. It reminded Tom of Lombard Street in
“Well, it really isn’t ugly here. It’s a whole different world,” he reflected.
The road finally straightened out to a wider dirt road that climbed steeply up the last hill. Tom hoped it was the last hill.
“God, how do they ever navigate this during the rainy season? It has to be a near river in the rain! Well, sweetie, I expect that devotions are less frequent then!” Tom Joked with the bird.
The cab ground to a quick stop, and parked in line with other vehicles - a couple of cars, a motorcycle, and a bus.
“This is it?” Tom asked the cabbie.
“Yes, monkey temple up there,” he said as he pointed to the ceiling of the car, and added: “I wait here!”
“So much for directions,” Tom thought.
“Here is 75 Rupees, I’ll give you the rest once we get back to
Tom hopped out of the hot and confining car, into a whirl of dust.
“Windy here, eh?” he said to no one in particular.
Then he saw what the cabbie meant with his directions. There was a series of stone steps that seemed to go straight up the mountainside to unseen heights. The tree canopy at ground level, obstructed the final destination, but Tom was pretty sure that it was going to be a long walk.
“If it takes me more than an hour, still wait for me, ok? I’ll just pay you more, ok?” he told the cabbie.
Tom stood and waited by the cabbie, until he got a clear indication that he would stay and wait for him. He didn’t want to be stranded far out in the countryside; it was too long of a hike back to the city. Finally, the man pounded on the car, and said “me stay here!”
"O.k. then, we’re off! We’ll see you in a little while,” Tom said in reply.
The driver looked relieved and happy to take a rest in the shade of the trees. He walked directly to the other bus and cab drivers who were standing nearby, and struck up a conversation. Tom turned his attention to the multitude of wide steps, and was off.
At the base of the stairs, to either side, were large statues. The statues, like all the others Tom had seen, were undecipherable as to who they were, and what they represented. Also, there was a large stone Buddha statue amongst the trees, to the far right of the stairs. It was about twenty feet tall, and very old.
“Well, little bird, I know who that one is!” he said with a grin.
“Lets cut to the chase, and just go right to the top, ok?”
The bird, of course, agreed with him.
“So glad you approve,” commented Tom, jokingly.
Even though the bird seemed much more physically relaxed, she had become more alert and attentive to the animal sounds in the trees. Tom couldn’t make out all the squeaks and shrieks, but he heard the occasional thrill of a bird.
“Kind of like home, I suppose?” he said to the bird, even though he had no idea what the birds’ natural environment really was.
“Oh well, lets go,” he said, as they started the long ascension of the wide stone stairway.
It was a relief to Tom to no longer struggle with trying to understand which God was which, which statue was which, the interpretation of the statue, or in some cases, what the statue even was. The images were totally foreign to Tom’s Western eye, so he had decide to take it all in, and just enjoy the unique feel of the place - putting aside deep thoughts of any kind. Being thus relieved from thought, it was easy for him to firmly and confidently pass by the numerous vendors spread around the flat spots and landings of the amazing stone staircase. A ‘no thank you,’ and a sharp movement of his right hand did it all. It was wonderful. No more clamoring bullshit to disturb his thoughts, plans, and observations. The cagey vendors knew the best places to sell. Places where the dis-equilibrium from sensory overload was highest; and the desire to escape was therefore more pressing. A prosperous looking woman with two children, however, wouldn’t leave Tom alone though.
“Lovely bracelets. Very beautiful, fine work; and very cheap bracelets.”
On and on she droned, with similar variations on the same theme. Tom finally got upset. Besides ruining his break at a nice landing, the whole idea of people selling tourist trash on the steps of an obviously holy temple, offended Tom. Then he realized that the children were not hers - they were only for show. Tom had seen women beggars in
“Did Jesus feel the same way, when he cast out the money changers from the temple?” he wondered.
Tom could certainly relate to the feeling. These weren’t starving beggars, a common fixture at most temples. These were out and out opportunists, and the brazen woman lacked the humility to just show her wares. She said boldfaced lies about her products, while blocking the temple steps; and harassed all passersby. The disrespect of commerce on holy property, and destroying the serenity of it all, was compounded by her outright lies. At least the others sold religious related trinkets, and sat quietly. So, Tom being Tom, he had to say something. He stopped and stared directly at her, and she appeared visibly pleased that she’d finally captured his attention. That pleasure was short lived.
“Why do you sell your trash on the steps of this most holy place? Have you no shame?”
Shocked, she stood mute.....a miracle in itself.
“Is it not enough defilement for you to sell things here, and destroy everyone’s serenity?”
“No, you must further desecrate this place, and your dharma, by lying about your products. Do you think us tourists are totally stupid? Do our attempted kindnesses, and gifts, only serve to present us as weak minded? No! We are as offended as your neighbors are!”
By now a small crowd of people had formed on the landing area, and on the steps above and below Thomas. People stopped where they were, and listened intently.
“Good,” thought Tom, “the lesson will be that much better.”
So he did not relent. He knew to do so now, would only make him out to be an angry person. The Hindu vendors were tough, and he knew that they had to be spanked hard, in order to get them to hear and learn. Tom knew better than to appeal to a sensibility that wasn’t there; he had to mess her business up enough that she would choose a better place to make money.
“You think me a fool to call these bracelets gold?” Tom reached out and held up a handful for emphasis.
“These are not gold, nor are they any special metal. They are stamped out by Chinese factories, in the thousands. They are machine made, not hand made as you say. You lie twice, and you lie badly. Even Shiva would be embarrassed by you!”
“Offend us no longer, and stop blasting out your hideous lies to these poor people - destroying their tranquility. They are too nice to say anything, pitying you beneath any beggar. I’m not so nice today, I’m just a stupid American.”
At that, Tom set the bracelets down on the vendors table, and walked away. If Nepali people clapped, he would have gotten a standing ovation for his performance. Broad smiles were everywhere. That heartened Tom, as he mounted the last large flight of stone steps.
Looking up beyond the steps was difficult due to their steepness, and it gave him a bit of vertigo to try.
“Thank whatever God for the railings,” he said to himself.
As he ascended the steps, his grip tightened on the railings, and he looked up ahead to see the stairs appearing to end at the sky.
“There has to be something up there,” he thought, “where else did everyone go then?”
As he reached the top few steps, a policeman collected admission from whomever he wanted. Tom didn’t mind the money, “but why here, where we can easily fall?” he wondered aloud, quietly.
He hung on for dear life, as he handed over the money. Then, climbing the last few steps, he was finally at the top. It was beautiful! There were ancient statues and shrines everywhere. The main rotunda had a large gold encrusted shrine in the middle; and monkeys were hanging all over the intricately detailed, blob shaped, structure. It had four distinct sides......each quite different. Due to conquers, vandals, and antique hunters, many of the more delicate appendages of the shrine had long since vanished. What was left was the basic stone structure, with its present incarnation for this period in time. Over thousands of years
“Anyone who falls down those stairs won’t live long,” he thought.
“Good thing too, because they would be mangled by the sharp descent, and bone crushing contact points.”
He spoke up, to keep them from falling.
“Let me take your picture,” he said, as he pointed to his camera.
“Suga! Suga!” they replied. Oblivious to the camera, they were attracted by the bird.
“Yes, Suga. You can touch Suga over here,” he told them, while he pointed to a safe area well away from the cliff-like edge of the stairs. As he talked he walked; and the kids willingly followed him to safety. By the time he had taken a few pictures, and let them hold the bird, their parents appeared out of the amassed crowd of people on the religious plateau. Delighted to see their children, the parents looked at Tom with confusion on their faces. Careful to avoid any misunderstanding, Tom motioned to the steps, and then the children. Then he moved his hands and arms in a rolling action, to communicate the kids near tumble to death. Comprehension replaced confusion, and then appreciative looks melted into those of fear.
"Ok, birdie, I think they got the message.”
Tom stared at the kids, tousled their hair, and said “bye, bye Suga,” as he waved his hand and walked away.
Relieved to have that drama over, Tom sought a place devoid of people.
“Jeez, honey, will we ever get a moment of peace?” he asked the bird rhetorically.
The parent and child situation wasn’t much different than many of the same at home. Parents got distracted, or tired, and little tykes skittered off to harmful places.
“Only here, girl, the consequences are more dangerous. I doubt they would even allow adults to climb to a place like this in the States.....worried about liability issues.”
Tom felt good about the kids, but he also just wanted to enjoy the scenery. He didn’t want any more incidents; the day’s quota was already filled, in his mind.
He sat with the bird on his shoulder, and surveyed the rotunda. The large temple was surrounded by a circular flat area, with a simple black pipe railing to keep people from falling off the cliff edge.
“Funny thing though,” he thought, “the area atop this hill is much larger than I ever thought it could be.”
The Northern side led into a sunken courtyard of large stone statues, bordered by a carved rock wall, and tall buildings of cut rock. Tom then walked down the West side, and found a large area covered with very little shrines....many about the size of three foot cubes. Each was unique, and had different carvings and inscriptions. Some were in poor repair, yet the newer ones seemed hardly worn. A shop stood opposite of the shrine collection, and a narrow path beside the shop led down into a miniature stone village. Tom couldn’t quite figure out the village, the small shrines, and why people lived at the top; but he didn’t worry about the puzzle overmuch.
“I know that guy!” he said to the bird, as they passed near a large statue of Buddha; and the bird chirped, as if on cue.
“The bird actually got a joke, finally!” he laughed aloud.
He turned off his analyzing mind, and began to enjoy silly things. It felt good, and relaxing. He walked to back to the railing, through the small crowd of people, and saw that the bird had captured the attention of even the most devoted pilgrims.
“Hey, girl, I can’t go anywhere with you.....you show stealer. With you, I have no chance of anonymity!”
The bird always appeared to understand Tom; at least the fact that he was paying attention to her. She liked his attention, and began preening in response to the relaxed atmosphere. Tom circled the entire perimeter of the plateau, enjoying the great view.
“I can see the entire
“Now it’s a sea of three-story concrete buildings.”
The buildings weren’t ugly in themselves; but they stood in stark contrast to the ancient buildings, and temples, that peppered the valley. The most significant of the ancient buildings were the beautiful buildings near
As Tom visualized the old valley, a smiling man approached. They stood next to the cliff, together; alongside the feeble railing. He was a well dressed man, in his 50’s, and looked fairly well educated. Tom waited for him to talk.
“Hello. Your bird?” he asked, as he extended a finger towards the bird.
“Yes, she is. I’d mind your finger though, she’ll bite!”
“Where did you find such a lovely bird?”
“I bought her from a bird vendor in
Tom answered questions about parrot all the time, and the man seemed no different than the rest; except he seemed very interested in Tom’s answers.
“You come here, and buy the bird?”
“Yes, and I plan on taking her home to my daughter.”
“Yeeeesss, such a lovely bird,” he repeated with a weird smile.
Then out of nowhere, his right hand swung past Tom’s face, and squarely hit the bird; violently knocking her off his shoulder. Thinking of nothing else but the birds safety, he gathered it into the crook of his arm as quickly as he could. The blow had not only knocked her off his shoulder, but also to the end of her tether of silver chain. Tom was dumbfounded; yet he stared intently at the man to gauge his reaction. The man’s disappointment was written all over his facial features. He was surprised to see the chain, expecting that the bird would be knocked off, and into the inaccessible abyss below; or, would’ve flown away. Tom couldn’t determine his objective, nor did he waste time trying to understand the motivations of the unprovoked and violent act. The man grinned sadistically, as he saw Tom’s discomfiture, and the inquiring looks of the surrounding people. Tom lashed out with vehemence.
“I don’t know who the fuck you think you are, or why you’d want to hurt such a gentle and loving bird, but you’d better keep your hands off of her, or I’ll throw your sorry ass down those stone stairs without a moment’s regret! Go home! Go away! Your behavior is disgusting!” he shouted.
The man’s face went pale, and fear replaced humor. He ran away from the stairs, and behind the crowd. The reactions in the crowd were mixed, but most were shocked. All the Nepali people Tom had met genuinely loved his little ‘Suga.’ More often than not, it was hard for him to walk with her; because their good attentions were overwhelming to the bird, and became tiresome to Tom.
“This guy is some high caste, uppity, visitor from
“You can’t even trust them to be civil to a little bird.”
He cradled the bird closely in his arms, and walked down the stairs. He had enough, and didn’t trust his anger against the Indian.
As he went down the extremely steep steps, he noticed that the Hindu woman had left. The craftsmen selling religious articles smiled and nodded to him as he passed, and he reached the bottom quickly.
“Little victories, sweetie. But too many of them for my taste,” he told the paralyzed bird.
Upon reaching the cab, he spoke to the cabbie urgently.
“Take me home now. Tibetan Snows guesthouse in Thamel, please,” he said curtly, but not unfriendly.
Coming down the stairs had been easier that going up, but he had to hold the railing tightly. All along, he kept the bird close to him, almost in a smothering way; to comfort her. The monkeys scampered everywhere, in the cool late afternoon breeze; playing tag amongst the trees near the stairs. Tom saw them, but couldn’t fully enjoy their antics. Even still, he found them comically funny. The monkeys lightened his dark mood; and were a nice ending to a very weird experience. The trip back to Thamel was relatively quick, and the cabbie only slowed down when he met the highly congested streets of the Thamel district.
“This is close enough. If you get onto that road, you’ll spend all night trying to get home. Here’s your money.”
Tom handed him 200 Rupees - more than the price they had agreed upon. If the cabbies were honorable and sincere, he liked to reward their behavior. He had finally learned how to give responsibly.
“Some Hindus are great. Why can’t they all be honorable?“ Tom wondered; but then, he reflected upon people he knew at home.
“Probably for the same reasons a lot of Christians are less that Christian in their behavior!“
The driver smiled at Tom, and stopped at the curb.
“Thank you.”
Tom stepped out of the cab and into the hysteria of the crowded streets. Already not at her best, the bird was further agitated by the noise and confusion of the city.
“Who isn‘t annoyed by this mess?” he spoke to the bird.
She was in a state of shock. She’d hardly moved since being hit. Holding her close to his chest, under his shirt, he dodged street vendors, dazed backpackers, and befuddled tourists as he efficiently cut his way through the crowded streets - going directly to his guesthouse. As soon as he got in the door, there were questions.
“Where is bird, Mr. Tom?” asked a waiter.
“She’s under my shirt,” he said breathlessly, as he pulled out the stricken bird.
“Is she hurt?” quizzed the other waiter.
“You look upset!”
“What happened?”
The waiters were first, then Pasang began with questions of her own.
“Some idiot slapped her off of my shoulder! I’ve had kids poke at her with a stick; but this was a grown man!”
“No respect for life, Mr. Tom,” she said succinctly.
All were visibly concerned for the bird’s welfare, and Tom’s feelings.
“It’s like coming home,” thought Tom; and he appreciated them all the more for their genuine concerns.
“I’m taking her to the room, so that she can calm down. Thanks for your concern guys, I appreciate it. Stupid bastard! Why would anyone hit a defenseless bird?” he lamented.
“Some people like to cause pain, Mr. Tom. They are not healthy or happy people, so they take it out on others. Long is their path....” replied the woman wisely.
Her voice conveyed such sad compassion, that Tom began to pity the man; but not too much. His anger still lingered. He was grateful however that he hadn’t thrown the guy over the cliff.
After he calmed down, Tom left the bird alone in his dark quiet room. It was what she needed, and he had work to do.
“Hey sweetie, here is some food, and peace and quiet. You know, the scariest part was the coldness, and the lack of any emotion, of the guy when he turned violent. All he showed was that nasty grin. I guess he expected it to be amusing; that he could strike like a cold snake, without care or regard for anyone. Is that what life is like for people like that?” Tom quizzed the bird.
He believed that talking soothed her, and it also cleared his head of troubling issues.
“Do they just go along their way, and strike people when they’re the most vulnerable? It must be a horrible life of pain,” he concluded.
“Sleep well, little girl, I won’t let anyone else hurt you again.”
He talked out his feelings to the bird, hoping to calm her and him down; and, he didn’t want to get into more conversations to dredge it all back up again. So he left the building by the side door, avoiding everyone. He had other more important things to attend to.
“Samarot, Samarot, are you about?”
Tom called down into the cozy little shop, whose walls were stuffed with sweaters, hats, and scarves. Everything was made of Yak wool, in various muted tones; with a few splashy colored ones thrown in for variety. It was a comfortable place. Over the weeks, Tom had spent many hours visiting with his new friend in his little hole-in-the-wall shop. He found the door open, yet the store empty.
“He must be around here, the place is wide open.”
He stepped inside, down two little steps, and into the wool filled room. The man’s tiny table sat empty, but the light was on.
“He must’ve just stepped out for minute.”
He turned and left through the narrow door; while being careful not to bump his head on the short door frame. As he emerged onto the street, he saw that the sky had begun to darken. It was late afternoon, and darkness came quickly to
“Thomas! Thomas!” the eager and happy voice caught Tom off guard.
Samarot was across the street, just leaving his friends’ jewelry shop. The same jeweler who’d made his bird’s silver chained tether.
“Hoy, Samarot!”
They met mid street, and shook hands heartily.
“Good to see you; tea?” he asked, before Tom could speak.
“Of course, what else?” he laughed.
Samarot yelled at the small boy by his side: “Boy run! Get two milk tea. Hurry with you, lazy boy!”
The child had appeared out of nowhere, as always; and ran to get tea and glasses from some mysterious location. It was always the same. The boy was fast, and the tea was very good; so Tom didn’t ask about details. Thinking about this incongruity, Tom wondered if all foreigners were constantly being watched, and sized up, by someone in Thamel. People just showed up too quickly for any other explanation. The place seemed big, and a random jumble of competing salesmen; but Tom had come to understand that Thamel was a tight knit community.
“Oh well, let go of anal-izing Tom,” he chided himself silently.
“I do not have sweater and sock back yet. I suppose to have nother day, no?”
“No, no, that isn’t why I’m here. I have some questions to ask you.”
“You would like some sweaters as souvenirs for family? I give very good price when you buy three. But custom make, much more expensive; and take long time. Take these Yak wool sweaters, they are the best, they.....”
“Stop, I didn’t come to buy anything. You and your friends already have all of my money,” he joked.
“Ha, now that’s a joke Thomas. You are a very clever bargainer.”
“Yeah, so I’ve been told.”
Anxious to cut short the little man’s animated monologue before darkness descended, Tom continued.
“Let’s sit down and wait for our tea, eh?”
“Sure, sure; right this way,” he said, as he ushered Tom back down into his den of woolens.
“What is it that you want to know? I am your friend. I tell you the truth.”
“I know, and I appreciate it. What I need to know is the location of the orphanages?”
“Orphanages? I don’t understand?”
“You know, the place where kids go if their parents can’t take care of them.”
“I still don’t understand,” he said in a sincere, and puzzled, sounding voice.
Frustrated, but determined, Tom realized that he’d bumped into another translation challenge; and would have to get into a long description of what he meant by the word orphanage. The Nepali Hindus knew some English words very well; so Tom was surprised at times, to realize that the man’s vocabulary was good, but limited. While Tom tried to frame his question, the little boy scrambled in and out, efficiently delivering their tea. No money ever exchanged hands; so Tom deduced that the store keepers must have tabs with friends that supplied them with the ubiquitous, yet wonderful, tea. The boy was sent away with a scornful look from Samarot. The tea, or service, was never to the storekeeper’s liking; or they enjoyed berating the help. Tom couldn’t tell.
“Who knows?” Tom wondered.
While considering the little boy, Tom’s mind formed his queries in a way that he hoped would be understood.
“Well, we have buildings in the
The happy-go-lucky face of the little man was replaced by a look of consternation.
“Again, I don’t understand!”
Samarot was getting frustrated, and he didn’t want any ignorance to show. Sensing this, Tom changed his tack.
“Today, I was down by the temple by the river. You know the place?”
“Yes, surely. Yes, I do.”
"O.k., then. While I was there, I met a little girl who was hungry and sick; then her brother, mother, and baby brother. I gave them powdered milk and cereal mix, but I know that won’t be enough for them. They are in trouble.”
“Why? Why you do that?” he asked, genuinely curious.
Restating the obvious, Tom went on.
“Well, they were very hungry, and looked sick. Their skin had little bumps that looked like some type of parasite.”
“Bahhhha, waste of money. Don’t waste money!”
“I don’t think that you understand; they were starving. They looked worse off than any beggar I’ve met on these streets.”
“Yes, yes, I always tell you. These beggars are not poor! They are professional. They come here from
“Yeah I know about those, and the little kids who scam powdered milk to return it to the storekeepers for money. They convince you that they have a baby brother or sister, and that they need milk. ‘Please sir, buy some milk for baby.’ Then when you go to the shop they are near, and they get you to buy overpriced milk.... at 400 Rupees. The tourist buys it anyway, convinced they are doing good, and the kid runs away with a smile and a thank you. Then 15 minutes later, he goes back to the storekeeper to return it, and gets kickback money from the storekeeper. Each of them gets money from the scam. I know that ruse. These people are different, they are really starving. So, I want to find a place where I can take the children so that they will get food and medical attention.”
“Don’t worry Thomas.”
“I’m not worried. I just need to know the name or a location of the orphanage, or that of the halfway house for girls back from Bombay.”
A brief look of mild surprise flitted across Samarot’s face. He was surprised that Tom knew about the whore trade....it wasn’t something that was talked about. But, he responded quickly.
“Those girls are nothing. Leave them!”
“But, the children. They need medical attention, food, and a safe place to live.”
“Thomas, don’t worry. You want some more tea?”
Samarot’s warm friendly smile infuriated Tom. He either didn’t understand, or didn’t want to understand. Either way, Tom saw that his friend wasn’t the person he thought he was.
“Damn it! I don’t want anymore tea when I know that there are three kids dying two miles from here, and I can do something to help them!”
Surprised by Tom’s outburst and show of emotion, Samarot tried to mollify Tom; and calm him down. It went on for almost an hour. Exasperated and upset, Tom finally said: “Samarot, forget the orphanage, you don’t seem to have a word for that. Where do children go when their parents die, and there is no family to raise them?”
“Nowhere Thomas, they simply die. Let’s have more tea, and enjoy ourselves. I like talking with you Thomas.”
It finally sunk into Tom’s awareness. Samarot didn’t care about kids starving, much less a prostitute and her kids. His response was ‘don’t worry, be happy.’ Tom saw his ‘friend’ in a new light, and it sent a shiver down his spine. He left shortly thereafter, citing evening plans and not wanting to be late.
“Come back soon, Thomas. I like our talks!”
Tom didn’t know who else to ask - he was sure that it was the same with the other shopkeepers. They seemed happier and more content than the Indians in
Everything reinforced the brutal reality that life in the Asian world was considered cheap and expendable.
“It’s accepting the true effects of overpopulation. There‘s never enough resources to go around. It’s honest, if harsh. At least they don‘t pretend that they care,” Tom commented to himself.
“They aren't hypocrites, just very pragmatic about the fact that they can’t keep everyone alive,” he reasoned.
The whole situation was incredibly sad to Thomas, and he slept poorly that night. The next day, he took a rickshaw to the temple to look for the woman and her children. They were gone, as were most of their meager possessions.
“I’ve got to get out of
While he was comfortable, and reassured, by the fact that their reality was solid, very understandable, and lacked the ambiguities of life in the States, it was also very harsh; and he was at his limit. It became too much to absorb alone.
“There’s no cushion of denial here. What you see, is truly what you get.”
There were plenty of lies, but they came from the dishonest business people trying to scam extra profits; and were easily identified, and dispelled as such. They weren’t lies of pretense that presented a world of friendly deception, while they did horrible deeds under the cover of false charity. Tom always yearned for a place like this: a place where things were clear, in your face, and undeniable; good and bad. A place, that wasn’t awash in self deception. But now he needed the peace and quiet of the mountains, to recover from the pain of that very real awareness.
***************
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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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