SF. Pt.11g. Ashram.

With Simon gone life on the road got more serious. Arthur felt utterly alone. Yes, he was free to look at India through his own eyes without Si’s cynical observations but he was still obliged to ask himself what he was doing so far from home. He had never envisaged being in India on his own. Should he go back to England? Or should he press on in the hope that some kind of destiny would reveal itself?

India itself was becoming a blur of blue elephants, pink monkeys and brown faces. Crowds gathered quickly. Whenever he stopped moving there was always a crowd of people staring at him…somebody would always ask, “Where are you coming from sir?” “Why did you come to India?” “Are you looking for God?” Reasonable questions, not unlike the ones he was asking himself. But they never stopped coming. Everywhere he went, in public parks on railway stations, in restaurants he attracted attention just by being. Third class trains were a special kind of purgatory. The only known antidote was first class waiting rooms.

Should he look for an ashram to take him in? A quiet place where he could seek the meaning of life in solitude? Or should he just abandon the whole project, if indeed it was a project, and go back to England? Perhaps, perhaps not. There were other factors to be considered. He had amoebic dysentery. He had just been robbed. He had no passport and no money. He did have a letter from his mother informing him that she and his father were separating and another letter from Alice to let him know she was pregnant. Clearly some kind of decision was required.

With some minor adjustments to the chronology it wouldn’t be too hard to imagine Arthur arriving at an ashram near Rishikesh. One can see him being shown into a simple white-walled room…a mat, a bed-sheet and a jug of water. He likes it. It’s wonderful to get away from the realities of India. The best time is the evening when cool breezes waft down from the Himalayas along the Ganges Gorge and the air is full of a gentle chanting from neighbouring ashrams. Not much happens. He is able to turn off his mind, relax and drift downstream. Meditation? Well he almost stops thinking about himself at one point. He might have been actually meditating. Hard to say for sure. Whatever it was it didn’t last long.

One morning Ram (ashram official in charge of accommodation) approached him outside his bungalow and told him the time had come to leave.
“Where are you going?” Arthur asked.
Ram chuckled. “No Arthur not me. The time has come for you to leave us.”
“You mean I have achieved enlightenment? It seems...”
“No, no, no, Arthur," much head nodding,"we need your bungalow. We have a big group coming.”

Thus it was that Arthur started walking back along the dusty road to the town of Rishikesh. In the fields on either side farmers were watering and weeding their crops. The road itself was empty except for the ubiquitous cows and a few women on their way to market. Suddenly there descended upon Arthur a blinding light …a vision from the future in the form of a fleet of air-conditioned limousines and psychedelic Rolls-Royces sweeping down the road bearing the likes of John Lennon, Paul McCartney, George Harrison, Mia Farrow and, Mike Love all stoned on high grade hash and garlanded with marigolds. And lo, behind it all a large bus labeled ‘Press’ in which Arthur caught a glimpse of a familiar figure. Bloody hell it’s Simon!

But it wasn’t real of course. Just a vision from the future. Instant nirvana. Some kind of parallel universe thing. A book in itself really. Never happened.

The British Consul in Madras had a general-purpose office in a bungalow in a leafy suburb. He affected a Somerset Maugham persona in keeping with some short stories he was working on. He kept the rejection slips in a drawer with the Foreign Office Seal. There was a punkah but no wallah. Arthur got the impression he wasn’t very busy. The consul was friendly but firm. He knew Surrey and Sussex quite well. He had an aunt in Sussex in fact. Near Hayward’s Heath actually. Really? Yes. He was prepared to issue some temporary travel documents but all expenses must be reimbursed to HMG within six months of Arthur’s return to England otherwise he would not get a new passport. He hoped that was acceptable. Arthur would have to pick up his ticket in Delhi. Arthur agreed to the conditions.

That’s true about the consul having an aunt in Sussex by the way. Her name is Claire and she’s a schoolteacher. She wears a tweed suit and wool stockings. She has a black spaniel called Scamp and a bicycle with a basket on front, which she uses when she shops in the village. I know what you’re thinking. Peripheral character, no connection to the story, if you can call it a story. You have a point. The plane from Delhi to London took about 12 hours. Which meant that Arthur’s homecoming was somewhat abrupt and required numerous rapid mental adjustments. The consul meanwhile had decided to have another go at writing a children’s story…

‘Scamp was a lovely dog but he could be quite naughty sometimes. He loved to chase after rabbits and sometimes he forgot about everything and became (got?) lost. Once he was gone for two whole days! When he came back he was all muddy and covered with brambles/burrs. But he was so happy to be home it was hard to be angry with him…’