Day Four

BEN WOKE TO HEAR his grandmother singing. It sounded like the lame song “Somewhere over the Rainbow.” She must be in a happier mood. She came over to his bed and perched on the edge, smiling down at him. “I’m sorry about last night, Ben.”

This was a change. He was the one who usually had to apologize.

Gran went on. “I was exhausted. I get cranky when I’m tired after a long day. I’ll try to do better.”

She seemed so ashamed that Ben said, “It’s okay, Gran. I was crabby too. I know I’m not the only one who misses Dad, but sometimes I just can’t believe I’ll never see him again.”

“I can’t believe it either, but I guess I’m lucky. I can see you and be reminded of him.”

“In some ways you remind me of him too, Gran.” Ben grinned at his grandmother. It was true, in some ways she did, but one sure thing was that his dad would never have owned a hat like hers.

After a quick breakfast during which they said goodbye to Gita, Ben took their backpacks outside, where Padam and Madhu waited beside the taxi, excited and giggling, ready for the trip.

Gran and Ben got into the back seat. “No seatbelts, I guess,” Gran said.

“It is being no problem,” Madhu said, not in the least defensive. “You will be seeing how safely our fine car travels on the road to Agra.”

No problem. No problem. Seems that was the Indian way.

Gran asked, “I don’t suppose your car has air conditioning?”

“We most certainly do, Norah memsahib.” Padam turned in his seat to answer. “Simply roll down your window and the air is conditioned in an extremely fine way!” He giggled crazily at his own joke.

Gran smiled at Ben. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No problem,” Ben said. Now he was saying it too.

They drove for an hour in heavy traffic through the crowded outskirts of Delhi. Mile after mile, crowded, broken-down dwellings stretched in rows back from the road: tin shacks, houses built of wooden crates, open shelters with makeshift roofs of tar paper and cardboard. Women in worn saris stood in the doorways with children playing in the dirt around them. One boy, about Ben’s age with long skinny legs, sat on a crumbling roof waving at the traffic. Before Ben could wave back, Padam had sped past. The acrid smell of smoldering garbage came with them in the taxi like a reeking stowaway.

“I had no idea people lived like that,” Gran said.

“Not all people do, but we have too-too many people in India now,” Padam said. “Over one billion.”

One billion people! And this was where many of them had to live. What a terrible place for that poor boy to grow up.

They came to a two-lane highway heading south where a crooked wooden sign read: To Agra 206 km. Their small taxi shared the road with an endless stream of larger vehicles. Local buses were crammed with people peering out the small windows, clinging to the sides and riding on the roof beside luggage tied down with ropes. Transport trucks, top heavy with full loads of cabbages and melons, careened all over the road, horns honking. Huge oil trucks roared by, their cabs decorated with dangling tassels of red pom-poms, looking as though they belonged to a circus.

The scariest part of the trip was when drivers decided to play “chicken.” A truck would speed toward their taxi in the middle of the road, faster and closer, neither vehicle giving up the centre position. Ben could see that the first to swerve to the side of the road was “chicken.” Invariably Padam gave way, but usually his pride held until the last minute, by which time Gran would be gasping, her hands over her eyes. This made Madhu and Ben giggle again. Ben stopped laughing when they drove past the rusty wrecks of two transport trucks overturned at the side of the road.

Just after Padam had swerved to miss a bus, a scrawny cow chose to amble across the road. Every vehicle in both directions came to a sudden screeching halt.

“You know we cannot harm a cow. They are sacred to Hindus and they must die a natural death,” Padam said.

While they waited for the cow to cross, Madhu turned around in his seat to tell his story. “Here is what happened once on this very road. A bus driver accidentally hit a cow. It was not his fault, for the cow simply strolled in front of the bus. However, the cow most sadly died and all the villagers arrived from nearby and threatened to kill the driver.”

Ben was amazed to hear this. “Because he accidentally killed a cow?”

“Indeed. The poor man was never allowed to drive this road again because the village people have vowed to be watching for him. I know the man; he drives in the north now.”

“Why are cows so holy anyway?” Ben asked.

“Because our supreme Hindu god, Lord Krishna, deemed it so. You see, cows are providing milk and butter for our families and also dung which is being made into patties for cooking fuel.”

The cow ambled slowly onto the roadside, and the cars sped off. What a trip! No seatbelts. Playing “chicken” with truck drivers. Cows wandering on the road. Ben wondered how he’d ever explain India to anyone at home.

The temperature inside the car was rising, but when Gran opened the window, a blast of foul exhaust from passing trucks poured into the car. “I feel a little sick. Can we stop to stretch our legs?” she asked.

“Norah memsahib, this is no problem,” Madhu said. “We will stop at the next village.”

Before long, Madhu pulled the taxi up beside four small shacks. At the side of the road, women and children squatted on the ground, the women’s fingers scratching for lice in their children’s matted hair.

As he got out of the car Ben realized his jeans were stuck to the back of his legs, and he wished for the hundredth time in four days that he’d brought a pair of shorts. Then he had an idea. While Gran went toward the side of the road where a wooden shack had “Toilet” written above the door, Ben opened the scissors on his pocket knife and cut first one leg of his jeans and then the other just above the knee. It wasn’t easy. The jeans were tough to cut, and he didn’t get the legs exactly even, but he’d be cooler.

Ben found the men’s toilet, which was two pieces of wood on either side of a hole. The hole sat over a small creek.

When they met outside, Ben asked Gran, “What was the women’s toilet like?”

“I’d like to say it was no problem, but I can’t,” was the answer from his grim-faced grandmother. Then she noticed his cut-off jeans. “I see you took things into your own hands.”

Ben looked over to the bench where he’d left the pant legs. They were gone. Maybe someone would use the fabric to sew pants for a child.

As they made their way to stalls where Padam and Madhu were talking to the village men, Gran stepped in the centre of a wet cow patty. Ben heard her mutter “Something … something holy cows.”

“Welcome to India,” Ben joked.

“Not funny,” Gran said, wiping her shoe on the ground. “I need to scrape this mess off.”

Ben lined up to buy water and came back with two cans of warm orange soda. “Sorry, Gran. No bottled water here.”

Padam came back with bananas and a package of cookies. They sat in the shade of a large tree and Ben passed his banana peel to two scrawny goats nudging at his bare knees for handouts.

“Ben sahib,” Madhu said, quietly at his side. “I am most sorry to mention this but you have been using your left hand to hold the fruit. You must be remembering this is not good in our country.”

Ben realized he’d had the soda and a cookie in his right hand but had used his left to hold the banana. “Sorry. I forgot.”

“Norah memsahib, watch out!” Madhu called.

An agile monkey had swung by its tail from the tree above them, making a grab for Gran’s banana.

“Those monkeys, they are terrible thieves!” laughed Padam, shooing the monkey away.

Ben glanced up. The tree was alive with monkeys. Emboldened by the sight of bananas they were scrambling down from the branches, stretching out their hairy arms to swipe at the food. Gran and Ben leapt from their seats and backed away, trying to hang onto their drinks, the bananas and cookies in their right hands.

On the way back to the car, Gran missed seeing another deposit of cow dung and managed to have both runners freshly anointed. “I can’t believe this,” she said in distress as Madhu rushed to help her wipe them at the side of the road.

“No problem,” Padam said when they were settled in the car. “Here in India we are saying it is good luck to step in a gift from our sacred cows.”

“You’ve got to be the luckiest person around here today, Gran,” joked Ben, relieved that Gran could stop sniffing at her shoes long enough to laugh.

“And you, Ben sahib,” Padam said, turning around in his seat to see Ben’s pants. “You are looking most extremely smart now.”

“Dhanayawada,” Ben said. “Did I say ‘thank you’ the right way?”

“Most extremely correct,” beamed Padam.

An hour later, they were stalled by another cow who’d decided, despite the raucous honking of horns, to fall asleep in the middle of the road.

“It is no problem,” Madhu said, waiting until some men prodded the cow gently and she meandered to the side of the road. No problem for anything it seemed.

Padam pointed to temple spires in the distance. “It is said that one day when Shiva, the destroyer god, was angry he cut up his wife. Where he threw the pieces of her body there are now temples.”

“These Hindu gods are something else!” Ben said. He checked Gran to see if she thought this story was a bit gruesome, but her head was bent, sniffing at her runners, and she didn’t seem to hear him.

“If you like, we will take you inside the courtyard of a temple,” Madhu offered. “But first we will stop for some lunch.”

“Great idea,” Ben said. The cookies were so stale he’d eaten only one.

Shortly, Madhu pulled the car up to the shady yard of a roadside restaurant with rows of benches and tables. Steaming pots of food were cooking on smoky fires. Gran and Ben found a seat, making sure it was not under a tree. An old woman appeared and put a flat banana leaf as a plate in front of them; then she dished out a delicious potato and carrot curry. Ben was becoming quite good at using his right hand as a scoop, unlike Gran, who still dropped food down the front of her shirt.

“This food was boiled so it’s probably safe to eat,” Gran said, “but now I’m too hungry to worry.”

“No problem,” said Padam. “I give my personal guarantee.”

“It’s delicious!” Ben said, brushing away a fly.

They purchased mangoes, oranges and bananas for the rest of the trip, which was taking much longer than Madhu had predicted the night before.

“This pocket knife has come in handy today, Gran,” Ben said, as he grabbed a mango to peel.

They drove for another hour, once passing a tall ungainly camel led by a man and his wife. The camel’s long neck was decorated with flowers and ribbons, and two small children sat dangling their short legs over the camel’s hump as the creature meandered along on spindly legs.

Madhu announced that they were close to a large Shiva temple where foreigners would be allowed into the outer courtyard, but not inside where the statue of the god was kept.

He pulled up to the parking area and they walked through a gateway painted with pictures of gods and demons. Ahead was a tapered stone tower covered in sculptured figures.

“This temple is dedicated to the god Shiva,” Padam said. “Shiva’s sanctuary is deep inside the temple and only devout Hindus are allowed to see him.”

“Wicked!” Ben said. “You mean the guy who tossed pieces of his wife’s body all around?”

“Benjamin!” said Gran.

“That’s what Padam said, Gran.”

Many people waiting to enter the temple seemed tired and poor. One man was naked except for a white dhoti. His body was smeared in white ash and his matted hair fell to the top of his knobby knees. He had a red mark in the centre of his forehead and he shuffled along with a cane, carrying a cloth bag over his shoulder.

“He is a sadhu, a holy man who travels the country with all his worldly goods in that small satchel,” Madhu said. “People give him money and he will always find food at temples such as this.”

Over the noise of the crowd, Ben heard a band.

“Oh, we are most-most fortunate today,” Padam said, his high voice even squeakier in his excitement. “There is to be a wedding and you will see the arrival of the bride and groom.”

Just then, a white horse decorated with red ribbons entered the courtyard. Seated on the horse was a young man dressed in white with a high Rajah-style turban on his head. A crowd of about thirty men and boys gathered around him.

“The groom and his supporters,” Madhu said.

Next, a large van pulled up and a group of women flowed out, surrounding a young bride. She wore flowers in her hair and was dressed in a red sari with rows of godl necklaces and bracelets.

“The Brahmin priest will be blessing them and wishing them many children. But come now,” Madhu said. “We must return to our trusty car and make our way to Agra. We have an hour still to go.”

As the taxi headed onto the road again, Ben said, “I’d like to go inside a temple sometime. Are there temples for other gods?”

“Oh, my word yes! And goddesses too,” Padam said in his giggly voice. “The most frightening of all the goddesses is Black Kali, the goddess of destruction and death. She has many arms and weapons and always she is demanding sacrifices. I saw her in a temple, and now I am too-too frightened ever since.”

Ben stared out the window. A goddess who demanded sacrifices? India was epic. His thoughts drifted along as the miles passed when suddenly there was a loud bang and the car veered to the right. Gran had fallen asleep and woke with a start. “What’s that? What happened?”

Padam jumped out. “Flat tire. Oh, good golly, we are having a flattened tire!”

Madhu scratched his bald head and peered at the rear tire, which had collapsed over the rim. “No problem,” Madhu said. “We have a spare in the boot.”

Ben had never seen a tire worn so thin; in fact, there was no tread at all. Padam rushed excitedly around, but it was Madhu who calmly jacked up the car and replaced the tire. Ben went over to Gran, who was sitting at the side of the road. “I’m not sure we’ll make it to Agra, Gran. There’s no tread on the new tire either.”

“This five-hour trip is taking all day,” Gran said. “I just want to get there alive.”

It was late afternoon when they finally reached Agra. Madhu stopped at the first hotel they came to. Over the door of the Hotel Rama, flashed a neon sign: THREE STAR DELUX! AIR-CONDITIONING!

Padam and Madhu offered to stay to drive them back to Delhi, but Gran said it might take several days to find Shanti. She insisted they return to work in Delhi. “Thank you so much, kind friends,” Gran said. “Such a long day for you. It will be after midnight before you get back.”

“Our simple lives are rich-rich for spending this long day with Norah memsahib and Ben sahib,” Madhu said.

Gran passed the money from her fanny pack to Ben so he could pay Madhu. Ben gave Madhu an amount that seemed fair. Without saying any more about it, Gran had started letting Ben handle all their money. The two men thanked them and bowed low in respectful namastes. Ben and Gran returned the blessing and watched the small grey car turn back toward the highway.

“It’s sad to say goodbye to Padam and Madhu, isn’t it?” Ben said.

Gran nodded as she shifted her backpack. “That’s the way travel is. You connect with people and never see them again. Every time I think of the Red Fort I’ll think of Padam giggling about Shah Jahan’s wives.”

“Every time I think of that pit for a toilet, I’ll remember this trip,” Ben said.

The Hotel Rama desk clerk lifted his head from reading the newspaper and signed them in. The lobby was shabby, and the room with twin beds wasn’t clean, but they were too weary to care.

“What a day,” Gran said, leaving her smelly runners outside the door. She tossed her socks in the corner and plopped down on one of the beds. “First thing in the morning we’ll look for Shanti’s parents.”

No dinner tonight, Ben thought. He ate two of the leftover bananas. But when he tried to get the television to work, the screen flashed in a scramble of black-and-white lines.

“I’ll see if the man at the desk can fix it. Be right back,” Ben said.

“Of course, sir,” the desk clerk said. “We will be sending up our repair man.”

Ben went to the front door and scanned the street. In the darkness a non-stop crowd of rickshaws and motorbikes sped by. He looked for a sign advertising internet service, but didn’t see one. He’d wait to email until after they’d found Shanti’s house. It would be good to have some real news. Maybe someone would have responded on the school site too.

Ben went back up to the bedroom, and after a long wait, answered a timid knock at the door. An old man stood with a toilet plunger in his hand. “I have come, sir, to fix for you.”

“But it’s the television that’s broken!” Ben said.

The man waved the plunger in the air. “Oh, sir, but I am not knowing about television. In the morning you will be having a man who is the expert.”

Ben laughed with Gran. “Do you suppose he thought we’d use the plunger like an ear trumpet?”

“He did seem sorry he couldn’t help us,” Gran said. She was reading on her bed. “Ben, it’s stuffy in here. That ceiling fan must be what they call air-conditioning. Would you please turn it on?”

Ben flicked the switch on the wall, but the wooden blades didn’t move. “Some three-star hotel!” Ben said. “I’ll try the front desk again.”

I’d better make it clear, Ben thought as he approached the desk clerk. He moved his arms in a circle over his head. “Broken fan. It’s too hot.”

The desk clerk sighed. “Sir, I understand, and now we will be sending our fine repair man up most hastily indeed.”

Another long wait, then Ben opened the door to the same old man, this time with a fly swatter in his hand. “I am here to fix,” he said.

Ben could hear Gran stifling her laughter behind him.

“But it’s the fan.” Ben pointed to the ceiling. “The fly swatter won’t do much good.”

The poor man looked stricken and backed away. “Most sorry, sir. Extremely most sorry.” He rushed back down the hallway, the fly swatter hanging uselessly in his hand.

Gran and Ben lay on their beds and laughed until their stomachs ached.

Out of the corner of his eye, Ben saw a scurry of something moving in the corner of the room. Then another movement. Cockroaches. Better not tell Gran. She’d spaz for sure.

“Look at the sign over the door, Gran.” Ben pointed to a crudely lettered message in a frame.

HOTEL RAMA

It’s more than a hotel, it’s an experience

“They’re right about that,” Ben said as he joined Gran in another burst of laughter. He laughed so hard he forgot all about the long drive and the terrible toilets and how far they were from anyone they knew. He even forgot how much his grandmother had been annoying him.