Meeting Max (29 page)

Gandhi listened intently, looking at him, his hand on his chin, engrossed in every word. He listened with love, then he spoke.

“It is unfortunate that those who have passed on in your life were young and died in a violent way. That is sad. The pain you feel for them will change your life forever, but it will be in a good way. Because in everything you see in your life, a beautiful flower, a blazing sunset, or a suffering child, you will see through your eyes and the eyes of everyone you loved. This will add enrichment to your experience.

“I think you have absorbed something in our time together. Search for your truth that you now know is God, and in troubled times, your faith will be brightest in the midst of impenetrable darkness. It is your
dharma
. Come with me. We will walk to the hill and meditate together.”

“I hope our paths cross again, Bapu.”

“Buddha says when the student is ready, the teacher will appear.”

They sat at the bottom of the hill with their legs crossed, hands folded in front of them, and eyes closed. Rick listened to the sound of his breath. It was his mantra.

In the past, when he meditated and distractions came into his mind to disturb his focus, he gently moved them away and returned to his breathing. This time was different. There were no interruptions or distractions as he meditated with Bapu.

Time passed. Everything was serene. The darkness was gone and so was Gandhi. Soon the darkness turned into light.

Chapter 25

Rick booked a midnight train to Cochin, now called Kochi, in a second-class, air-cooled compartment. The fifteen-hour trip was monotonous and he had too much time to examine the tragedies in his life.

The state of Kerala, often referred to as God’s Own Country, was close to the southernmost part of India. He stayed at a small homestay in the heart of Fort Cochin, which was close to the spice market, an area called Jew Town, and the synagogue.

The next morning, he observed the old time practice of catching fish using Chinese fishing nets. Huge triangular nets attached to wooden posts on land were lowered into the water. The nets rested on the bottom, then were raised with ropes by at least four fishermen, who then examined their catch. It was something he didn’t think could be found anywhere but in India, and perhaps not even in China. For a few hours, it distracted him from his sorrow.

That afternoon, he went to the Paradesi Synagogue in the old quarter of Cochin called Jew Town. It was important for him to be at the synagogue because Elena had been there and because he was Jewish. His heart dropped when the caretaker would not let him in because he was wearing shorts. Rick begged and pleaded with him, saying, “I came a long distance to be here, sir.”

The caretaker resisted. “It is not to be,” he said adamantly.

“Sir, I’m Jewish. I came a long way. Please let me in, just for a few minutes.”

The man looked at Rick with fiery eyes. “If you are Jewish, you would know to show respect. You would not walk into a synagogue anywhere else in the world dressed so shabbily.”

Rick walked along the street, disappointed, until he saw a man sitting at an outside table at a cafe having a chai.

“Excuse me, sir.
Ap kaise hain
, how are you?”

“
Kaise hain
. Are you lost? May I help you?”

“I’m not lost, but perhaps you can help. I want to go into the synagogue, but I’m not dressed properly.”

“And so?”

“ I was wondering if I could exchange my shorts with your long pants for a little while.”

“Why don’t you just buy a pair of pants from a store?”

“I passed some of the stores on my way to the synagogue but the clothing was not my style and are a little pricey. I wouldn’t want to keep them.”

“Okay, but my pants smell bad.”

“That’s okay. I won’t mind. It will just be for maybe twenty minutes.”

“I will rent them to you.”

“Rent them?”

“Yes, for twenty minutes you will pay me sixty rupees. We can exchange inside the café. I have an extra pair of shorts in the small backpack you see here.You can put my pants over your shorts. Maybe they won’t smell so bad.”

“Yes, yes,” Rick said, shaking his hand.

They exchanged pants and Rick returned to the synagogue. His rented, oversized pants hung down, covered his sneakers, and smelled like dead fish. The caretaker looked up at him and said nothing as Rick paid him a small fee to enter this ancient Jewish house of worship in proper dress.

From the moment he walked in, he felt at home, as if he belonged, and it reminded him of the time when he stepped off a plane in Israel and kissed the ground.

The temple was one large room with lots of light coming through the clear windows. Its simple beauty struck him. The floor was made of immaculate, hand-painted blue and white porcelain floor tiles. Each tile had a different image, but they were all blue and white, the colors of Judaism and the Israeli flag.

There were ten or twelve exquisite crystal Belgian chandeliers with gold trim hanging from the ceiling, and in the center of the temple, a dark wood pulpit stood out with a brass rail in front of it. On a wall, in the rear of the temple, encased in wood, were five of the Cochin synagogue’s Torahs. Each Torah had gold crowns on top encrusted with colorful precious gems and
contained the Five Books of Moses. The Torah was the source of the Ten Commandments.

Rick had grown up with the Torah in his life and always felt emotionally connected to the atmosphere of synagogues anywhere in the world. He was proud to be able to read and understand the meaning of the signs that were written in Hebrew, inside and outside of the temple.

Now that he felt at peace, he returned the pants to the owner and went on his way.

***

The following morning, Rick hired a driver named Deepok to take him to Munnar, east of Cochin, high in the mountains. They drove past vast expansions of tea plantations and stopped alongside the road to watch workers in the field cut the tender tips of tea plants with large scissors and put them in a wooden basket carried on their backs.

The temperature in the mountains was much cooler, which was why Munnar was one of the most sought after destinations by the British rulers during the pre-independence era.

Munnar was an amazing hill station. It had the smell of sweet country air. Each turn on the road presented new vistas to Rick’s eyes as they drove past miles of lush tea plantations, beautiful lakes, and thick forests.

Deepok was a good driver. Rick had driven in countries all over the world, but he would never drive in India. Indian drivers seemed to have their own intuitive savvy when it came to driving in traffic.

Once, on a narrow road, Deepok seemed to be driving toward a huge bus speeding toward them in the opposite lane. The bus was decorated with painted flowers. Rick’s eyes widened and he gasped for breath as they passed the bus with only inches to spare.

Their trip continued through the high altitude region of the Western Ghats, and it was like driving through an art gallery.

Rick’s mind switched to his meeting with Gandhi.

It was so mystifying, in the dark, on the beach, with the gentle sound of the small waves and only his lantern to show me the way.

Rick stayed at a small guest house high in the hill station with mountains in the distance. Being in Munnar was like living in the country. He was surrounded by flowers, mountains, and beautiful sunsets. The days were warm and sunny, evenings cold and invigorating, and the quietness and sweet-smelling air were delightful.

All meals were provided at the guest house and Sabal and his wife, Indira, were wonderful hosts. Indira was an outstanding cook. Dinner was at seven-thirty, but if you arrived a half hour earlier, she would give a lesson on Indian cooking in her kitchen. Guests could watch her cook the meal they would be eating that night.

Rick and a few other guests watched her prepare a wonderful delicacy called Keralan Sambar, which was lentil stew seasoned with tamarind and sambar powder, served with fish cooked in coconut milk.

That night, Rick slept under a thick down blanket with the windows open, surrounded by the scent of cardamom, coriander, and pepper trees. The next day, he checked his e-mail and saw a letter from Brian, one of Eric’s friends.

Dear Mr. Newman,

I am terribly sorry to hear about your loss and express my sincere condolences. Eric was a special person, sensitive and caring. Bill told me he saw you last week in Bombay and explained how you wanted to know more about Eric from his friends. I contacted many of them, and told them you were his birth father and that his birth mother had recently died.

Bill asked me to e-mail you, or meet you in Bombay, if possible.
Eric’s friends all extend their condolences to you.

The last time I saw him was in March of 2008, when I traveled to Queens for a job interview. He was living with his friend, Ken, at the time. My girlfriend and I spent two days with Eric, and I’m glad she got to meet him. She knows he was a good friend.

I definitely want to meet you, maybe not in India, but anywhere in the USA. Have you thought of meeting Maxwell?

Please feel free to write back whenever you like. If you have questions, I’ll do my best to answer them. Know that Eric was loved by many.

Brian Norris

***

The next morning, Rick had an exotic breakfast of passion fruit, tree tomato juice, Chinese guava, chapati, and wonderful filtered coffee, high in the mountains in paradise.

Deepok drove Rick to the foot of Eravikulam National Park, where he took a bus nearly to the top, then hiked the rest of the way. Deepok taught Rick the popular phrases of the Malayalam language, and Rick used the little he learned to amaze some of the young people as they passed him on the hiking trail. There was a sign on top of the mountain that read:

Remove nothing from here except nourishment for the soul, consolation for the heart, inspiration for the mind.

India was, indeed, a special country.

They left Munnar, and, after a six-hour drive, Deepok and Rick arrived in Madurai, which was famous for its temples. He went to Madurai for two reasons, to see the Sri Meenakshi temple and the Gandhi museum. He stayed at a small guesthouse and slept peacefully.

The following morning, Deepok drove him to the Gandhi museum.

It was quiet when he walked in, the way he wanted it to be. No crowds, just a few people ambling about.

Gandhi was not a traditional Hindu when it came to his beliefs, and Rick wanted to learn more about him, although he felt he knew him in a special way.

The exhibits displayed his achievements. One showed how he fought against the practice of
sutee
, an act where women jump into a fire when their husbands die. Gandhi believed it just took away one more life.

Rick walked toward a glass case in a quiet corner of the museum. No one else was there. It contained the bloodstained garment Gandhi wore when he was assassinated. He looked at the white dhoti with a faded trail of blood on the front of the cloth. The black trim he remembered was absent. He stared at the cloth, hypnotized, as he tasted a salty tear running along his lips.

He knelt in front of the glass.

Bapu, we have been together on the beach in the dark. When you left, it was light and the new dawn was brighter than I have ever seen. You knew the truth and it became my truth. God was back in my life, the God I felt as a child. You and I had walked on water, along a yellow, moonlit path, toward the big amber moon in front of us. It filled our eyes, and I learned so much during our walk.

Now I am here. We are together once more. You said we would meet again, and added that it would be in a different way. I understand that now. Life always continues on. We are together again at this moment once more. The gift of spiritual understanding that you passed on to me lives. It cannot be defined. It defies definition but I feel it, know it, and I am stronger than I’ve ever been before.

Rick rose and returned to the world around him. The museum was now filled with children walking past the exhibits with their small backpacks. They would carry the name and beliefs of the Mahatma with them all their lives and pass what they learned here to others.

Before Rick left Madurai, he stopped at a small restaurant and had some upma, a delicious porridge. He picked up a newspaper dated several days earlier from a chair next to him. Rick was stunned when he read the headline. It consisted of one word in huge print:

FEAR.

Ten Islamic terrorists had attacked Bombay on November 26. They’d divided themselves into several small groups, killed one hundred and fifty people, and wounded many more. The National Security Guards were able to kill all of the attackers and took one prisoner.

Oh my God, how did I miss this news? Was I so self-absorbed?

Some of the attacks occurred in South Mumbai at Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus, the train station Rick left less than a week earlier. The attackers used semi-automatic rifles and bombs to strike the Taj Mahal Palace Hotel and the Leopold Café, a popular tourist place. Other attacks took place at a women and children’s hospital, as well as at a Jewish Community Center.

Only one attacker was captured alive and admitted, after torture, that he was part of a Pakistan-based militant organization, led by Kamran Chopra, who was one of the terrorists killed.

The bastard is dead!

The captured attacker went on to say Chopra secretly had a home in Delhi and had strong Pakistani affiliations. He added that it was he who’d directed the attack and that he was one of the men who came ashore in an inflatable speedboat in Colaba.

The article stated that Kamran was the son of a Pakistani father and an Indian mother, both of whom were attorneys. It was Kamran Chopra who planned the attack and the kidnapping of an Indian government official at the Jaisalmer airport.

Dearest Elena, Kamran is dead!

***

Rick and Deepok drove to the Periyar Wildlife Sanctuary, which was only one hundred and sixty kilometers from Madurai, but it took them over six hours to get there because they travelled on country roads through many small villages.