Shambhala (3 page)

After searching for hours, they finally rendezvous back at the Jeep.

“In the morning we can again look,” an officer says to Nicholas.

“He may already have walked very far, and maybe will come to the village and call you,” Officer Singh says, trying to console.

Nicholas wants to keep searching, but the vast jungle is overwhelming, and so he reluctantly agrees with the officers to wait until daybreak. Piling back into the Jeep, they drive off, back to the Nishant Guest House, where they instruct Nicholas to meet them at the station at seven in the morning to begin the search again. Thanking the officers he confirms, “See you at seven then.”

He turns to Ragesh and shakes his hand, “Friend, thank you so much for your help.”

Still holding his hand, Ragesh replies, “Tomorrow I am coming and bring friend for help.”

“Thank you!” Nicholas says, wishing words could express his gratitude as tears well up from confused emotions.

As the men pull away, Nicholas makes his way up to his room, where he briefly fantasizes Paul will be waiting for him. The fleeting fantasy shatters as he reaches the top of the stairway, noticing the padlock is still secured from the outside. Entering the barren room, heavy with burden, he collapses onto the bed. Feeling empty and alone, he feels tears fall from his face. He lies back, exhausted, staring at the ceiling as his eyes close. Burning with grief, his mind stirs in thick confusion, driving him deep into a weary slumber.

THE DARKNESS OF
early morning begins to brighten behind the shadowed foothills. A lone bird chirps in the jungle, soon followed by others. Paul still lies silent as consciousness dawns. Flies feast in a frenzy on the dry blood crusted onto his hair and the ground next to his head. As monkeys begin their day swinging through the treetops, searching for breakfast throughout the jungle, a small, dusty, monkey, tan, with a pinkish-red face, munches on some freshly sprouted leaves. The monkey rips off small, tasty pieces of branch with his little hands and eats them with delight, eyes half closed as the rapture of fine monkey cuisine fills him with every bite.

“Markat, Markat!” another monkey similar in size and age cries out as he swings from tree to tree.

“Markat, come look!” he says, jerking his head in the direction he wants to bring his friend.

“What is it, Bandar?” Markat asks, content to sit and eat his breakfast.

Bandar excitedly pulls at Markat, and the two descend the tree in skillfully controlled falls, to the sandy ground. Bandar cautiously pulls away the brush for an unamused Markat, finally revealing the body of Paul. Markat’s mouth instantly pops open, forming an
O
with his lips, as he jerks his head, astonished.

“Is he dead?” Markat asks, getting a closer look as Bandar breaks away the thick brush and sits upon Paul’s chest examining his face.

“He is still breathing,” he notes, feeling the man’s chest slowly moving up and down.

“Careful, Bandar,” Markat warns, as he draws closer, “is he sleeping?”

Bandar begins to poke at the face with his hand. “I have seen him before, on the road yesterday,” Bandar explains.

Markat just stares at the face, inspecting in amazement, never having seen a human so closly before. “What should we do?” Markat asks.

Getting no answer from Bandar, who is fascinated with the man, he asks again—this time with concern, “Bandar! What should we…?” And before he can finish, they are startled as Paul coughs and moves his head slightly. Quickly, the monkeys hide behind some of the thick brush that surrounds them. Paul regains more and more consciousness and begins slowly to open his eyes, realizing he has a massive headache. He rubs his face, which cringes in agony, and slowly raises up his stiff body, sitting up with a look of massive confusion. His eyes, blurred, strain to look around at where he is. His headache begins to dull as he sits rubbing his hair, feeling the moist blood on the back of his head. Bandar and Markat are softly talking.

“Look at his face. He looks ill,” Markat says.

“What’s that, who’s there?” Paul calls out, hearing voices, but not seeing anyone.

“Hello?” he calls out as he lifts his stiff body to stand, face wincing with every movement.

Bandar leaps up onto the felled tree, startling Paul. They stare at each other for a moment.

“Yes, this is definitely the man I saw yesterday,” Bandar says to Markat, who is keeping his distance below, behind the trunk, not feeling as brave as Bandar.

“Yesterday?” Paul asks, rubbing his arms to ward off the chill of morning as Bandar’s eyes widen with amazement.

“Can you understand me?” Bandar asks slowly.

“Yes, oddly enough, I can,” Paul answers, amazed himself.

Markat leaps up next to Bandar, “You can speak to monkeys?” he says dumbfounded.

“Apparently so,” Paul says, still in a great deal of confusion.

“What is your name?” Bandar asks.

Paul thinks for a moment and the answer is not there. “I, I don’t know,” he answers perplexed by the simple question.

“Surely you know your name,” Bandar says, going on, “where are you from?”

Again Paul thinks hard, his head throbbing as he walks out from the thicket and brushes himself off. “I can’t remember. I don’t remember anything,” he says, searching inward for answers. Getting lightheaded, he sits on the gravely sand as Bandar and Markat leap down beside him.

“Don’t remember your name. Maybe you don’t have a name,” Markat entertains.

Paul sits in silence. Sounds seem to grind into his brain as he twists and turns his throbbing head. Tightly clasping his skull, he closes his eyes as a loud ringing and voices intrude in on him from all around. Small voices of insects buzzing past, a distant voice in a bird’s call, and finally the ringing in his ears, which overwhelms all the other voices. He bends over like a child, holding his ears tight in an attempt to quell the sharp ringing.

“Are you OK?” Markat asks concerned.

The ringing suddenly stops, and he opens his eyes. “What is happening?” he asks.

Bandar looks at Markat perplexedly, then back at the mysterious man before them. From a rustling above drops down another monkey as young in age as the other two. Dropping down, she stands in awe at the tall man, who looks at his body in wonder of where his clothes might be.

“What is going on?” she asks Bandar in a whisper.

Bandar turns with a playful smile. “Hi, Kamala,” he bashfully greets her. “I found him lying here asleep,” he says, leaning in to whisper for no apparent reason other than to get closer to her. “He doesn’t know his name or where he is from.”

“Should we tell Rakesh?” Kamala asks, concerned, with a puzzled look on her face.

“Who is Rakesh?” Paul asks as Kamala gasps in shock.

“Oh, and he understands us, too,” Markat interjects, noticing Kamala’s shock.

“Is this a dream?” Paul wonders as he rubs his face, baffled about what’s going on.

“Rakesh is the leader of our clan. He would have to know about you. He can help you,” Bandar explains.

Paul is confused what to do next. Feeling helpless and bewildered, he says, “Can you take me to him?”

The three monkeys look at each other with concern, as if they are bringing home a stray to their parents, “Do you think it’s a good idea?” Markat whispers with trepidation.

“Sure it is, we can’t leave the poor guy here. At least Rakesh can help point him in the right direction,” Bandar argues.

Agreeing in a huddled whisper, they come to the conclusion that it would be best to bring him to Rakesh. “Follow us, it’s not too far from here,” Bandar instructs, pointing out across the jungle.

The three monkeys lead the way up a narrow path behind the waterfall. Stopping to drink some water, Paul dunks his head under, washing away some of the blood crusted into his hair. A blunt throbbing in the back of his head frequently shoots sharp pains down his neck. Feeling uncomfortable, he follows the monkeys as they move on. They make their way up over the hill that runs behind the waterfall.

Paul notices something in his checkered, blue boxer shorts. Pulling out the piece of paper, he reads it, with no recollection of where it is from: “Who are you? I am that person when you have forgotten me you look to your peeping in self soul/spirit you will find there all that. Can you please give me all your troubled pain? I give to you pleasureful of human life.” Having no idea what these words mean, and with a brain to distraught to think, Paul folds the paper and wraps it back into the elastic band from where he found it. Three words from the paper run over in his head again and again as he walks: “Who are you?” He tries persistently to remember.

The sun has risen over the hills. In Rishikesh, Nicholas makes his way to the station to begin the hunt.

Meanwhile, back in the jungle, Bandar instructs, “Stay here, we’ll be right back,” as they come to a lush area densely populated by tall trees.

The monkeys quickly swing about, disappearing into the vastness of the jungle. Watching how quickly they travel through the trees, Paul marvels as they swing and swoop through the branches, which seem to interlace one tree into another. Waiting patiently, he sits on fallen leaves that are browned and crisp, resting his feet from the morning journey. Hanging his head back, he stares up at the treetops that canvas the jungle in a green array of shelter. Searching his memory as he watches the optical illusion of swirling trees above, he feels his life is like a word that’s on the tip of his tongue but cannot be recalled. He grows frustrated trying to remember.

Bandar pops his head down, holding the tree with one hand and hanging the rest of his body just within ear range, “OK. Come!” he beckons as he drops to the jungle floor to lead the way.

Crossing the threshold of this dense green sanctuary, guarded by trunks that stand like tall, protecting soldiers, Paul notices hundreds of monkeys going about their business. One monkey grooms another, and as he pulls mites from his mate’s fur to nibble on, he notices the strange juxtaposition of monkey and man and halts to a frozen stare, letting the tasty mite leap free from his hand. Stopping mid-bite upon leafy branches, other monkeys watch in wonder. The whispers of questions from the monkeys in the treetops above can be heard as Paul passes through the sanctuary. It is not uncommon for a man to pass through this area, yet very uncommon for a monkey to be leading him through at such close proximity. They sense a strange encounter, a strange encounter indeed. Paul thinks of how the soft, fallen leaves of the trees are a far better cushion than the gravel that has cut up his aching feet. As they pass a few monkeys on the ground, Paul catches the eye of one who quickly squats in a pouncing position, showing his teeth and calling out a challenge.

“Yeah, yeah. We all know you’re tough, Abhay,” Bandar says mockingly as they walk by the monkeys, who stare in primordial dominance.

Nervous concern washes over Paul as they pass countless monkeys, all seemingly staring at him in discontent. Drawing closer to Bandar’s lead, he feels more secure. Although Bandar is a smaller, younger monkey, his attitude and confidence ease Paul’s nerves. Bandar’s lanky stride rhythmically bounces along as he looks back every now and again with a smile of assurance to the concerned face of the man behind him. Paul trusts Bandar, who, with the spirit of an ape, confidently presses on. They stop as they come to a massive tree that sits at least three meters wide, spilling immense roots above the soil, digging deep into the Earth. Looking up, Paul imagines the tree reaches the heavens in its endless ascent into the immense, flourishing treetops of the jungle. Still looking up, his attention is swiftly drawn to a large, overweight monkey that drops down with a heavy thump behind them. Five other elder monkeys, fur slightly grayed at the tips, surround Bandar and the man in a swift silence that alerts their attention.

“This is Rakesh,” Bandar says, swaying his open palm in the direction of the large male monkey sternly staring him up and down with a frown of disapproval.

The five elders stand, looking intently, as a crowd of monkeys fills the trees around them, awaiting to see what is going on.

“So you can speak to the monkey?” Rakesh says, seeming unimpressed.

“Yes, h-hello,” Paul stammers, “I can’t seem to remember my name or where I am from. I’ve seemed to have hit my head rather hard, and Bandar said you may be able to help me.”

Rakesh stares in silence, with an almost irritated look, as he rubs the thick whiskers on his chin. He raises one brow in contemplation. “And you wish help from us?” he interjects, signaling Bandar to stand away behind the elders with the wave of his hand.

“Any help you could offer, sir, would be greatly accepted.”

Rakesh draws closer, letting out a silent laugh through his nostrils.

“Was there help for the monkeys from your people when our great and sacred forest was laid to ruin so you could come from faroff lands and profit?” Rakesh says as the elder monkeys look on in approval, shaking their heads.

“I don’t know about this, surely I would never . . . ”

“Silence!” Rakesh interrupts. “I know your kind all to well. You love the monkey when we are for your picture taking and amusement, but besides that you take from the jungle, from the monkey. You cut our trees, and this is fine. The trees live to give, and give they will to all of the Earth, but you now take more than you need. You pollute our waters with your filth and plastic. You go off into our jungles and enjoy the love of our great jungle and give very little or nothing back except a stream of devastation. I speak for the jungle, for she gives and gives and never complains, but you take and take and self-absorbed in your silly little worlds of trinkets and such have forgotten about the balance. You have forgotten who you are indeed, you have forgotten that you are the jungle, you are the monkey who has lost his way.”

He takes a deep breath as he glances back at one of the elders, who nods at him to go on, “Now you boast you are more intelligent than the monkey. The intelligent human, you know so much, yet can’t even survive in the jungle one day. Intelligent human, bah!” He finishes, raising his hands up as monkeys begin to hoot and ha, shaking the trees above.

Swallowing past the uneasy lump in his throat, Paul looks over at Bandar, who now wears a look of concern on his face. The audience of monkeys grows louder as Rakesh orders, “Silence!” The trees fall silent, and all fix on his next words.

“So this is ‘who you are’ and you’d do well to join back with ‘who you are’ in town.”

“But surely I am not this, I can’t be, I know.”

“You
know
, you know!” Rakesh emphasizes, silencing the man as he now comes closer, staring at him in disgust. His dark red face now match his eyes, blaring in crimson anger, offsetting his grayish auburn coat. Taking a deep breath, he calmly says through his sharp yellow teeth, “Know this, ‘man.’ Humans have been given the great gift and have misused it for fleeting pleasure and cheap laughs. Your gift has become your curse.” Bits of spit spew from the passionate words onto Paul as he looks down at Rakesh. “Many times I have sat in your towns observing, and with all these ‘things’ you are still miserable. You think more will somehow make you happy, so you consume more, you take from the jungle and don’t give back. You kill the blessed cow and thank her not. You tie the donkey to do your bidding, you chain the monkey to turn a
rupee
, and all the while grasping at more, you have forgotten ‘who you are.’ This is a shame,” he finishes, hanging his head with a shake of disapproval. “So go now. Bandar will take you back to ‘who you are.’” He turns away, walking past Bandar, “Take him back to the main center. That is where he belongs.”