Valley of Flowers (8 page)

With his hand acting on fear's behalf, the
old man moved to brush down the puff clouds he had for hair. His
hand stayed to pat down all on top. A breeze passed by for no
apparent reason other than to mess with his crowning
achievements.

Arjuna went about correcting what
was
undone. He did this
in a flash. He made his hand work as a four-fingered comb. His hand
behaved
also
as a kind
of towel tool. This helped erase any lingering wetness.

His hand made the trip down
then
with his hard-at-work fingers
to pluck a time or two at the shoulders
’ area
.
He
pulled again at his shirt to be
extra
certain. In this way he hoped
his arms,
his
shoulders,
his
armpits
also
, could get more breathing
room.

Purity achieved, Arjuna negotiated
yet
another safe spot
for his tee shot to land.

Now
t
he old man looked ready to put in motion the final touches
of one more club waggle. Nicolas believed he did this to avoid
the
actual hitting
of
the ball. How easy
can it be?
he
shouted in
his head. The thing’s not even moving!

Another practice swing occurred for no
r
eason. Nicolas cleared
his throat. He wished to clear the air also by saying
a thing or two
about Arjuna's
inability to get things rolling. Inside he cried out, Well, why not
just hit the thing!

Following more grip renewals, a focused calm
appeared on the one with the apparent heavy burden. It may have
looked to all and sundry that the old man was ready to hit, and do
so with a bit of oomph.

After
all
the obsessions over his clothes, his stance, his
grip, the clubhead, his face and hair also, at no other time before
now did the old man appear ready to do what was required
, a
nd what was asked was that he
strike
a
little white
ball and end this sordid drama.

The old man gazed at the Valley of Flowers
while Nicolas held back another smile. In place of
actually
beaming, he again sought
the grass for some serious mental help.

Arjuna shifted. He wiggled his hips to
settle in better or perhaps add more comedy to this outdoor
amphitheater.
He then
took the
driver back
.
The
club
returned to its
starting point looking rather reluctant. It came back to its
apparent rightful position, stuck behind
a little white
ball.

His focus was again on this round ruler.
The old man
saw the
little
ball as his equal
counterpart in this epic drama by Homer.
Arjuna
seemed so fixed he appeared
catatonic. This was followed
by
a glance down the
flower
fairway, as if one contestant had blinked in
a stare fight.

He
fretted being thought of as soft on rotund little
criminals. Arjuna feared being pelted by small stones also, if he
did not take the shot soon. He gazed back at the ground as the two
sides of his brain quarreled. They seemed unable to agree on what
to do next.

An abbreviated club waggle brought the old
man's focus back onto the club. The club
head
held up behind the ball and above the
somewhat moist ground.
The
ball
looked
to be
performing the sideshow trick known as yogic levitation.

Except for scattered here and there chatter,
blown in on a breeze, the many-flowered valley was an area of
perfect silence. The old man's mind
too
arrived at a place of peace. Stillness overcame
him. Quiet
too came
to
Arjuna's vast army of followers with the countless crossed
fingers.

All seemed well and about to get going when
Arjuna's one remaining grouse was the actual hitting of the
ball
.

He next thought to study his old film clips
from his former playing days
.
He
soon gave that up
,
though
.
He
came
in as from out of the cold to the surprise of at least one,
himself. More surprise was in store for him when
Arjuna
noticed the club was inching
back.

At first he could not believe what his eyes
were telling him.
But
t
hen he saw the driver was indeed extending rearward. It
moved along a straight line and in earnest this time.

The club traveled low. Its silver coating
made it seem like a snow leopard stalking. The sleek beast crept
across the moist grass slowly.
The club
left a visible trail where dew had been. It
lifted up sharply. His hips turned
then
from the tension caused by his also-turning
shoulders.

The club arrived at a spot short of the
usual
preparatory high
point in any swing’s life, which was
more or less
at parallel. He looked determined to
haul off and belt it.

In the next instant, the now-young Arjuna
threw life off to death and let life be born to it yet again and
the ball was away, itself a born and created thing. The one flying,
rising majestic and beautiful took its rightful spot among the gods
in heaven. It seemed content in that high place.

Arjuna had finished on a high as well.
He
had
finished with his trademark flying-high
elbows. To those looking on anxiously, the club pointing up might
have seemed like a spiraling up staircase.

Arjuna looked to be pointing a direct path
to the high holy gates. To others, his finish may have looked as if
someone were holding up a sword, beckoning all comers to try and
test him. It only ended for him with the sudden realization
that
this psychic trauma
was over.

He stayed in his follow through position.
The young-again Arjuna remain posed or beautifully suspended. He
wanted to make sure a lesson had indeed been learned. He felt the
youth could benefit from
t
his awesome display of power.

Then the moment came when all had time
enough to study his swing and take good note.

Arjuna brought the club down. He rested it
against
his left
shoulder. The old man did this, though not before allowing
photographers their time needed
to record
, for tomorrow's headlines say, this
memorable head-to-head.

10

Back onto this hard-matter existence,
curiously referred to as a type of present, Arjuna had bowled a
googly. In this one reality, hard and physical, the old man had hit
a Jerry Ford crowd-ducker into the first shoots of flowers. He had
sclaffed the ground hard at impact and the ball left the tee
lead-like. It looked shot from a country-made pistol. It had taken
off in what is commonly termed as plain ugly.

The ball had gone stem-skimming. It had
ignored the lake or problem area referred to astutely by game
regulators as a water hazard. The ball had appeared to search
hastily for a reasonable spot to exit. This was in contrast to its
earlier incarnation back on the tee as one cool customer.
It
had scurried off into
the sidelined marginalia as a vacationist. It went into an area not
far off the mound.
The
ball
had gone into a place where it looked like hay was
kept.

The old man’s swing did finish high. His
arms twisted
up
in his
trademark corkscrew. He had on an expression that was a true
collector’s item. Arjuna looked to where his ball had gone with a
mix
ture
of relief and
some
stark disbelief.
He understood it had gone into
a nearby maze of tall flowers.
His
drive
had fallen short of his high hopes
for it.
S
uddenly
he
called after the shot
with renewed gusto.

"May you reincarnate as a two-toed, pod-shod
Gujarati camel!"
he
said.

Nicolas, with a clenched fist he held
quaking around his mouth, resisted laughing outright. Then a smile
did break through. His grin showed where before it had been
strictly forbidden.

The old man smiled too. He understood well
the precarious nature of participating on this plane of existence.
Arjuna was filled then with the feeling of outright humility.

The
youth
broke loose.
Nicolas
burst out laughing
without regard on how it might be
perceived.

A
rjuna turned to him. The old man said in
mock-apology for his comment over a well
-
known ornery Indian camel, "Forgive me,
friend."

Arjuna took this chance to play-act more. He
did this for the youth's enjoyment, as well as for his ever-present
vast
army.
He
returned the clubhead to the
ground. He did this in a resigning gesture.
Arjuna
shook his head in performed
disbelief. He went on to his act's next logical conclusion.
He
tapped down the
ground that had strangely popped up
.
Arjuna
knocked back the dreaming tufts of grass.
The old man
followed this with his brand of
humor over a ball that had clearly gone missing.

"Is it gone?"
he
cracked
,
and
the
youth
laughed until a
trail
of tears came to make him stop.

"Yeah," Nicolas managed, adding the
needless.

Arjuna stepped forward
once
. His pant leg was given one final hike
as if this was the thing missing from his earlier preparations.
This was followed fast by a deep-knee bend. The old man swiped
across the grass with his free hand. He picked up the remains of
the tee. He flicked the mortally wounded thing off to the side with
performed disdain. He looked to the youth for confirmation
that
all was well and
good
up here and
smiled.

Nicolas went along gladly with the old man.
He laughed while appearing to cry also.
His
infectious smile, along with the
youth’s good humor
,
turned each to enjoying life with laughter. Both shrugged.
But t
hen
,
gravely
,
what came to Nicolas next was the
realization
that
it was
now
his turn to play. He
understood the moment to start here, in India's northern reaches,
had
now
arrived.

Inside the fright sense came to
him
then
as butterflies in the thousands. This tryst
with the terror feeling did not come alone. What came to greet him
also, as to thrust him
hard
under a glaring spotlight was the urgent,
though not
too
unexpected need to find a place
up
here, in these wide-open spaces, to privately
pee.

Nicolas
Kumar
went to relieve himself. On
coming back
he discovered his mind had gone
missing. This seemed to be not enough to the gods bent on messing
with him, as the wind picked up then as if to toss him.
Nicolas
pretended he was
all
bashed up. It seemed
to him the flowers had been pulled up and were
just
now darting him.
He
imagined he was made up of pierced
metal. To help himself, he focused on his rucksack that stood by in
tacky splendor.

Nicolas, once a cool customer himself, made
an effort to return from wherever his mind had gone. He moved to
take delivery of his own driver. He decided that if he were still
in
this
confused state,
he would go through the motions and tee off anyway. He told himself
to rely on muscle memory to get through the shot. Before being
handed the driver,
he
told himself also he would not take as much time as this elder. Not
even.

He
had another go over the sorry plight of the
flowers. His thinker went on another dramatic flight. His fearing
pulled him from his body. This left him
so
immobile.

Like by magic
,
Nicolas
Kumar
discovered
that
his jacket had
miraculously been removed
.
It
lay atop his rucksack.
He
discovered
too that h
is left hand
was reaching out
then
for a
driver
he did not now recognize.

Arjuna handed him the club like nothing at
all was wrong. He gave it to him as if it w
ere
a common broom and he had in mind a few
household chores for him to do.

For his part, Nicolas felt he had been given
the sweeping item with no instructions on how to
actually
use it. In his other
hand
,
he discovered one
ball and also
one
blue
tee. The sad look of the ball and tee made them appear headed for
some premature end.