2Promises

by Phil Armstrong

  Staring into the mirror she mouthed the words, “You can’t even drink a coffee. You’re on the pure energy diet.”

  Beth returned to her seat in the lounge and waited for the gate staff to get organized. John was seated reading his Math book. He glanced up and smiled at Beth as she sat. Beth could hear Anwar coughing badly in her mind, and she started to think about the Shell.

  “Where will I find this Shell?” thought Beth.

  Beth glanced around her. The lounge area had filled in with people waiting for the flight to India. A few people were westerners but most looked Indian. She saw Mothers with sleepy children and Fathers pacing impatiently. Beth saw men dressed in tunics that looked like a smock with trousers underneath. Most women wore traditional Indian dress, and Beth tried to study them from the corner of her eye. They looked so comfortable. She was in a pair of tight fitting jeans, a snug blue tee shirt, and a wool sweater. She noticed that some saris were plain, while others had delicate beading, and looked more expensive. She tried to imagine herself in a sari and sandals. She would wear a pale blue sari of course; just like Aklina.

  One of the women had painted hands in intricate designs; Beth had never seen this before. There were a few Indian looking women in the lounge that dressed in a western style. One woman sitting opposite Beth intrigued her. She looked Indian from her appearance, but she was dressed in white sneakers, comfy sweat pants, and a sweatshirt. She had no trace of an Indian accent and carried a black computer bag. She was holding a Canadian passport. She was traveling with two men; both had English accents. They also had matching black computer bags and Canadian passports.

  “Not many western faces on this flight,” thought Beth. Eventually the gate staff announced the boarding order. Beth moved forward with the computer bag business crowd. She boarded the plane with ease. She was greeted with a smile and shown to her seat. The flight to Kolkata was just under five hours. Beth would land at 8.15am local time, according to her itinerary. After a frustrating connection in Dubai, Beth was finally seated and ready for takeoff. She wanted to get going. She was eager to get to India and start her mission. This was the final leg of her long journey to Kolkata. She could feel the butterflies deep in her tummy and she smiled at the thought.

  “This is it,” thought Beth. “No more messing around now. When I step off the plane, I’ll be in India! I’m going to find Rose, and I’m going to make Anwar a happy man.”

  Beth settled into her pod. She had to refuse Champagne, orange juice, food, coffee, meals, nuts, and popcorn. It was difficult not to appear rude, but she felt she had done her best to be polite. Beth watched a couple of movies. She finally covered herself with a blanket, positioned her bed in the flat position, and nodded off. This gave her a chance to have a quick chat with Subra.

  “So, what do you do when you’re not chatting up your favorite girl?” thought Beth.

  “I’ve been working on you,” said Subra sounding stern.

  “What’s blowing your skirt up? You sound like you’re in a snit,” thought Beth. Beth could sense that Subra was not right.

  “I have some bad news. It’s Anwar; I don’t feel his life force anymore. Even though I’m not connected to the spiritual domain, I can sense he’s joined them,” Subra said in a quiet, sad, voice.

  “Oh no,” thought Beth. “Are you telling me he died?”

  “I’m sure that’s what I’m feeling,” replied Subra.

  “I don’t understand, why do you sound so sad?” asked Beth. “I thought you’d be telling me that he’s gone to a better, happier place, with no wretched cough.”

  “He is,” snapped Subra quickly. “I guess this is the first time that I can truly understand grieving. I’m sad that he couldn’t hold on long enough to talk with his daughter. He was so close. Now, she’ll never know him, in this life.”

  “It’s good that you can feel this but she’ll know him. I’m going to find her and give her the letter. I’ll tell her what a wonderful man he was,” thought Beth. “It’s all right to feel bad Subra. That’s what we do over here in this domain. Waste not fresh tears over old grief’s.”

  “Euripides, 484 BC to 406 BC. You’re right Beth, the only cure for grief is action.”

  “Thank you George Henry Lewes. Remember, I can access the quotes freely when I’m asleep. I’ll miss him sorely, but this has made me more determined to complete his wishes. I now have total confidence and belief.”

  “Some things have to be believed to be seen.”

  “Agreed, like Cloud Busting,” replied Beth.

  “I would rather have a mind opened by wonder than one closed by belief.”

  Beth responded in a flash. “Oh, what a tangled web we weave when first we practice to believe. Enough with the quotes now, I want to communicate with you.”

  “My dear Beth, the point of quotations is that one can use another’s words to be insulting,” said Subra in a lighter mood. “Be careful with quotations, you can damn anything.”

  “Subra, I’m being serious,” pleaded Beth. “Listen to me. I miss my dreams, I know it’s fun talking with you, but do you understand? I miss my dreams.”

  “To accomplish great things we must dream as well as act, it’s time for you to wake and act Beth. Talk with you soon.”

  Subra faded and a compelling feeling washed over Beth to wake up. Beth opened her eyes and found herself strapped into her seat on the plane. The cabin was busy now. The attendants were moving quickly and with purpose. Beth caught the sight of a beige uniform approaching.

  “Please move your seat back to its upright position. We’re preparing for landing; fifteen minutes. Please fill out your customs card,” said the attendant in a helpful and efficient manner.

  Beth complied and was soon feeling the slight bump as the landing gear deployed. A smooth landing, and a quick announcement by the cabin crew, signaled her arrival in India. Beth stood as soon as the seat belt sign went off. She grabbed her backpack from the overhead and opened the zipper. The announcement said the temperature was 32 degrees Celsius. She tucked her sweater into the backpack. Beth glanced at her watch. It was 8.17am; she was really excited. She headed for the exit and thanked the cabin staff for an excellent flight. They looked very smart in their beige uniforms.

  * * * * *

  Chapter 6: Adventures in another world - Kolkata

  Beth stepped from the plane; a wave of hot air welcomed her to India. She carefully walked down the steep metal stairs and onto the tarmac slip.

  “I’m standing in India,” thought Beth.

  She joined fellow passengers as they waited for transportation. Within a minute, a large white bus stopped and opened its doors. Beth followed the group and sat in the bus. It had large windows that curved into the roof. The available space filled quickly. The doors closed leaving behind passengers for the next ride. The bus moved slowly. It made its way to a white, flat roofed building, where everyone entered. Beth moved into the building, she walked through the customs area and joined a long line. After shuffling her way forward she eventually made it to the front of the line. A young man in a uniform waved her forward. Beth strode towards the desk and presented him with her passport and customs form. He searched for the page with the visa.

  “I hope this works,” thought Beth.

  The young man seemed disinterested as he picked up his stamp. He stamped a clean page in her passport book. He did not ask any questions. He tossed back her passport and waved at the next person in line. It was as if Beth were not there. Beth walked out of the customs area and into baggage claim. She passed rows of metal baggage trolleys with blue plastic handles. The terminal looked dated. It was white with an interesting ceiling made of illuminated triangles. Beth looked at the large columns supporting the structure. Each column had a floor to ceiling advertisement pasted to it. Cellular phone companies had the space brightly decorated in bold red colors. A very large poster had an exotic looking Indian woman fawning over a man. Why? He was wearing the new, black and gold, light po
wered, Citizen Eco-Drive watch. Beth headed for the exit.

  She stepped out of large glass doors. She was not expecting the reception. A large metal fence ran about thirty feet from the door. She noticed people straining at the fence. They were four or five people deep. A large number of people held signs bearing names. They all shouted at Beth as she emerged from the terminal. It was hot and Beth was dressed in a tight fitting tee shirt. She walked the line looking for her name. She noticed a couple of the men were looking at her, in that way. As she glanced around she noted most of the women wore saris. Beth felt a bit self-conscious; a loose fitting tee shirt would have been better. More people shouted at her and waved small placards bearing names. “Beth Martindale;” it read on a large sign at the back. Beth’s eyes were drawn to the familiar arrangement of letters in a sea of names and faces. She caught the man’s eye and nodded. That was all that was needed. Dressed in a white tunic uniform, he sprinted to the end of the fence to greet Beth.

  “Miss Beth, it is so nice to see you. My name is Sanjeev please follow me. Stay close, come please,” said Sanjeev.

  Sanjeev grabbed Beth’s backpack and headed across a narrow road to a parking lot. In a flash, something brushed up against Beth’s leg, and she whirled around out of instinct. A blur of brown; it was running past her being chased by two others. Beth finally recognized them as thin, mangy, looking dogs.

  “Stray dogs. Big problem around here, just ignore and don’t feed,” instructed Sanjeev.

  Beth continued to follow as she passed rows of yellow taxis with black stripes down their sides. The cars looked dated, an old style that was unfamiliar to Beth. She felt a hand on her elbow as she walked. Beth turned and saw a young man.

  “You need to give me money, yes please,” he said. “Please, you give money?” he asked.

  “Go away!” shouted Sanjeev. “Don’t stop walking. Just follow.”

  Beth made it to the parking lot. They stopped at white Toyota. The bright sunshine hurt her eyes and she knew it was starting to get hot. Sanjeev had loaded her backpack into the back of the car and closed the boot.

  “Please,” he said motioning to the open passenger door.

  Beth climbed in and attached her seat belt. The interior of the taxi smelled minty, due to the air freshener hanging from the mirror.

  “It’s a crazy place the airport. It’s full of beggars and tricksters. Please, only talk to people you know,” said Sanjeev.

  The car was in motion and he pulled out onto a main road. The tall, lush, green, trees that lined the exit struck Beth. For some reason she had a mental image of a dusty brown barren land. As the car pulled away the air conditioning kicked in, and she could feel the cool, calming, air flow.

  “Good temperature, yes?” inquired Sanjeev.

  “Yes, good,” replied Beth mimicking his broken English.

  “First time to India?” asked Sanjeev. He turned his body taking his entire focus from the road as the car sped forward.

  “Yes, first time.”

  “Eat vegetarian,” said Sanjeev trying to be helpful. “That way you won’t get sick.”

  “I will, thank you,” said Beth.

  Beth noticed that Sanjeev wobbled his head, from side to side, in a curious way when he talked. His words said yes, but his head motion said no. She smiled as she noticed this peculiar trait. A screaming horn broke the silence. Another horn and then a chorus of horns followed it.

  “This is our turn signal; we sound it to let cars know we approach, that we are passing, stopping, and turning, used for everything. You’ll soon get used to it and not hear them,” laughed Sanjeev.

  He was right; horns blaring everywhere, for everything, with no one seeming to mind or getting upset. In Yorkshire, sounding the horn would be seen as an act of aggression. She noticed painted on the back of trucks, and rickshaws, the words “sound your horn.” Beth had heard a saying that it was a small world. She did not feel that way. She felt she was a long way from home. Every sight, smell, and sound, was new. Little rickshaws had barefooted drivers and passengers crammed into the back seat. Some had whole families squeezed into the back seat. She was learning rapidly; expanding her experiences, growing as a person, and pushing the boundaries of her comfort zone. She had experienced more in the last twenty minutes than the previous month. She liked it.

  Beth felt alive and energized. She had discovered a thirst for new experiences. She had made the right decision. She was going to help Anwar and Subra, but she was going to have some fun doing it. There was an awkward silence forming in the taxi, and Beth decided to initiate some conversation.

  “Sanjeev, I saw a woman getting on the plane with unusual hands. They were painted with intricate designs, what does this mean?” asked Beth.

  “Yes, this type of work is called, Mahndi. It’s very famous in India. It’s an old Indian custom. The bride will get her hands painted on the eve of her wedding, but she will keep the paint on for about two weeks after her wedding. Everyone who sees her hands will give her well wishes.” Sanjeev explained with his eyes firmly placed in the rear view mirror, and his head wobbling from side to side.

  “What kind of paint is it?”

  “It’s a Henna paste. An artist normally does it by hand. These days, you can get…” Sanjeev paused as he searched for the English word, “templates?”

  “Yes,” affirmed Beth.

  “Templates, that takes the skill out of it. Progress they say,” complained Sanjeev.

  “Maybe it is a small world, everyone seems to dislike progress,” thought Beth.

  The taxi swerved wildly to the left throwing Beth around in the back seat. Sanjeev sounded the horn, and he sped past a slow moving vehicle missing it by inches. Beth looked at Sanjeev; he was clam, very calm. The sudden change in direction caused Beth to divert her eyes. Her gaze moved from the side windows to the front of the taxi. She stared through the windshield. She noticed Sanjeev’s hands on the steering wheel and the watch strapped to his right wrist. It was an old watch and the glass had discolored. The glass had a large crack reflecting the light. The strap looked worn. It was fake leather and had started to flake due to wear. On the dashboard was a small wooden figurine; the elephant headed Lord Ganesha. To start a conversation Beth asked Sanjeev a question.

  “What’s the significance of the elephant statue?”

  “This is Ganesh, or Lord Ganesha. He’s the lord of success, the destroyer of evils, and the remover of obstacles. Lord Ganesha is very popular in India. He is one of the five prime Hindu deities. There is a big festival for Lord Ganesha, but you need to go to Pune to experience this. You will see Lord Ganesha everywhere that you go in India,” explained Sanjeev.

  Beth glanced outside and the scenery had changed. She saw large fields of garbage, at the side of the road people were milling around, searching for anything of value. She noticed groups of men finding shade where they could. Some wore trousers, sandals and shirts. Some were dressed only in cloth, wrapped around their hips. Bright colors seemed to be reserved for the women. They wore saris, hair clips, bangles, and earrings.

  “They look beautiful,” said Beth quietly.