Agra is on the Ganges Plain, on the western bank of the Yamuna River, and is famous for the Taj Mahal. Permanand drove Rick to the home of Colonel Malhotra, who rented Rick a room and offered meals at a modest charge. Rick invited Permanand to stay as his guest, but he declined.
The colonel was a Sikh who lived with his wife, daughter, son-in-law, and his grandson. He was a retired Indian army officer who had served for twenty-five years.
Rick and the colonel found common ground and spent five days sharing abstract views of religion and philosophy. During one of their breakfasts, Rick asked him what being a Sikh meant and how it differed from other spiritual beliefs.
“Sikhs do not believe in the caste system,” the colonel said with his lilting Indian accent. “Within each person lives five thieves, and it’s every Sikh’s duty to defeat these thieves within him. First is lust, then anger, followed by greed, attachment, and ego.”
“What do you mean by attachment?”
“Emotional attachment.”
“You mean like the emotional attachment someone has to their family?”
“Yes, of course, but the attachment I mean here is called moh and it means love and attachment for worldly things. Objects only serve as a hindrance to meet God and love for these objects block the search for spirituality.
“However, everything washes away with death, when one merges back into the universal nature, just as a drop of rain flows back into the ocean. A Sikh does not believe in heaven or hell, but we can experience peace, while our ego-centered souls may be destined to suffer great agonies and pain in the dark underworld of Narak. All pain and suffering is caused by attachment to the ego, which is a human being’s sense of importance.”
“I see, or at least I think I see, Colonel,” Rick said, realizing the shallowness of his attachment to having a PhD after his name, his computers, and his cars. However, removing those attachments to live a more introspective and asthetic life would be impossible to do because of his involvement in the world of academia, which makes intellectuial and societal demands of him.
“Mr. Rick, greed keeps people entangled in materialistic things and as long as one remains entangled in worldly possessions, he or she wanders away from God.”
“Isn’t that a concept in Buddhism also?”
“In a way, yes.”
“Does attachment mean the same thing in Buddhism as it does in Sikhism?”
“Yes, but attachment is experienced in a different way. In Sikhism, the attachment is to material things. In Buddhism, it is being attached to your own self...ego.”
“What about ego? I’m sure Sikhism has something to say about that.”
“It does. Thank you for reminding me. Ego is an inner vice. It fills people with an exaggerated sense of importance. People with ego believe they are in control and have the power to change people. That is not possible. A person only makes changes in himself by his own desire.
“People with ego forget God and His power. They cannot be one with God. Within each person lives all these thieves, and it is the duty of every Sikh to subdue and control these emotions and enemies.”
“This is all very interesting, Colonel, but how do you do it? How do Sikhs practice it in their lives?”
“It’s done through love, compassion, meditation, and sharing what you have with others.”
“I feel those qualities are within me.”
“I know they are,” Colonel Malhotra answered.
The colonel was an impressive man. He dressed as a Sikh, with his turban and a net, which held his beard in place. His turban was similar to the turban worn by the man Rick had observed on the plane to Delhi. The colonel was intelligent, well-read, understanding, highly spiritual, and had a penchant for stimulating conversation.
Rick looked forward to their breakfast chats, just the two of them. The conversations that Rick had with Indians were fulfilling. Many of them were focused on spirituality, something he decided to take a second look at.
Permanand called Rick a few days later and apologized for not being able to meet him, saying his cousin was ill and he was at the hospital comforting him and would call when he could return.
Meanwhile, India’s culture drew Rick’s mind and heart to places he’d never been before. Differences between American and Indian people gave him a new perspective.
In India, strangers often met without bothering to introduce themselves, but got into deep conversations about philosophy and religion and went on their way. This gave Rick hope. Meeting people was easy, and they could help him in his search. Rick knew he would find Eric, maybe serendipitously, as a result of some unplanned event, or by meeting a stranger.
***
The next morning Rick was filled with excitement. He couldn’t wait to visit the Taj Mahal.
“The Taj Mahal, please,” Rick said to the driver, words he assumed the driver had heard thousands of times before. “What is your name?”
“It is Kumar, sir.”
“Nice to meet you, Kumar.”
“Oh, it is my pleasure, sir. You are from which place?”
“America. Have you ever been there?”
“Never.”
“Have you traveled out of India?”
“No. Maybe someday,” he replied. “But I have seven children, some still small, and my wife and I both work. Sonia works in mobile phone store here on Kamala Nagar. It is good to have family and children. I will never be alone. So, why you come? To see Taj? It is very beautiful. You will like very much, sir.”
“Yes, Kumar, I came to see the Taj, but I also came to find someone.”
“Oh yes, plenty nice ladies here, but not easy for a paradeshi, a foreigner, like you, but is possible to…if you want…”
“No, Kumar, I like women, but that’s not why I’m here. I did meet a nice woman on the plane to Delhi, an American. She was very nice, but I will never see her again.”
“You will meet. I know you will meet.”
“Yeah, well…”
“So, who you look?”
“I’m looking for my son who was given up for adoption when he was a baby.”
“At what place is his mother?”
“His mother died recently and she only saw him as a newborn.”
“Oh, I never heard deeze tings. My heart is so sad.”
“Yes, it breaks my heart too, but I know I will find him.” He felt Kumar’s sincerity.
“India is different from other places. Would never give away baby, not a good thing. How you find? Go to detective?”
“Kumar, I searched everywhere from America before I came here. I used the internet to find detectives in India, but they seemed to only take surveillance jobs, and most of their clients required matrimonial investigations.
“I have limited information about my son, just his name, birthdate, and the kind of work he does. The Indian detectives I spoke to were sure they could find him and wanted a lot of money, but they never offered a good plan.”
“Oh, I am so sorry. What work he do, your child?”
“He does something related to music, but he doesn’t play an instrument.”
“Not play music? What he do?”
“He uses software and electronics to make music sound good. Singing groups make records and he makes their CDs sound good.”
“Oh yes, we have sanbandhi. They do same thing. Also, make music sound good. Many in Bombay and everywhere. They will help you find him.”
“I hope so. I used the internet to find all the places that make movies and looked for different singing groups that make recordings, asking if they knew him, but nothing so far. I’ve been in music stores, checking the albums to see if my son’s name was listed in the credits, but very few have audio engineers credited. Many people say they think they know him, but after I talk to them for a while, it seems they know very little.”
“Yes, it is an Indian way of being kind and caring, sir. They see you are sad and help make you feel good.”
“Yeah, wel
l…I make calls to nightclubs and record companies every day. Things are not done easily by phone here.”
“That is true, but you will find him. He is your child. Please, it would be a good thing. You must look in Bombay. There is much music there.”
“Bombay, yes.”
Rick’s mobile rang. Permanand told him that his sick cousin was better. They made a plan to meet at the colonel’s house in a few days. It would be good to see his smiling face again.
Rick bought a ticket to get into the Taj, but there was already a long line of ticket holders waiting to get in. The queue consisted of many nationalities, but mostly Indians. When Rick bought a ticket to get into the Taj, he saw a long line of ticket holders already waiting. The man selling the ticket told Rick he would have to wait in line at least two hours before he would get in.
Rick looked around and saw a young Indian man about thirty years old who was trying to get the attention of people in line. He looked like a person who could get someone in a lot faster for some solid baksheesh.
“Two hundred rupees, kind sir, and you will be inside in a moment,” he said.
“Never,” Rick said adamantly. “Fifty rupees and that’s it, and I pay you after I’m inside.”
He quickly agreed, which made Rick think even that was too much. He walked Rick to the front of the line and said a few words to a police officer who waved him in. Rick paid with two twenty rupee notes, the equivalent of an American dollar.
Rick walked down a narrow path into a large plaza with an archway at one end. He looked through the arch and saw his first clear view of the Taj Mahal. There it was, in all its blazing glory, sitting majestically in the sunlight.
His excitement mounted and he couldn’t wait to get closer. He walked slowly toward the image he had held in his mind since childhood. It was now a dream come true, something real and tangible. As he walked, the Taj became larger until it filled his eyes.
Rick explored every inch of its magnificence. If the Taj had eyes, it would see throngs of people flashing their cameras and feel the light touch of birds landing on it, along with people’s fingertips brushing against its sun kissed, shimmering white marble. The Taj knew its secrets of love and mystery, which might be quite different from the stories told by the guides or written in books.
Only the language of poetry could describe the essence of the Taj Mahal as a teardrop on the face of eternity, a testimonial to true and everlasting love. Rick couldn’t take his eyes off this magnificent wonder of the world. He followed one bird circling in the air until it gently landed on the large marble dome. The black bird snapped its head erratically from side to side as if it were looking at all the people below.
Does that bird know where he is? Does he know he is at the Taj Mahal?
***
Later that night, Rick walked down a quiet, dark dirt road near the colonel’s house that led to some distant streetlights. He looked up at a full moon and a sky full of blinking stars, the same full moon and stars that was shining down on the Taj just minutes away. He felt guilty about visiting the Taj. Every time he stopped to gaze at the splendid sights in India, he was sidetracked from his mission.
Rick lost hope during the walk. He became disheartened and reflected on the futility of his search. He had so little to go on and thought he would end up with nothing more than a collection of dead ends. He imagined Julie at his side, searching with him, and that fortified his resolve to persevere.
Instinctively, Rick felt that learning about India, its culture, and its history would enhance his search for Eric. Telling the story about his quest to others could invite new suggestions or directions.
He thought about Julie and how much she would love the landscape of India and its people. She was sensitive and caring, like most Indian people.
Chapter 13
Rick met Colonel Malhotra for their last breakfast together before leaving Agra.
“I’m going to miss you, Colonel. You’re a special person. You’ve helped me view the world in the abstract and made difficult concepts clear to me. Many of my friends are concrete thinkers. They see a chair and it’s a chair and that’s that, but I’m here to find my son and I have to be more pragmatic.”
“Yes, there are times we must all be practical, but think of abstract thinking as critical thinking. It takes practice, but it will develop your mind so you will find pathways to your son. Almost every problem has a solution.
“Before you shift to Jaipur, think about it. One last lesson before we part ways. Your friend may see a chair and to him it is a chair and nothing more than a place to sit. That is concrete, but maybe it is more than what appears and has its secrets locked within.”
“Not a chair?” Rick asked.
“Imagine this. If you knew everything there was to know about one object, then you would know all there is about any object in the world.”
“Everything about the chair?”
“Not just the chair, Rick, but any object in the world. Examine the object. If it is a chair, it may be made of wood, maybe with leather seats and metal studs. Wood is from a living thing, leather too, and metals are mined. They all have chemical formulas, plus a chair has design and purpose, which relate to the input of humans. All these elements take you to new paths of understanding and allow you to see the larger picture.
“That will help you find your son. You must meet and talk to as many Indian people as you can. Someone will give you a lead to your son.”
“You have a unique viewpoint about things. You’re right, a chair is simple, but it has atoms, nuclei, electrons, space, water, shape, purpose. All of that is true, and it’s created by humans, so the chair represents a blend of human interaction with an object.”
“A very good observation. Especially cars,” the colonel replied. “Think of it. The mechanics, the electrics, the materials to make a car, add the idea of colors, the paint, and its connection with the driver. Many lifetimes could be spent with only a motor car in mind.”
“And, yes, you’re right. The more complex the object, the easier it is to find pathways to greater depths of understanding because of its multifaceted nature. I trust you, sir, but I have trouble putting these thoughts together to help me find Eric.”
“I understand your dilemma. Put it in your mind that you trust the things I say. Knowledge is the result of thought. It is all about our minds. Carry that away with you. God has placed this masterpiece within us.
“If you know everything about one thing, you know the universe. What I described was about objects, but there are other avenues of thought. Think of other questions. What is a flame? What is time? It will all sharpen your mind.”
“You are amazing, Colonel Malhotra. I’ll never look at a chair the same way again.”
Rick believed him and trusted him. He took one last look at the colonel. He had the appearance of a man who knew everything about life—and chairs!
***
Rick had pre-arranged to meet one of his closest Indian-American friends, Lalit, in Jaipur. In many ways, Lalit’s thinking and sense of spirituality was similar to the colonel’s, although he was not a Sikh. He was a Jain, an ancient religion whose core belief was to conquer all temptations.
Lalit knew the story of Rick and Julie and their baby. At a dinner party back in the States, Rick told Lalit that Julie had died and there was a chance he could find his son in India. Lalit turned to him, put his hands on his shoulders, and spoke in a low voice. “You are a caring and sensitive person,” he said, “It is meant for you to go to India. The country will embrace you, and the people will help you find your son. Come to Jaipur. I will meet you there.”
Rick called Lalit from Agra and took a bus to Jaipur. It was a people’s bus, hot and crowded. Those who had seats sat crunched against each other while the other passengers stood in the narrow aisle with their luggage, committed to the five-hour ride on their feet.
Rick had a seat near the window. The glass was yellowed, scratched, and clouded over with dir
t and pollution, but it still left some view of the streets. Rick spotted a food cart with cooked meat hanging on hooks, covered with flies in the shimmering heat. The vendor brushed away the flies, sliced the meat, and put it inside chapatis as his customers lined up for lunch. Rick shook his head, his stomach turning.
When the bus arrived in Jaipur, Rick made his way down the few steps to get off. Lalit saw him struggling with his backpack and came to his aid. They hugged and looked into each other’s smiling faces.
“Rick, so good to see you!”
Within minutes, they were having a delicious vegetarian lunch at a wonderful restaurant within walking distance of the station.
There is only one Lalit.
He was a caring, intelligent man who had his own interesting spin on life. Rick asked Lalit how he should go about finding Eric.
“You must go to Bombay. You must do this. It is good what you did in Delhi and Agra, but you must continue on your path.”
“I have Bombay on my list, for sure. I’m just trying to find him in a methodical way.”
“It is a good thing,” Lalit said, sopping up his vegetable curry with chapati bread. “Because you are here in India, you will find him. You cannot go to agencies. People here are compassionate and understanding. They will help you, especially when they learn you are looking for your child. I will only be in Jaipur two days more. I have to spend time with my daughter. She is thirty-four and yet unmarried and it is shameful to our family. I have placed many ads in the newspapers looking for a nice boy. Someone answered, so I want to be at her side in the event she needs my advice.”
“I understand arranged marriages work out well here.”
“It is the best way. My marriage was arranged and most of my friends were as well. My daughter is well-educated and I have supplied her with a first-class dowry.”
“I wish you luck, my friend. I think everything will work out well in the end.”
“For you as well, Rick.”
After lunch, Lalit introduced Rick to the sights of Jaipur. Most of the buildings were painted pink, which gave the architecture a distinctive appearance. Rick found the design of a Hindu temple striking, a mixture of modern and ancient, and he asked Lalit if they could visit.
Meeting Max Page 10
