Chapter 3
Like a dedicated tourist guide, Jet leads Autumn under the burning glare of the morning sun to many structural tributes built for the worship of Lord Buddha. Darting in and out between many pilgrims, people on bikes, colourful shirts and saris, goats with full udders and hundreds of Buddhist monks from varied Eastern regions of the world, he unwraps the town of Bodh Gaya like a multi-layered present until Autumn discovers the inner most gift. A gift she doesn’t find among the symbols of worship and reverence.
They take a rickshaw or walk from stupa, to monastery, to shrine. Autumn beholds temples built by patriots of China, Nepal, Sri Lanka, Myanmar, Bhutan, Vietnam, Tibet, Japan and Thailand. She stands before a seated, forty-foot Buddha and gazes upon relics and pillars engraved with stone depictions of Buddha’s life in fences and temple walls.
Jet’s choice for lunch is an Italian restaurant owned by a Canadian couple in the busy, city region of Bodh Gaya. Autumn admits over a meat lover’s pizza how it is hardly an authentic Indian experience, though definitely something she can blog about thanks to its quirky qualities. Jet adamantly disagrees with her, proffering that the restaurant did offer modern authenticity, supported by the fact that the streets of Bodh Gaya are filled with so many cultures it would be incorrect to say that a multicultural lunch is anything but representative of this town. Either way, it is nice to have her stomach filled with meat, something she has avoided since landing in Patna two days ago.
Mid-afternoon they arrive back to their starting position, the Mahabodhi temple, a structure which has stood since the fifth or sixth century BCE. Autumn studies the fifty-metre high pyramid made completely of pale-grey bricks and is enthralled. Jet leads her through the temple gates, along a path surrounded on both sides by miniature stupas—illustrating stone carvings of the life of Gautama.
“I’ll show you the Bodhi tree first,” says Jet, placing his hand on Autumn’s back and gently guiding her through the crowds of monks and pilgrims towards the side of the temple. Autumn rounds the corner and can see the tree immediately; grey, gnarled limbs curling outwards and upwards, a sputtering of heart-shaped, green and gold leaves covering its tendrils. The Bodhi tree is strangely beautiful, perhaps for the alleged history it holds or because of what it symbolises to the crowd that has gathered at its feet, and the religion that has stemmed from its existence.
They take a seat on the warm stone pavers under the dappled shade of the tree, the afternoon sun sending its mid-afternoon light in flickers rather than floods. When Autumn looks beyond the people and the heat to the essence of what this place offers, she feels, although remote and intangible, something; a sense of spirituality and unity. She looks to Jet and smiles.
“What do you think?” he asks, his own lips curling generously upwards.
“I can’t explain it. I can’t find the words. It’s more of a feeling.”
He nods. “I know what you mean. I felt it too, the first time I came here.”
“There’s definitely something spiritual. I’m not sure if it’s because of the tree or the temple.” She glances around at all the seated, red-robed monks, their baritone chanting comingling with the heat, and the scent of sweat and earth. “There is a definite peacefulness though, but I think it is emanating from the people.”
He smiles, following her gaze across the forest of bald heads. “I think so too.”
Autumn points at the tree. “It’s only a descendent of the original isn’t it?”
“It was planted in the nineteenth century from a cutting saved from the original fig before it died. But this is the exact place where Siddhartha Gautama reached his enlightenment. I think he sat under the tree for six days, the reports are conflicting though.”
“Is that why you tried it for six days?”
Jet laughs. “Yeah.”
“Why?”
He picks up a loose, golden leaf with a long, pointed end and twirls it between his fingers. “To be honest, I think I came here for the all the reasons anybody comes here—answers?”
“You wanted answers?”
He nods. “Don’t you?”
She smiles. “I definitely do.”
“Everyone wants answers. Some seek them in other places, me, I came to India.”
“But it was a boy that gave you your answers?”
Again he laughs. “Darshan. My little saviour. Do you know what Darshan means?”
Autumn shakes her head.
“Perceiving. It’s a Hindu term which refers to the perception of the ultimate truth. I literally cried when I found that out. He is aptly named, at least where I’m concerned.”
“So you meditated for six days to no result and had a little boy smile at you and your life changed?”
Jet smiles. “Simplicity, isn’t it?”
“What did Darshan save you from, Jet?”
“Coincidentally enough, the very same person Siddhartha Gautama fought two and a half thousand years ago, at this very spot.” He presses his finger to his chest and says, “Me.”
She laughs, uneasily. “I can’t imagine you would give yourself too much trouble.”
Jet looks bashful and turns his gaze to the ground. “Let’s just say I looked too long in the wrong places for answers.”
Autumn’s stomach tightens with a rush of nerves. She doesn’t like to imagine what he means by this, yet has an overwhelming desire to find out. She reaches for his hand, but he flinches away.
“I’m not the same person I was, Autumn,” he says, quickly.
“I believe you.”
Slowly, he brings his hand towards hers again and she grasps it. He stares at her face as the images transfer from one mind to the other, like photographs of another person’s life being shuffled at an eager pace in front of her eyes. She sees Jet, a different man, wearing business suits; hair cropped short, face cleanly shaven. She feels his pitiless pursuit for success and money; intense, single-minded. She catches glimpses of his indulgence in alcohol, cars, clothes, possessions and then snaps her hand back when she sees the women’s faces, one after the other, and the sheer gluttony of pleasure he gains from them sexually.
His eyes, his face, are restored in her awareness as the mental pictures stop. She can see sadness and perhaps shame in his buttery-brown eyes as she tries to hide her discontent.
“I too fought with the demon of desire,” is all he says.
“Mara.”
He smiles, though barely. “You know the demon’s name?”
She nods.
He shakes his head and lets out a long sigh. “It’s unsettling having someone see the things you are most ashamed of.”
She places her hand on the shoulder of this handsome man who has fallen victim to all the things, from time to time, every person falls for in some way. As much as she feels saddened, although that is too strong an adjective for what she has seen, it is something she has seen so many times before. For some reason, she wanted Jet to be different from the other men with whom she has shared visions. But as she has learnt, recurrently, there are only a few who stand out from others. For the most part, each person shares similar thought patterns, similar pasts and similar regrets.
What Jet does with his life now is what she need pay attention to and care about. Although, leaving India tomorrow and never needing to see this man again, should she care at all about what he has done and what he will do? Should she care so much?
“All it means, Jet, is that you don’t have to hide these things from me,” she says.
“Is that a good thing?”
She shrugs and pulls her hand from his shoulder. “It’s an honest thing. And you strike me as a guy who leans towards that.”
He nods, doesn’t suppress his smile. “I’m certainly not in any sort of position where lies are necessary. But even though, I’m hoping you’re not going judge me too severely on my past.”
She shakes her head. “Your life is really none of my business.”
His eyebrows knit together. “I can’t
accept that.”
“What?”
“That this, that you and me, is nothing more than a shallow interaction. A brief chance meeting that means no more than bumping your shoulder against a stranger on the street and never giving them a second thought. I can’t meet someone like you, Autumn, and share with you what I have shared, and have you think that my life is none of your business.”
She sits up straighter, eyes widening. “I’m sorry, I meant your, your past. Not,” she points from her chest to his, back and forth, “not now.”
His shoulders slump. “No. I’m sorry,” he says. “It’s been such a long time since I’ve met someone like you.” He turns his body and faces her directly. “And I don’t just mean your special abilities. I mean you as a person, you’re oddly mesmerising.”
She laughs loudly. “Mesmerising? That’s new to me.”
He looks at her lips, back to her eyes, not changing his serious expression. “And to me too, it seems.”
She feels the heat rise from her toes to the curves of her cheeks, certain she is glowing a red hue and has to avert her eyes to the tiles, biting her bottom lip.
“Ah, so we’re back to that,” he says.
When brave enough to look at him again, she whispers, “I don’t think we’ve ever not been.”
Jet leans across the small space between them and presses his lips against her lips. It startles her, but as the sensations take hold, the shock of his gesture subsides. He kisses her again and her eyelids drift together. Her entire body relaxes, welcoming his warmth. He edges her lips open, finding her tongue with his, filling Autumn with his warmth, his taste. All her senses come alive. His smell, a subtle soapiness mixed with an innate masculinity—how this scent alone, is arousing—and against her delicate skin is the soft prickle of his unshaven chin.
Jet’s breaths are syncopated, almost silent one moment and heavier the next, as he deepens his kiss. His fingertips trail along her neck to the nape of her hair and she sighs as a pleasurable tingle spreads across her shoulders, downwards to her stomach, lower. One more time, he presses his lips to hers, lingering at her mouth for a long, satisfying moment, breathing her in, before he sits upright again.
She smiles and sighs. “That was unexpected.”
He nods; draws in a deep breath.
They don’t speak again for a long while. Instead, Autumn closes her eyes, now that her body is as light as gossamer in a breeze, and doesn’t force any particular thought, doesn’t try to quiet her mind and simply sits there, ingesting her surroundings.
She doesn’t know how long she remains like that, trance-like yet lucid, asleep yet wide awake, and eventually opens her eyes. She looks for Jet. He is lying on his side, head propped up by his hand, watching her.
“Hi,” she says, realising how wonderful it is to see him. He is superbly handsome, she could never think otherwise.
Jet grins. “Hi.”
Autumn stands, her muscles groaning, yet appreciating the reprieve from the hard, tiled ground. She stretches her arms high above her head, feeling as though she has awoken from a long, glorious sleep. Jet lifts himself from the floor, stands beside her and dusts at his clothes.
She looks at him. “Can I meet Darshan and the other kids?”
His eyes widen. “You would want to do that?”
Autumn nods. “Absolutely. I’d love to meet them all.”
“Now?” he asks.
She nods, and he grins. “Let’s go then.”
Chapter 4
The late afternoon sun is illuminating the sky with burnt orange tones that intensify as day nears night, transforming the dusty landscape, changing its colour, shadows slinking in where shadows did not exist before. The orphanage is only a brief walk from the temple and as Autumn spies the sprawling branches of the fig tree shading the lethargic building, she hears the laughter of children in the distance.
Jet glances at his watch and smiles. “They’re out the back playing.”
“I’ll quickly check on David to see how he is first.”
Autumn walks the length of the veranda to Jet’s bedroom door. She opens it and is hit with the cool air as it struggles to escape from the small enclosure. David is lying on his side, pallid, eyes closed.
“David,” she whispers.
He opens his eyes and looks wearily at her. “Hi.”
“How are you feeling?”
“A little better. I haven’t needed the toilet for the last few hours. Maybe that’s a good sign.”
“Yeah, that is a good sign.”
“I can’t take the train back to Patna,” he says, tears wetting his eyes.
Her chest aches for him. “Do you want me to see if I can find a place to sleep at one of the local hotels?”
He nods as eagerly as a sick man can. “Yes. Even one of the monasteries will be fine.”
Jet, standing behind Autumn pushes his head through the door. “We have a couple of spare rooms here. There’s no air-conditioning, but they’re clean.”
Autumn nods. “It’s not going to put anyone out if we stay here?”
“It’ll be fine.” He turns his gaze back to David. “You just camp in my room tonight. I think you need the air-con more than me.”
A tear rolls down David’s cheek. “Thanks, mate. I really appreciate it,” he says, voice cracking.
“I’ll come check again on you later. Are you sure there’s nothing you need?” asks Autumn.
David shakes his head. “Only sleep.”
Autumn nods and closes the door.
She frowns at Jet. “He’s really sick. If he doesn’t improve overnight, he won’t be getting on that flight tomorrow afternoon.”
“Let’s hope his Karma isn’t entirely bad and it’s only a twenty-four hour thing.”
Autumn stops midstride. She thinks about how David had called her a prick-tease last night at the hotel and wonders if that has contributed to his condition today. She then shakes her head at her own absurdity.
“How does this Karma thing work exactly?”
“I only understand the basics of it. I didn’t mean to accuse Dav—”
“I know.”
He nods. “It’s actually a belief that goes back to the time of Aristotle.”
“Is that so?”
“Cause and effect, in the Buddhist sense, though. Any action you undertake creates a seed that will sprout when the conditions are right, creating a good or bad result.”
“Do you believe in it?”
He doesn’t allow even a pause. “Very much so.”
She nods, wondering what specifically has happened that has made Jet so adamant in his belief of the concept. Autumn looks down at his hand, considers taking it in hers so she can find out all. But because she has the ability to know unspoken things about others, doesn’t mean she has the right to use it at her whim, in whatever way she chooses.
He smiles as he notices her gaze. “Take it,” he says, lifting his hand to her.
She shakes her head. “It’s none of my bus—” She stops, remembering how he reacted the last time she said that. “If I didn’t have this gift, curse, whatever you want to call it, I would have to wait for you to tell me. That’s how it works in the real world. Right now, I really feel the urge to experience normalcy.”
Jet smiles and lowers his hand. “Hmmm, normalcy. I’m not sure I’m so good at that.”
Autumn laughs aloud. “You and me both.”
Jet leads her along the veranda.
“Thank you for your help today and for letting us stay here tonight. You didn’t have to give up your bed though,” Autumn says.
“Judging by David’s response, I think I did.”
“Yeah, he was relieved.”
Autumn follows Jet along the back of the building, down towards a little field where about sixty children, from five years old through to fourteen, are participating in one of the multiple games of cricket taking place. A woman dressed in a long skirt and wide-brimmed hat is helping one of the smalle
r kids swing a bat that is as big as him. As they mosey towards her, a number of the children, girls and boys, run up to Jet and speak in an Indian language, asking if he will join in their game. He ruffles their hair, cuddles them into his arms before introducing them to Autumn and sending them on their way. Jet tells her about each of the children’s circumstances; most of them were found begging around the gates of the temples, having lost their parents to AIDS, or other diseases like malaria or malnutrition.
The woman in the wide-brimmed hat is the same lady Autumn saw in Jet’s thoughts earlier that morning, Jennifer. Jet introduces them and explains the circumstances under which Autumn and Jet met and the current sleeping arrangements, thanks to David’s gastro.
“Poor guy,” says Jennifer. “Quite common, unfortunately. But I’m sure your boyfriend will be fine. Sometimes the body just needs to get it all out and then it can recover.”
“Oh, he’s not my boyfriend,” Autumn says, ending softly.
Jennifer looks to Jet, a silent communication, a subtle narrowing of her eyes, one Autumn cannot decipher.
“I’m going to introduce Autumn to Darshan and the others,” says Jet.
Jennifer nods slowly.
“Are they back at the house?”
“Master Shen is reading to them in the hall. Nice to meet you, Autumn.”
“Yeah. You too.”
Autumn knows who Darshan is immediately. As soon as Jet walks into the large room, one boy from a group of thirty, seated on the floor listening attentively with intrigued little faces, peers up at him, a smile extending from one side of his cheek to the other, eyes widening with affection. Jet smiles and waves at the boy, but straight after brings his finger to his lips, telling the boy to stay quiet for just a little longer, until the monk, dressed in a long, yellow robe, finishes the book. He reads in Hindi, a language of which Autumn can’t understand a single word.
“So you stick to the local language when teaching the children?” whispers Autumn.
Jet nods. “That assures the best possible chance to find employment and break the cycle of poverty.”
The Paler Shade Of Autumn Page 4
