Splintered Lives

by Carol Holden

  All the villagers are helping with the preparation and the children from the school are moving any tables and chairs we can borrow for the older people to be comfortable.

  Mark arrives in the midst of our preparations and I hug him to me because I am so glad to see him.

  “How’s everyone at home?” I ask him when I at last let him out of my arms.

  “Great, thanks.” He replies giving me a roguish wink.

  “Meet my friends, Keith, he is the musical one and he’s brought his guitar.”

  “Here’s Jack, he is the cheeky one and he’ll make you laugh.”

  I shake hands with Keith. We smile and he has a twinkle in his deep blue eyes.

  “Pleased to meet you.” He drawls in a soft Irish accent that immediately reminds me of my friend Ann. Ann and I haven’t been in touch for some time and I remember that it is my turn to reply to her letter.

  I turn to shake hands with Jack who gives me a wolf whistle and a cheeky grin.

  I tell them that all the activity they can see around them is for them and that the whole little village has been invited to the welcome party, they look quite taken aback but they all grin and look pleased. As they are young and healthy men, they have forgotten their arduous journey and are ready for the party.

  Chapter 6

  It is now lunchtime and I have Mark and his mates sitting on my terrace overlooking the valley. They are really impressed with the views and the blue sky and the warm sun. Sahida is with us and the boys are very impressed with her as well.

  Taj is expected anytime and I am getting excited at the prospect of having Taj meet Mark and his friends.

  I hear a motor engine stop outside and I rush to the front door to meet Taj. He is in casual clothes and his handsome face is wreathed in smiles.

  “Mark, come and meet Taj.” I shout before Taj has the chance to get out of his car. I am so thrilled to have my nephew meet the man I adore.

  Mark rushes through the little living room from the terrace and stands shyly by me as Taj makes his way through the obstructive tables and chairs.

  “What’s all this?” He asks as he finds his way to the door. “I thought it was an obstacle race.”

  Mark is a handsome boy, his thick hair is auburn in colour but the sun he has been travelling under has streaked it to all shades and any girl would pay pounds to have the highlights that shine there. He is tall and he may have stopped growing now at his six feet two inches.

  He moves forward to shake Taj’s hand and he seems happily surprised at the strength of the handshake he receives in return.

  “Good to meet you”. Mark smiles.

  “Good to meet you Mark, at last.” Taj replies in a warm tone of voice.

  The people are all out now ready for the party and Sahida and myself assemble the plates from various houses and the old people are settled in chairs.

  The boys are introduced and the villagers smile shyly and all shake them by the hand. The party has begun.

  The food is delicious although we have made it ourselves. Some of it seems strange to the Nepalese but the plates are soon cleared and everyone seems satisfied.

  Keith brings out his guitar and he sings some folk songs. Although they are Western songs, Taj and Sahida know them and begin to sing along with the boys and me. The children know some of the words because I have taught them to them ready for this party. The parents listen to the chorus and then they also sing some of the words.

  Mark gets Sahida up to dance and Taj and I do the same. In no time at all the children and their parents join in our merry party and even some of the older, fitter ones join in as well. We have a wonderful time and some other backpackers from the bunkhouse join us and the whole village is alight with music and merrymaking.

  The children are sleepy and go to bed without the usual protest. The parents sit out in the lovely clear night and we chat with them and I feel closer to them than I have before.

  Eventually the party breaks up and Sahida goes home on her scooter to Pokhara and Taj and I are left alone. We close the door and fall into each other’s arms.

  Chapter 7

  I feel breathless; I have been waiting for this moment since Taj came to the door five hours before. I look at his dark brown eyes and sink into their depths. His face looks so serious and he touches my face with both hands. He strokes my hair and kisses the corner of my mouth. I want him so desperately; my body feels like it is melting and my eyes cannot leave his face as he gently lowers me onto the bed. He kisses my throat and I lean towards his to kiss his mouth. We kiss hungrily and a burning passion that has been simmering all day comes to the surface and I cannot wait for him to undress me as he has before. I tear off his shirt and I kiss his chest. I feel the passion rise within him and he takes my breasts in his hands one at a time and encircles my nipples with his tongue. His kisses go down my body and I almost faint with ecstasy. I have this longing for him with each of us loving the other with tenderness and ultimate desire.

  He turns on his side towards me and looks deeply into my eyes. “I truly love you.” He whispers. He gently lays me on my back and enters me gently and then with a passion I have not felt in him before. We ride each other and I feel that spirituality that I always feel when we make love. It’s like being in a holy place where love is in abundance. We lie sated by our lovemaking and we do not sleep for a long time because we do not want to lose this wonderful feeling that has seeped into us.

  We awake late on the Sunday morning tangled up in the sheet and each other’s arms. The sun is high in the sky and I jump out of bed because I think that Mark will soon be calling with his friends. Taj is sleeping peacefully so I quietly slip out of bed, wash, dress and make a pot of tea. I take my cup out onto the terrace and have the whole world to myself where I contemplate the wonder of my life.

  “How about a cup for me, my little wife?” asks Taj.

  “There’s some in the pot, my darling husband”. I reply.

  He joins me on the terrace and we embrace as we sit together and smile at each other like cats that have had the cream. We sit quietly and feel so content with each other that we don’t hear Mark and his friends as they creep around the corner of our terrace.

  “Caught you”. Says Mark.

  “Caught me what?” I ask.

  “Having a snog,” says the cheeky Jack.

  Taj has to laugh and I leave them to make a coffee for them and a bit of breakfast for us all.

  We have a lazy day together. Taj had brought a few bottles of wine and we still have a couple left over from the previous night so we sit together, the five of us and chat amiably and drink some wine. Later we all have a walk up to the school where I show Mark and his friends where I work. We walk further up the mountain and Taj and I show them the terraces and the White Mountain tops to a place where they can see the distant valleys and peaks beyond our mountain.

  “There are many treks up here but I hope that you have secured the service of a reputable guide,” says Taj.

  “We found one last night at the party.” says Mark. “He does it for a living and he is the older brother of the boy who I have seen here with you Sarah.”

  “Oh I am so glad that you are employing one of the villagers.” Taj and Sarah answer in unison “They have the local knowledge and they also need the work.”

  The boys are energetic and I am feeling languid so Taj and I return to the cottage where we can spend our last few hours together, and the lads can climb the higher slopes as a practice for their longer trek.

  We have a last meal together before Taj has to set off for Kathmandu and the rest of our time is spent gently making love. I see him off, waving until the motor is out of sight and then I turn into my cottage and busy myself preparing something to eat for Mark and the boys when they return from their trek.

  The week soon passes and then I am seeing Mark and his friends off on their long trek. I know I won’t see them again until I get home to England because the treks are designed to cover n
ew ground and they will end in a different village. I will miss Mark because we have always been close and his sense of humour and his cheeky grin have always pulled at my heartstrings. After their trek, arranged transport will take them directly to Kathmandu.

  I feel sad when I return from waving off the lads and I decide I will write to Ann, my college friend, in Dublin. Her last letter was full of news about our mutual friends at the teacher training college. David had become Head of Department of Maths at a college in Ruthin. John was seeing his children again and his wife was giving him a chance to start again. Ann was back in Dublin teaching Business Studies to mature students such as bankers and accountants.

  The three of them had met up as we had all promised to do but as I was a long way away I missed the first meeting. They had all met in Manchester and had a lovely time going to the theatre and having dinner afterwards. I know Ann has a soft spot for David as he is the quiet one, and I suspect, the most caring. His father is rather lonely and David lives close to him in Ruthin.

  John is teaching Marketing at the University of Edinburgh and is living near his old home where his wife and children still live. He is also involved with the Open University and this extra work brings in the money that is needed to keep two homes going. The separation had been bitter but now he is hoping that the marriage will eventually mend and that the family will be together again.

  I have told Ann about my meeting with Taj but not how close we have become, as I haven’t written to her for quite a few weeks. It is not a secret but I feel so excited and sure about it all that I don’t want to mention it yet as I feel that I am in a dream and that I shall wake up.

  I tell her about the festivals and the party for Mark and his friends and that I am feeling a bit lonely now Mark is on his way and Taj is busy at the hospital. I invite her to come in her holidays if she can and I say that I shall be able to book her in at the Fishtail Hotel. It’s just a pipe dream but I am missing my friends and family at the moment.

  She told me that she has met someone in Dublin but is not very sure how it will work out. I hope that she finds someone to live the rest of her life with and that she will have a happy one.

  I write to my sister to tell her what a lovely lad Mark has turned into and how he and his friends brightened up our quiet lives. How I am now missing his laughter and his music. The villagers still smile and wave when I am about and thank me for the party.

  Life is back to normal and Taj is hoping to come over this weekend. He plans to get the airplane from Kathmandu and be here earlier than if he travelled by road.

  Chapter 8

  Taj has decided to come by plane and I am waiting in the tiny airport lounge. It is so small that the man behind the desk is close to the form where I am sitting. He looks at me curiously.

  I smile at him and tell him that I am waiting for a friend, who will be on the plane from Kathmandu. He nods and smiles back.

  The evening sky is clear, a swatch of horizontal white cloud shows across a bright sky.

  We hear the little plane approach and we stand to watch it descend, it splutters and we hear the engine miss a beat, as we stand there petrified, unable to move. The plane turns and hits a line of trees on the left of the runway. Flames shoot in the air and a horrible sound of crunching metal is heard all around. More flames reach in to the sky and a belch of black smoke obliterates the sun. There is a stench of burning flesh as the fire consumes the people on the plane.

  My life is empty; I feel a bleak grey cloud hovering over my head. The joy I had only yesterday has gone forever. The unbearable sadness of my loss is as if I am carrying a heavy burden in my heart. I have lost the lovely man who had made my life whole. The harsh reality of his death has left me overwhelmed with grief. I have had only a few months of loving Taj but I know that it was a love that would have lasted our lifetimes. The beauty of his countenance, the living light in his eyes, the tenderness of his soul haunts me with an unbearable sadness and great loss. I miss his presence, his gentle humour and the light of love that shone in his eyes. But knowing that our love was real must sustain me and keep me sane,

  I had arranged to meet his plane from Kathmandu at the little airport at Pokhara. I was waiting on a wooden bench when someone called out to close the door because when the plane lands on the dry runway it fills the airport waiting room with choking dust. But the plane didn’t land on the runway; it crashed into the trees alongside it. The fuel ignited and the plane became a blazing inferno. There are no survivors. The noise is harrowing as the flames lap the little plane and the smoke chokes the people waiting to take the journey back to Kathmandu. There is much confusion as a small local fire engine arrives to try to put out the fire. By this time the word has got around and Sahida and her family arrive at the site. We can’t believe what we are seeing and the horror of the crash hits us and tears pour from our eyes. One of the firemen is fighting for his breath, as the smoke has overcome him. Dr Menon gets to him quickly and with the help of the contents of his black bag that Sahida brings from the car he alleviates the man’s discomfort and helps him to board the small ambulance that has arrived, by this time. There is a small hospital in Pokhara where Dr Menon sees to his patients and although it is very basic, the doctor does the best he can with the lean facilities there.

  The Menons know of Taj and my involvement and they are supportive of my grief as we stay at the airport, all of us dazed. The firemen have now doused the flames but the task of bringing out the bodies has begun. Relatives of the locals who were expected on the plane have now arrived, as well as, tour guides who were expecting clients arriving also on the plane. Their clients being mostly young backpackers who were here to trek up the mountains. There were also a few mature people who were booked into the Fishtail Lodge.

  There is chaos everywhere, the harrowing grieving of all the people, the sights and smells of burning flesh, the acid fumes caused by the aviation fuel, now obliterate the beauty of the landscape, and a great plume of smoke is reaching up to an unseen sky.

  Taj’s parents take me back to their house. I am very confused about the Hindu religion and I don’t understand what will happen now. They are very kind to me although they are dealing with their own loss of a son.

  They give me the room I have used before and I curl up in bed in the foetus position and shake with shock and grief. Everything feels unfamiliar.

  I am in a dream world and nothing is as it should be. I begin to long for my own family, my mother and dad who have been there for me, all my life. Their love for my sister and myself has been constant, all our lives. My unhappiness is inconsolable; I need someone to hold me because I feel so alone. I feel an arm around my shoulder and feel the warmth of another human being. Sahida has slipped into bed with me and she wraps me in her arms, and we cry together for what seems like the whole night.

  Dr Menon gently holds us and says we must have some medication so that we will get some rest. He has already seen to his wife and other daughter and they have now settled down. We take the tablets and eventually fall into a drugged sleep.

  Chapter 9

  I awake on my own and the sun is high in the sky. I must have slept for many hours. I am very confused about what will happen next. I know a little of the Hindu religion, the little Taj has told me about. I try to remember the incarnation and the Karma, the actions and consequences of one life being carried to the next. When I was on holiday in Thailand the guide had pointed out a poor shack by the river and a grand villa next door. He told us this story of incarnation, saying that the man that lived in the villa must have lived a good and gracious life, whilst the shack owner had led a bad one. I thought the Thais were Buddhists. Perhaps they share some of the same principles. Samsara is the process of birth and rebirth continuing for life after life. I know that the Hindus believe in cremation and for that matter, so do my parents and I; it is a cleaner way of disposing of the dead. I am so confused and miserable I don’t want to leave my bed. I lie there and try to remember what Ta
j had told me about his beliefs. I remember that a pyre is where the body is burned but Taj is already burned. I remember that most Hindus like their ashes to be cast into the River Ganges, but that river is so far away. What is going to happen?