Finding Arun (25 page)

‘I guess I could push my flight back a bit?’

Chandni’s face lit up and she smiled the smile that
made Arun’s head retreat back into its overly sensible box.

‘Are you sure? I don’t want to keep you from your
responsibilities back home.’

‘Positive,’ he affirmed, the huge grin plastered
across his face mirroring Chandni’s own.

They stood facing each other, the warmth of the sun
beating down on them almost in celebration of the act that they had
just committed to, and Arun knew, without reservation, that he had
made the right choice. He was happy, Chandni was happy, and Lucky
and Hanara would be equally pleased when they found out that he
planned to stay a little longer. They continued to beam at each
other adoringly, whilst Arun collected the three packets of salted
nuts that were the real purpose of Chandni’s visit, and then he
watched dreamily while she sauntered down the road, turning back
intermittently to smile at him shyly.

When Chandni had disappeared completely from view,
Arun settled himself back into the shop and lazily daydreamed of
what was to come in the fading light. He had asked Chandni to spend
time alone with him and she had said yes; it was a perfect end to
the day. His heart was content and though his head made one final
attempt to reason with him, reminding him that Arthur would be
furious about a further extension to his stay, he dismissed the
thought as quickly as it arrived, recalling Chandni’s very
pertinent words; it wasn’t about what pleased his father, it was
about what pleased him.

ON the morning of Rath Yatra, Arun rose earlier than
usual, too excited to continue sleeping. To his surprise, both
Lucky and Hanara were already awake, preparing for the departure to
Puri. Arun had arranged for them all to spend one night in the city
at the Mayfair Beach Resort Hotel; a gift of thanks for the
kindness with which they had welcomed him into both their hearts
and their home. He wanted to give them a chance to relax together
without the stresses of the shop and house, or Lucky having to
worry about navigating them home through the crowds when the
procession ended. It had been a simple matter to change the room
reservation for what should have been his final night before
returning to England, and a night in the city would allow him
access to a telephone in order to make the call to Arthur that he
had deliberately been avoiding.

They travelled to the city in Lucky’s rickshaw,
chattering away and feeding off each other’s excitement, until
collectively their energy pulsed around them like a force field.
The roads were buzzing too as devotees descended upon Puri from far
and wide, and tourists lined the broad streets hoping to catch a
glimpse of the great Jagannath. Arun couldn’t remember the last
time that he had seen so many people gathered in one place and the
noise that they generated was deafening. Pilgrims shouted across to
one another, beating tambourines and drums in time to the rhythmic
cries of the street sellers, rickshaw drivers touted competitively
for business, and it wasn’t long before the familiar domes of the
mandir came into view in the distance.

When they were no longer really advancing through
the thick crowds, Lucky pulled the rickshaw to one side and
squeezed it between several other haphazardly parked vehicles
beneath a small tree.

‘Here we are,’ he announced enthusiastically.

‘I can’t believe how many people there are,’ said
Arun, dismounting and immediately running his hands through his
hair to calm the bouffant that had formed on account of Lucky’s
erratic driving. His hair was starting to get long and unkempt
again, and though the hairs on the back of his neck routinely
dampened with sweat from the heat that they trapped, the hairstyle
made him resemble Lucky more closely, a fact which made Arun feel
more like one of the family.

Collecting their small overnight bags from within
the rickshaw, the trio linked arms and joined the throng of
worshippers and voyeurs, pushing through the crowds to find a good
spot from which to watch the procession. Arun became lost in his
surroundings, mesmerised by the myriad sights and sounds of the
organised chaos that typified India, and it was all that he could
do to keep from being separated from his siblings as they were
shunted along by the growing crowd. Eventually, they managed to
settle into a slightly elevated spot set back from the Bada Danda,
giving them a perfect view of the grand avenue along which the
three deities would be paraded.

Three lavishly decorated wooden chariots, each
resembling a small temple structure, lined the eastern entrance to
the mandir and spanned the full width of the road. The
constructions were an impressive sight at over forty feet high,
their domed, striped canopies emblazoned with crests, and topped by
giant spindles and flags that fluttered romantically in the breeze.
Each canopy swooped down dramatically, stopping just short of a
stepped wooden base, to reveal porticos draped in low-hanging,
orange valances. The wooden bases created a platform around each
portico and were almost entirely ringed by low fences swathed in
flowers. Complicated cage-like structures extended from the
platform down to the ground and protectively encased the brightly
painted wheels that supported each chariot. The sides of each
structure were decorated with small golden shrines, bedecked in
garlands of freshly picked marigolds, and three wide wooden ramps
rose up to meet the front of each chariot, providing access to the
raised platforms.

A wall of blue-uniformed officials held back the
restless crowd, who were jostling each other forcefully, craning
their necks to secure a glimpse of the majestic chariots. The crowd
extended as far as the eye could see and, much to Arun’s surprise,
it was peppered with a mix of devotees, both young and old, all
waiting impatiently in the scorching heat. With no space left
unfilled, he struggled to see how the crowds could ever be
sufficiently displaced to allow the chariots to proceed,
unobstructed, down the Bada Danda, but Lucky was quick to offer a
sombre account of pilgrims being crushed and killed each year,
whilst trying to pull or touch the passing chariots. It was a
sobering thought, and in an uncharacteristic move, whilst exuberant
cries carried on the wind over the drone of religious song that
rang out from the loudspeakers stationed around the mandir, Arun
offered up a silent prayer that no-one would be hurt this year.

His prayers were interrupted by a sudden surge in
noise from the crowd and by Lucky tugging insistently at his elbow,
pointing towards the mandir like an excited child the night before
Christmas. Arun followed the line cast by his brother’s finger to
the main entrance, where the deities were finally beginning to
emerge. The noise from the crowd continued to escalate, accompanied
by the eclectic sounds of instruments being struck, blown or
beaten, until even Arun was unable to escape the sense of euphoria
that had gripped the crowd below. In the crush of devotees it was
difficult to see clearly, as first the celestial wheel, then
Balabhadra, Subhadra and finally Jagannath were carried out of the
mandir. When the elaborate wraps and floral decorations that
surrounded them were stripped away, the dark wooden statues were
much smaller than Arun had envisaged that they would be. Yet with
each statue requiring over fifteen men to carry it from the mandir
to its waiting chariot, it was evident that the gods were
deceptively heavy.

The volume of the crowd surged once again until a
steady chant formed the deafening backdrop against which the
deities were to be carried from the mandir in a seductive,
drunk-like dance. Several hours passed by as the celestial wheel
was placed beneath the red and black striped canopy of the central
chariot, followed by the transport of Balabhadra to the chariot
closest to Arun, which featured a red and blue canopy. Subhadra
appeared to move faster than her brother, with the devotees almost
rushing through the procession to settle her into the central
chariot, then last came the great Jagannath in the most regal
procession of all. Largely obscured from view by the many hands
that gripped him, Jagannath was proudly carried to his red and
yellow canopied chariot amidst a flurry of dancers performing to
the synchronised beats of drums and gongs, whilst the crowd
repeatedly chanted the names of the gods and jumped around
ecstatically.

Shortly after the deities were in position, a
smaller procession began to make its way up the Bada Danda,
dragging Arun’s eyes away from the spectacle of the chariots. A
large caparisoned elephant lumbered up the wide road and behind it
several men carried an elegant, silver-coloured palanquin, though
Arun was unable to make out who, or what, was inside from such a
great height. On arriving at the mandir a young man, dressed
entirely in white, emerged from within the palanquin and set about
performing a series of rituals. Climbing each of the chariots in
turn, he knelt or bowed in prayer to the seated deity, before
sweeping the surrounding platform with a golden broom and
sprinkling colourful flowers and holy water across its surface.
When he had completed the ritual on the final chariot, the young
man departed and the crowds were whipped up into a frenzy once more
when the chariots were primed for the climax of the day’s
festivities: the pulling of the chariots to the Gundicha
Mandir.

Brown, black and white wooden horses were affixed to
the three chariots, along with thick ropes a few hundred feet in
length. This alone took over an hour to complete and though Arun’s
legs were beginning to ache from standing for so long, and his
stomach ached from not having eaten all day, he remained rooted to
the spot, not wanting to miss a moment of the celebrations. His
patience was duly rewarded when the pulling of the chariots finally
commenced. Balabhadra’s chariot was first, followed by Subhadra’s,
but it was during the grand finale, when Jagannath’s chariot began
its slow journey along the Bada Danda, that Arun felt a wave of
elation wash over him, as he shared in the moment with the
half-a-million people gathered around him. Initially the ropes were
taken up by official-looking priests, but soon visiting pilgrims
were diving into the street to assist, hurling themselves against
the crush of the overexcited crowd for the opportunity to touch
Jagannath’s chariot, an act considered to be auspicious by
devotees.

Those that hung back continued to chant devotional
songs, strike their drums and tambourines, or trumpet loudly with
unquestionable devotion. Small children lined the streets adding
their own chatter and songs to the hubbub, and absorbing the
electric ambience, Arun was glad that he had listened to Lucky and
stayed to experience the festival. The colours, sounds, sights and
smells were all things that he had come to know and love during his
short time in India, and watching his brother and sister, both
equally absorbed in the passing spectacle, he felt a sense of peace
and satisfaction lift his spirits even higher.

Several hours later when the procession had passed
some way down the Bada Danda, the light fading rapidly, the three
siblings made their way back to street level, where the crowds had
dispersed leaving only mountains of rubbish behind. Remarkably
Lucky’s rickshaw was still in the exact place that they had left it
and it wasn’t long before they had packed themselves into its tiny
confines once more, bound for the Mayfair Beach Resort Hotel. The
journey passed quickly with Lucky quizzing Arun on what he had seen
and what his favourite parts of the festival had been, but reliving
the day over again made Arun realise that it was more significant
to him than any other since his arrival. He had seen and done so
much with Lucky during the earlier part of his visit, yet having
Hanara present to witness the majestic elegance of Rath Yatra with
them had somehow made the experience, and their family, more
complete.

Before long they were being greeted by the familiar
smile of the concierge and when he ordered his staff to carry their
bags from the rickshaw into the hotel, Lucky and Hanara became
giddy with excitement. Unaccustomed to being treated like such
important guests, they snuck along behind Arun, whispering and
gasping at the hotel’s opulent interior, whilst being careful to
stick closely to their brother, for fear that they might appear out
of place and be asked to leave. Though Arun had spent two weeks at
the Mayfair Beach Resort Hotel, it felt strange to be back in such
luxurious surroundings, and finding himself missing the homely
simplicity of Mata-ji’s house, he wondered how he was going to
adjust to life back in London when he was finally forced to
return.

When they arrived at their room for the night, Arun
watched Lucky and Hanara’s reaction to the space and amenities with
great amusement. Hanara marvelled at the size and spring of the
bed, and the cleanliness of the sheets and towels, whilst Lucky
became enamoured with the balcony and its breathtaking views of the
large pool and sea. Both opened the doors to every cupboard,
drawer, minibar and safe that they could find, curious to inspect
the contents, and when they had finished gushing and gawping at
their luxurious surrounds, Lucky excitedly announced that he was
off to take a very long shower in the huge marble bathroom. Hanara
settled herself onto the balcony to watch the sun descend into the
sea and Arun took the opportunity to make the call that he had been
dreading all day.

‘Hello?’

‘Arthur, hi, it’s me, Arun.’

‘Oh hello, how are you? Are you well? Is everything
okay?’ came Arthur’s worried voice all at once.

‘Yes, I’m fine. How are you?’

‘Yes, not bad … not bad at all … looking forward to
having you home finally.’