Chapter 16 - Death of a Himalayan Sadhu - India 1970

B gasps as he tries to keep up with M and icy air darts into his lungs. As they climb these treeless heights the wind hunts them down and steals the heat from their sweating faces. D tries to wrap his cloth around his head but then the path encounters some severe drops to the side and he needs every inch of visibility he can get.

He's still trying to understand what M meant when he asked if he felt like being an undertaker.

"Is somebody dead?" He asked. M turned to face him with a mischievous grin and replied.

"Not yet!" And D knew he wouldn't get any more out of the old man than that.

They've been walking for five hours now and as they obviously aren't going to be coming down the same day, D prays that they might be visiting someone with a good stock of firewood and a big pot of dal on the fire. The rains are over but the cold is back with a vengeance and D guesses that the grass slopes they pass suffer a blanket of frost each night.

The last part of the walk sees the path petering out altogether until they are just scrambling up the surest route they can pick out on a tricky incline of loose shingle that cuts B's ankles. It feels like a desert up here and D imagines with dread the mission of gathering firewood at a height so inhospitable to life of any kind. Long before they see the inevitable cave, they hear its occupant as he shouts:

"Damn sister-fucking black as shit Harijans!" A rasping old voice howls, clattering pans in his hands. They take the last few steps up to the level of the cave and see a naked old man more bone than flesh, dancing around in rage with long, scrawny dreads hanging down from his beard and the back of his head. They swing in the wind as he turns to behold his first visitors in half a year and stares at them as though they are about to rob him of his provisions of ghee. Finally he recognizes M and relaxes a little, though he keeps a sharp eye on D.

"Hmm, please sit. I was just having a disagreement with the crows - They stole my spoon!"

"It sounds like you were ready to put one of them in your pot." D quips, his exhaustion leading him to forget the subtle etiquette advisable when dealing with cantankerous old sadhus. The naked baba leaps over to him and shouts in his face:

"You think I'm gone enough in the brain to poison myself, do you? What kind of snot-nosed ferenghi fool are you not to know that eating a crow means death? You dung-for-brains Muslim!" His face is thrust so close to D that he can smell that the old man drinks his own urine. "But maybe you're right." the sadhu says, shrugging his shoulders, turning away, "Maybe I have had enough of it all."

"Well, I hope so because that's why we're here! It was a damned long climb and you haven't even offered us chai yet." M volunteers cheerfully.

"Do you see any cows grazing round here, licking their own nipples?" Comes the muttered response from inside the cave. The sadhu who is known as Fargalji emerges from his cave with a platter of dried fruit and boiled sweets.

"So how is it with the healing? Did you find a cure for life yet?" Fargalji shakes in what seems more like an asthmatic fit than laughter.

"Yes, I tell my patients to jump off a cliff." M counters with a chuckle and Fargalji immediately reverts to his usual severe frown. He turns to D who is sitting on a stone a couple of meters away from what he perceives to be the danger zone.

"You! What's the matter - You're too good for dates and sweets? Prefer crow meat, do you?" D doesn't reply but takes a small handful from the proffered plate. Fargalji tutts in satisfaction and remarks to M: "See how much he took? That plate will be empty before the sun goes down!" He and M then talk rapidly in a dialect unknown to D and which he suspects is a tongue known only to certain sects of these old sadhus.

After an hour of this, Fargalji suddenly turns to D and pokes him in the ribs with a speed unexpected of this ancient man. "Hey, small-balls! Think you're pretty good with languages, huh? Can you talk crow?"

"No." D admits.

"You see?" Fargalji turns to M "These sahibs want to teach us everything and know nothing themselves! Now watch!" He raises back his throat and projects a series of rasping croaks into the valley in front of them that is mostly shrouded in mist. A crow wheels by to see what's going on. The sadhu repeats his call and the crow flutters in to perch on his outstretched palm. They gargle at each other for a while and Fargalji cocks his head at D.

"That's the formalities done! But don't be fooled by the good manners - I wouldn't let him come closer than arm's length for he'd just as soon peck out my eyes as he would pluck a worm from the soil!" The crow juts his beak around in cold appraisal of the scene and then caws a brief spurt of noise at Fargalji who turns again to D. "He says he wants to meet you!"

B puts out his hand and the crow leaps over and proceeds to scrutinize him with a cold, beady stare. Having come to some kind of grim conclusion the bird gives a shiver and shits warm black droppings onto B's hand. The old sadhu rocks with asphyxiated laughter, "You don't know how lucky you are!" he cries with moist eyes, "That's as high a blessing for wealth as can be had! But I don't know what you'll do with diamonds up here - Maybe they're good for slicing papaya!" the bird flies off and M speaks.

"So have we come all this way to watch circus tricks or are you going to get on with it?"

"What? Doesn't your disciple want to see me suck up water through my penis?"

"No, he does not."

"Oh." Fargalji accepts, his head hanging forwards sadly. "All the old knowledge dies sooner or later! Okay, okay, it's time I know - But I want some privacy so please take a walk." M signals to D that they should leave and they take a small trail to the left of the cave that leads to a small stream that somewhere down below will grow into a ferocious river. They take a seat by the water and M starts to pack into his pockets some of the juniper flowers growing there.

The path down to the water is worn and D wonders how many thousands of times the resident holy man has tottered down here to collect water and to wash. The whole place is so used to the presence of just one person that D almost feels they are trespassing by sitting upon the moss-covered rocks. He dimly wonders if he will end up like this and the daunting thought shakes him to attention.

"What are we waiting for, exactly?" He asks and M glances back in surprise.

"Didn't you guess yet?" And he will say no more as he looks away into the distance. Bodies of cloud swirl in the shafts of late afternoon sunshine that don't do much to warm things up at this height yet they lend more optimism to the austere scene.

They wait for another hour and D feels increasingly uneasy in the chilly dampness hanging thick in the air. It seems to seep into his joints. Finally, M raises himself as if from a dream and announces:

"Right! That should be long enough!"

They round the winding path back to the cave mouth where they find Fargalji sitting hunched on the central rock with a white shroud about him. He is stone dead.

"Yoo hoo!" M calls, pressing the naked baba's eyes with his thumbs to make sure. "So, it's time to carry out his last request." he explains, reaching in his satchel for something.

"What was wrong with him?" D asks, still a little behind events.

"There was nothing wrong." M snaps impatiently "He'd had enough! He chose to die - Real sadhus have that right." he withdraws a long, sharp knife and throws Fargalji's body forwards.

"What are you going to do?" D asks in alarm.

"Make life more easy for the crows - He wanted them to have at least one good feed at his expense." M inserts the knife into the space between the shoulder blade and the first arm comes free. "Though, really, there's not that much meat left on him."

"But shouldn't we burn him or something?"

"No need - He attended his own funeral as part of his initiation fifty years ago." M explains and continues to cut his old friend into many pieces. Already the sound of the crows grows thick as a gang of the black thugs musters above. "Okay, that should do it - Let's go." M announces, cleaning his knife on a rag and heading down the path with a rather disturbed disciple coming behind him. D looks back once and wishes he hadn't as the first crow lands and stabs the eyes, the most delicious part.

They are silent for the downward journey that takes them to the tree-line of a forest that was partly destroyed by a storm the year before. They set about gathering wood for the fire to see them through the night where only one will sleep at a time, whilst the other keeps the flames alive. D is to sleep first but before he closes his eyes he asks M.

"Will I also be able to choose to die up here?"

"It remains to be seen if you'll choose to live up here." M responds and a silence falls as heavy as the night, save for the vibrant crackle of the fire which knows how to enjoy life while it has the chance.