Note: Thanks Sasha and Carlie Collins for editing the work to make it presentable and acceptable to Literotica.
*****
The change was very perceptible and even palpable. Fiona Morgan was travelling east, leaving the plains of the Indian heartland. She was a compulsive face turner wherever she happened to be, given her right proportions of curves. It was not the totality of the symphony of curves that mattered; it was the air of cheerfulness that she inadvertently threw all along her paths that mattered. Her mere presence has always had an impact on the people around, as the Full moon has on an otherwise inky night. Suddenly you feel that the world is worth living, suddenly you feel that the world around has a charm and grace you were not aware of hitherto.
She was cooling off after a five long years of stormy demeaning conjugal life. Probably she was giving herself a treat as a reward for the liberation.
The drunken squabbles are no more, nor the sly philandering, the brazen abomination, the barren tomorrows.
Before laying the foundations of a new life of her own, with herself very much at the helm, Fiona wanted to take a break. She had travelled to India from the dry and mechanical expanse of southern California.
The Indian experience was just a curiosity. It had not profoundly influenced her, nor had she stumbled upon some spiritual serendipity that many travelers claimed to have had.
The method-less method of the organic and ever flowing angst stricken crowds. The inexorable greed in the eyes of the people. The spiritual peddlers flooding the temple towns. The squalor and filth that saturate the towns along the holy rivers. The sturdy and rugged men of religion parading stark naked with stones hanging from the phalluses. The strange men with ashes from the crematoria on the river smeared on the body. The invisible divisions of caste color and faith.
India was a curious experience. The ancient country spread proudly and mysteriously before her. It defied the hallowed tenets of equality, dignity and human rights.
Remote and imperious centuries walked with her and whispered to her in a language that was not a language at all.
Suddenly the landscape changed, they had entered a narrow valley along a furious Himalayan river slithering down across the dreamy foothills. Quite dramatically the air turned less dusty and the people appeared languid and relaxed as if there was an infinity before them. The hills were clad in thick foliage drenched and invigorated in the recent pre monsoonal rains. The northern plains of India were blazing in the furious sun of May, almost like her own town of Ontario in California.
The driver was a young Nepali man who was affable and anxious to please her. He jabbered to her in a curious 'English'. He drawled his words to make it appear American. He would have been more legible and understood had he tried his natural accent.
He often pampered his poor fledgling of a mustache which struggled valiantly to assert his masculinity against the odds. His was a delicate and strikingly feminine body.
They followed the river which laughed, squealed and hollered across the unfeeling boulders. The petite foothills by and by gave way to towering mountains that tickled the hazy heavens. It was indeed a sunny sultry day.
In the afternoon they reached a confluence of the mountain rivers where a small town had developed. Small puny rickety shops boasted strange Himalayan goods, in addition to fruits and edible items brought from the plains. The little man of a driver invited her to a small tea shop for refreshments.
Fiona got out and stretched herself, violently breathing in the fresh Himalayan air. She felt very adventurous, entering into a very mysterious world. 'We stumble on our destiny in places and at times we are least prepared for', she thought.
Raj Bahadoor, the Nepali driver, offered her thukpa; a variety of beef soup with vegetable added. It would be unthinkable in mainland India, where having beef is anathema and lynch squads may even kill you.
"Now we will climb uphill madam, beyond those towering hills and be ready for the change of scene. We are going to enter a brave new world," he promised.
"I see," she said and smiled her enchanting smile. She had picked him up from the airport availing of the prepaid taxi service. 'Randomness has a foolproof methodology to goad you to the right hands', she thought.
They began to whirr up their winding way. The dull tin roofs of the town appearing far below them like a lazy jumble of disowned dreams. She gazed at the mountain river like a long silver streak and the mammoth mountain across with geometric patterns of orchards and farmlands. The road was not friendly, it had suffered numerous landslides and mud slumps. On certain stretches the road was almost missing. The driver proved his grit; as it was not an easy task to drive on that treacherous road. The mountain on the southern side basked in the bold afternoon sun, she rolled up the glass window as it was becoming progressively cooler.
Ruddy and cute faces of the Himalayan people appeared from the huts. The Mongolian features were strikingly beautiful, rustic rugged yet charmingly innocent people.
They crossed orchards of orange, cardamom and bamboo. She was intrigued by the huge flags that fluttered from tall bamboo poles.
The driver explained their significance, "they are prayer flags madam, the mantras and prayers printed on them will flutter in the air and prayers will reach the heavens bringing good luck to all the people around. Also, they will ward off evil spirits and ghosts."
"That is interesting." She said.
After having climbed 6000 feet, they reached a fairly large town, which was the district capital. They had scented Himalayan tea and mumu from a shop. The driver watched her enjoying the food half closing his eyes by way of her merry smile. She tasted them like a child experimenting with his new toy.
"Another 2000 feet madam and we are there," he announced. The young man was obviously under the spell of her beauty. Her jeans were hugging her sculptured thighs and the thin beige shirt ecstatically clung to her enchanting full bust.
During the steep climb upward, they entered a forest. The brooding pensive trees consisted of chestnuts in full bloom, with occasional shocks of wood apples. After the moist melancholy woods, they reached a cluster of buildings serving as government offices where May had fondled the cherries along the hedges into riotous bloom. Dahlias and dandelions brought out the best of their prayers to the deep azure heavens.
Again, they plunged into the woods, chestnuts walnuts and pines sulked and prayed. It was already evening. Far on the horizon, she could see the crimson evening sun sweeping past the hazy ridges. They crossed rows of prayer flags and chetens.
