suited to a stylish magazine than the streets of Varanasi.
‘I’m Serena…You’re Irish, aren’t you?’
‘And you’re—’ I paused for a moment, then took a stab in the dark—‘Australian?’
Her face lit up. ‘Most people say American!’
Secretly pleased with my stroke of luck, I asked, ‘How long have you been here for?’
‘Well, I’ve been in Varanasi for two days, but I’ve been stuck in this maze of streets for the last three hours.’
I couldn’t help but laugh.
‘You’re laughing now, but let’s see you get us out of here,’ she joked. ‘Where are you going?’
‘Wherever you want!’ I took her hand and began to lead the way. She didn’t let go, and we walked through the laneways, like sweethearts out for a stroll. There was an odd sense of comfort in walking hand in hand with this complete stranger.
‘So how long have you been in India?’ Serena asked.
‘Only for a few weeks. I ran away from home!’ What made me say that?
‘Hanging out with a fugitive, am I?’ Her easiness was infectious.
After a while she paused. ‘Haven’t we been down this street already! I’m nearly positive I’ve seen that cow before!’
A large spotted cow blocked our path and we edged our way around its backside, getting a slap from its tail as we passed.
‘That’s a different cow, it’s a friend of the other one.’
‘I still think we’re lost,’ she responded, giving me a mischievous grin.
‘Trust me,’ I said coyly. ‘I have it all well under control. I’m bringing you the long way so that we can take in a bit of the scenery.’ There was no scenery, nothing but narrow streets that were long ago forgotten by the sun.
‘Are you here with anyone?’ I asked in trepidation. ‘Yeah. I’m here on my honeymoon!’ A shiver ran down my spine but she squeezed my hand tightly. ‘Only kidding. I’m here alone. I packed my bags, booked a ticket and here I am.’
We entered a street crowded with everything imaginable: people, cars, rickshaws, cattle; it was like trying to enter a football stadium while its last crowd was still leaving. I hung on to her tightly.
‘Do you hear that?’ she asked. ‘Voices—chanting?’
It was low at first, just a hum growing in the distance, but definitely coming in our direction.
‘What is it? A protest, a rally?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘A funeral.’
And from around a corner there suddenly emerged a crowd—a hundred people, all running, and all chanting. Held aloft on a thin wooden bed was the draped body of an elderly woman, clearly on her wayto the Golden Temple. Before we had time to comment, the crowd was passing by, a fleet of runners, their voices raised to the heavens.
‘Come on. Follow the dead woman.’ Serena released my hand. Together we ran among the swarm of mourners, behind their beloved departed, until finally the crowd reached the Golden Temple.
When I looked around, though, Serena was nowhere to be seen. She couldn’t have gone too far, I thought, she had been right beside me.
I searched again. But she had vanished into thin air. As a last resort, I returned to the rooftop and looked down from the balcony for her. Still I couldn’t see her—she had disappeared, just like that.
I turned for the exit and began to walk down the concrete stairs. Near the bottom I stopped, a sense coming over me that I was being watched. I turned, hoping to see Serena. She wasn’t there; instead at the top of the stairs stood the young Indian girl whose hand I’d refused earlier.
‘You look lost.’ Her voice was soft and sweet, her big brown eyes looked at me without judgment, without any anger.
I gulped. Slowly I walked back up the stairs. The little girl watched. She seated herself on the top stepand, on reaching it, I sat down beside her.
‘I think perhaps I am a bit lost,’ I replied. The young girl said nothing. ‘What is your name?’ I asked.
‘My name is Bauna.’ She played with her long black hair as she spoke.
‘I’m Serena…You’re Irish, aren’t you?’
‘And you’re—’ I paused for a moment, then took a stab in the dark—‘Australian?’
Her face lit up. ‘Most people say American!’
Secretly pleased with my stroke of luck, I asked, ‘How long have you been here for?’
‘Well, I’ve been in Varanasi for two days, but I’ve been stuck in this maze of streets for the last three hours.’
I couldn’t help but laugh.
‘You’re laughing now, but let’s see you get us out of here,’ she joked. ‘Where are you going?’
‘Wherever you want!’ I took her hand and began to lead the way. She didn’t let go, and we walked through the laneways, like sweethearts out for a stroll. There was an odd sense of comfort in walking hand in hand with this complete stranger.
‘So how long have you been in India?’ Serena asked.
‘Only for a few weeks. I ran away from home!’ What made me say that?
‘Hanging out with a fugitive, am I?’ Her easiness was infectious.
After a while she paused. ‘Haven’t we been down this street already! I’m nearly positive I’ve seen that cow before!’
A large spotted cow blocked our path and we edged our way around its backside, getting a slap from its tail as we passed.
‘That’s a different cow, it’s a friend of the other one.’
‘I still think we’re lost,’ she responded, giving me a mischievous grin.
‘Trust me,’ I said coyly. ‘I have it all well under control. I’m bringing you the long way so that we can take in a bit of the scenery.’ There was no scenery, nothing but narrow streets that were long ago forgotten by the sun.
‘Are you here with anyone?’ I asked in trepidation. ‘Yeah. I’m here on my honeymoon!’ A shiver ran down my spine but she squeezed my hand tightly. ‘Only kidding. I’m here alone. I packed my bags, booked a ticket and here I am.’
We entered a street crowded with everything imaginable: people, cars, rickshaws, cattle; it was like trying to enter a football stadium while its last crowd was still leaving. I hung on to her tightly.
‘Do you hear that?’ she asked. ‘Voices—chanting?’
It was low at first, just a hum growing in the distance, but definitely coming in our direction.
‘What is it? A protest, a rally?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘A funeral.’
And from around a corner there suddenly emerged a crowd—a hundred people, all running, and all chanting. Held aloft on a thin wooden bed was the draped body of an elderly woman, clearly on her wayto the Golden Temple. Before we had time to comment, the crowd was passing by, a fleet of runners, their voices raised to the heavens.
‘Come on. Follow the dead woman.’ Serena released my hand. Together we ran among the swarm of mourners, behind their beloved departed, until finally the crowd reached the Golden Temple.
When I looked around, though, Serena was nowhere to be seen. She couldn’t have gone too far, I thought, she had been right beside me.
I searched again. But she had vanished into thin air. As a last resort, I returned to the rooftop and looked down from the balcony for her. Still I couldn’t see her—she had disappeared, just like that.
I turned for the exit and began to walk down the concrete stairs. Near the bottom I stopped, a sense coming over me that I was being watched. I turned, hoping to see Serena. She wasn’t there; instead at the top of the stairs stood the young Indian girl whose hand I’d refused earlier.
‘You look lost.’ Her voice was soft and sweet, her big brown eyes looked at me without judgment, without any anger.
I gulped. Slowly I walked back up the stairs. The little girl watched. She seated herself on the top stepand, on reaching it, I sat down beside her.
‘I think perhaps I am a bit lost,’ I replied. The young girl said nothing. ‘What is your name?’ I asked.
‘My name is Bauna.’ She played with her long black hair as she spoke.
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