Footing the bill
I knew it was a mistake to have a hire car in India.
As we
left Delhi airport, it was like finding myself in a video game.
Cars sped past, ignoring traffic lights and speed limits as Gerry
swerved to avoid the rickshaws and tuk-tuks and people.
‘Ten points for a beggar,’ shouted Gerry, oblivious to any danger.
I tightened my seatbelt. ‘Slow down; you'll hit someone.’
When a
passing ox forced the traffic to a halt, a man, or rather a walking skeleton,
tapped on my window. He held out a filth-encrusted hand, his words inaudible
against the traffic's roar.
‘Keep
your window up, Angela,’ said Gerry. ‘Hopefully, we'll be out of this jam soon.
Absolute maniacs.’
Eventually,
the traffic thinned, and skyscrapers and office blocks became fields and
ramshackle dwellings.
Gerry
parked up at a small cafĂ©. ‘How are you feeling?’ he asked. ‘You look pale. Have
you tested your sugar lately?’
‘Bloody
diabetes. I'm ok. I just need a Pepsi. How far to Agra?’
‘Another
30 miles. These bumpy roads aren't doing much for my back.’
‘I
don't mind driving now; it’s quieter. It's not fair if you do it all. I knew we
should have booked a tour.’
‘Nonsense,
I'm not doing the Taj in ten minutes. You won't find me trapped on a coach full
of old biddies, while a guide rambles on about his ‘marvellous country.’
Gerry
really needed to work on his Indian accent.
As we
got out of the car, a troop of monkeys playing on a nearby verge pattered over
towards me. ‘Look, Gerry, how cute. I'll follow you in.’
Gerry
wrinkled his nose. ‘This place is a dump. I think I'll just grab us a takeaway
sandwich and a drink.’
While I
waited outside, I remembered a bruised banana in my bag. ‘Anyone hungry?’ I
called. When I’d peeled off the skin, a large monkey ran over, snatched the
banana from my hand and bared its teeth. Luckily for me, Gerry reappeared and
shouted at it. The monkeys scampered up into the trees and glared at us.
‘We can
do without rabies,’ he said.
I know
it was stupid, but that monkey unnerved me. That's why I forgot to check my
sugar.
***
On the
approach to Agra, the tiredness seeped in as the road around me filled with
cars. The lights suddenly changed, and a man stepped out in front of me. I hit
the brakes and the car juddered as I ran over something. I heard screaming, and
a man ran into the street shouting ‘Rohan! You just hit my brother.’
The car
stalled and I sat gripping the steering wheel, unable to move.
‘Shit,’
said Gerry, getting out of the car. ‘I think you ran over his foot.’
‘Take
us to the hospital,’ shouted Rohan’s brother.
‘Angie,
get in the passenger side,’ Gerry ordered. ‘And give me your scarf; we need it
for a tourniquet. Why wasn't he wearing shoes?’
Forcing
myself to get out of the car, I glimpsed a squashed mess of blood and bone as
Gerry helped Rohan into the back. I tried to ignore his cries as Gerry drove us
to Agra hospital.
Hours
later, we were still at the hospital waiting for news. Gerry was drinking
coffee as if nothing had happened, but I felt clammy and sick. Would I be
arrested? What if the man died?
Sanjay,
Rohan’s brother finally appeared. ‘The doctors say he will recover, but they've
amputated his foot. Please, can you help him?’
Gerry
cleared his throat. ‘Look, it was a terrible accident, but they can do wonderful
things with prosthetic limbs these days.’
‘Give
him some money,’ I said, scowling at Gerry.
Gerry
sighed and took out his wallet. ‘Please give your brother our apologies and
wish him a speedy recovery.’ He pushed a 3000-rupee note into the man's hand.
‘Now we must get to our hotel.’
‘But
this is an insult!’ Sanjay called after us. ‘My brother cannot live on this!’
As
we headed for the exit, I whispered to Gerry, ‘Can't you give a bit more, I
don't want him to starve.’
‘Rubbish,’
said Gerry. ‘He'll probably earn more now from begging than before. Some people
maim themselves deliberately.’
‘You
won't get away with this,’ Sanjay shouted behind us. ‘This is outrageous.’
‘Keep
walking’, said Gerry ‘Whatever we'd have given that man, it would never have
been enough. You know what these people are like.’
‘But…’
‘It was
an accident, wasn't it? Unless you hit him deliberately?’
‘Of
course, not.’
‘Then
don't let it ruin our trip. Let's get to the hotel; we've got an early start.
The majestic Taj Mahal will take your mind off it.’
***
Gerry
was right. As I stepped through the arched entrance gates and saw the most
beautiful building in the world, I forgot about the man and his brother. The
Taj Mahal was a jewel set in acres of ornamental gardens, fountains and tombs.
I posed on the bench where Princess Diana had her famous photograph, then
holding hands, we entered the white-domed mausoleum. The interior was
surprisingly tiny. ‘A bit like Doctor Who’s TARDIS in reverse,’ said Gerry
kissing my forehead. ‘Happy Anniversary, darling.’ We stood in silence by the
tomb of Mumtaz Mahal, then Gerry went outside to take some more photos.
Enjoying
the peace, I crouched down for a moment tracing the delicate star patterns on
the tiles with my fingers. When I looked up, I saw a man on crutches, watching
me. He was draped in a filthy loincloth, and his smile revealed a row of
rotting teeth. His right leg ended in a stump.
I
ran out of the mausoleum and grabbed hold of Gerry, gasping for breath. ‘The
man whose foot I ran over. He's followed us here.’
‘Don't
be ridiculous. He's back in the hospital. Let me have a look.’
I
stood, shaking until Gerry returned. What had we done?’
‘No one
there at all.’ He said. ‘I doubt he'd have moved very fast on crutches. You
must have been mistaken. Are you due another injection?’
Maybe
it was my diabetes, or the heat, or just the emotion of the past few days. We
spent the rest of the day at the hotel, then I slept undisturbed until morning.
***
I
would have preferred a couple of days relaxing, but Gerry was insistent we
carried on Varanasi.
'It's
meant to be like nothing else on earth.’ he said. ‘The heart of the Ganges. A
magical place.’
‘But
Varanasi is the place where people go to die.’
‘Well
yes, but that's hardly why we're going. It would be a shame to waste our
internal flights.’
‘Alright
Gerry.’
As the
plane descended, I saw pillars of smoke rising from the banks of the river, and
my heart sank. I'd had enough of misery, enough of India, but Gerry was
fiddling with his camera, eager to add to his latest portfolio.
We
walked down a multitude of dark and twisting alleyways to the Ghats. The air
was alive with smoke, incense and something unknown and acidic, while our
voices mingled with a cacophony of drums, chanting and sitars.
We took
a boat ride down the Ganges which revealed a river teeming with people:
washing; bathing; crossing in small boats; and herding water buffalo.
‘No
photos please,’ said our guide, as we approached an area bright with the flames
of funeral pyres. We watched with morbid fascination as families stood in
silence while their relatives' bodies turned to ash. When I eventually turned
away, I saw a dark shape bobbing alongside the boat. At first, I thought it was
an animal, but to my horror, I realised it was the body of a man, his flesh rotted
after weeks in the water. As the corpse floated past, I cried out. The body was
missing its right foot.
I've
had a lot of time to think about that corpse, the beggar and poor Rohan, as two
weeks later I was convalescing in Ealing Hospital. The pain in my ankle had
started on the plane home. Sue, my diabetes nurse, said she had never seen
anyone's condition deteriorate so fast.
The
itching was unbearable. Gerry called it Phantom Limb syndrome. As a child, I
had seen a ghost, but when I lifted the bedclothes, I saw only an empty space
where my foot used to be.
Sue and
Gerry sat by my bedside. ‘When can I go back to work, Sue?’ I asked. Staying at
home with Gerry suddenly seemed more terrifying than living with one foot.
‘There's
no need to rush back,’ said Gerry. ‘We don't need the money.’
I
couldn’t resist. ‘I might even earn more money - now that I'm maimed.’
‘Your
husband's right,’ said Sue, ignoring my comment. ‘You need to time recover.
You've had some awful bad luck. It's the curse of diabetes, I'm afraid.’
‘Oh
yes,’ I said. ‘We know it was a curse, don’t we, Gerry?’
But for
once, Gerry kept quiet.
* * *
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