Peace of a turning wheel
India thrills me. She generously hands out shocks of emotions and grips me with her surprising and varied culture, her crowds of people. She girds her head with the precious crown of the highest mountains on Earth, grand triumph of this extraordinary country. My itinerary headed to the far North, touching significant stages on the way, milestones on my route and lighthouses for as many cultures and civilisations. In order to eventually get to the places where the immensity of nature brings you back to the peace of a turning wheel, the Buddhist prayer wheel, and to the time of a cyclic cosmos depicted in a mandala.
I'm waiting in the yard for departure time, at 4 pm. I have made arrangements to go by shared taxi to the Pakistani border, 30 km away from Amritsar, where every evening a closing ceremony is held. A huge crowd follows the event from either side of the border supporting their respective nation with cheers that a speaker calls for from his microphone, while the guards emboldened by such encouragement march up and down with military paces so exaggeratedly ample as to look funny and farcical. From either side the guards go as far as to shake hands before locking the gate for the night and lower the flags.
From the steps that overlook the pool of water in whose centre the Golden Temple floats, at 10 pm, I'm afflicted by a fatigue that is just waiting for me to rest my head on the pillow to strike me unawares. My head is wrapped in a kerchief as the ritual of the holy place prescribes. I am steeped in a humid heat in spite of the night, and am listening in ecstasy to the sweet melody of readers and musicians that throughout the day never interrupt their performance.