City of light, city of joy

Benares, Varanasi, one of the world's oldest inhabited cities. It was not his city, but he felt at home there. He sat by the river at dawn and people were there - countless people- praying and bathing and offering up what they could. The sun hit the water and he watched them, not able to offer a libation - just to watch. Efflorescence on the water. It was strange, then, that this moment was the one on which his life turned. He felt an impetus to move.

At the tiny stall of a man he had come to know, he brought tea. Took it back to the room and set it by her bed. Then, later, mangoes and tomatoes and onions and limes and some olive oil from the Ayurvedic shop to make a sort of dressing. He begged a hillock of salt. He thought she would be proud of what he had done.

On the balcony of the room, the light was dazzling. There, with what kit he had, he assembled breakfast for her, called her out from the room. She had drunk her tea but had drifted back to sleep. Lost. But now, she sat. He smoothed her hair, put on her hat for her and gave her what he had made. They said little as they ate and watched the sun on its ascent. The colour of the Ganges changed from white and yellow to the more familiar muddy brown.

Then he stood up and told her that, now, he would stop running, stop travelling and that, whenever he put one foot in front of the other, he would be with her. She understood and that was that.

In the lanes below, the monkeys chattered. They could scent the food he had prepared and were ready to steal. The heat of the day was becoming pressing already and the yoghurt sellers were doing a good trade from their trestles full of clay cups. Later she and he would pack up and move on, no longer alone.
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If you look at www.flickr.com there is an exquisite series of photos from Ahron de Leeuw, of which this is one. Thank you!