Hindoo Holiday by J.R. Ackerley

Author:J.R. Ackerley
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-59017-524-8
Publisher: New York Review Books
Published: 2012-10-31T04:00:00+00:00

Since his show of irresolution a few days ago His Highness has not spoken to me again about his pilgrimage. Such incidental allusions as he has made to it have implied that he has accepted the inevitable with resignation; and though he does not cease to complain of ill-health, it seems settled that he will depart in four days’ time. It is my own fault, I expect, that I don’t know much about it. Since the original plan was that we should synchronize our holidays, I naturally tried to keep him up to the mark, feeling that my own tour depended upon his; and, since my urgings have increased with his reluctance, he no doubt feels me to be out of sympathy with him and leaves the subject alone. But now that, what with introductory letters and invitations and one thing and another, it seems assured that, independently of his plans, I am to leave for Benares on the 19th, it makes no difference to me whether he goes on his pilgrimage or not. So while we were driving to-day I carefully approached the subject to find out if he was feeling any more cheerful about it. He wasn’t. He was very gloomy, and said there was no improvement in his health, and that the medicine the doctors gave him made his eyes water. I asked what the exact object of his pilgrimage was, and he explained that he was under obligation to perform certain religious rites at certain holy places to obtain absolution for the souls of his ancestors. There was no definite punishment for failing to do this, but the souls would continue in everlasting need of it, and this neglect would count as a bad act against him and, along with such other bad acts as he may have committed, operate to send him to hell and delay his passage through the cycle of transmigrations to reabsorption into the one Universal Spirit.

“What is hell?” I asked.

“Hell is fire and blood, flesh, bones, dung, urine, and serpents and dragons that prey upon you,” he announced, discharging each item in this unsavory concoction almost with relish, and beating his knee with his hand. I giggled at this.

“Dear me,” I said.

“And pus!” he added with gusto, his sunken lips blowing out as he spat the word at me. Then he giggled himself, but not very good-humoredly.

“Never mind,” I said. “One doesn’t stay there permanently. One is born again, isn’t one?”

“Yes,” he said, “as a pig or a donkey; then back into hell; then as a serpent; then as an insect . . .”

It was clear that he was not feeling very well.

“But there is always hope?” I asked encouragingly.

“Yes, after millions and millions of reincarnations one gets back to the shape of a man and has another chance.”

“Does one ever run across one’s injured ancestors on the way?”

“Perhaps by chance. But it is not likely. It is only great love that brings people together again. So that two friends may go on together, or a father and son, a brother and sister, if there was great love between them.

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