Updated: Jul 1
The last place where I lived in the mountains was a remote location where some monks had given me shelter. They would regularly apply ghee to my wounds till I fully recovered from the bashing on my body.
I’d just suffered 1st degree of frostbite in my right ankle, severe back pain due to direct exposure to snow and burns and cracks in my skin due to high altitude exposure to the sun. And I didn’t have much warm clothing except for a Tibetan sweater a Frenchman, Pascal, had given me.
So, this was at a much lower altitude. The food here was wholesome and with time, this ancient spot became my abode. I would clean the place, learn how to chop firewood, and tilt the land. Grow vegetables. Wash utensils. Laze around.
Real-life chopping of dry trees with an axe is very different from what we see in movies. On the first attempt, my axe flew off. Whoosh !! Fortunately, nobody’s head got chopped off.
Anyways, life had come to such a point, I was deciding to embrace monkhood. And hello, not to search for spirituality but to ensure I found a permanent roof to sleep and eat. Like a home. But this was in contradiction with monkhood. Come on, monks don’t have homes. And I needed a home and didn’t have a farthing in my pocket.
Also, nearby villagers were getting suspicious of me. The situation was getting tricky.
Weeks to months to nearly a year had passed. I was getting used to the low-altitude warmth and comfort of life thereafter almost having lost my ankle in the snow. And I still hadn’t embraced monkhood.
But what happened to my libido?
See, when you are up against the wall walking through miles of snow-capped mountains with no money in your pocket or a place to park yourself at night, you don’t think of twig & berries!
When you don’t know where your family members are and if they are dead or alive, you don’t think sex!
But when you suddenly find the warmth of a place to stay, food to eat, a place to shit (though in the forest by a creek), a place to sleep, man this is when your little baby begins to play the Tango.
I would notice that every Friday a village belle, as hot as she could be, would come and pray in front of a tunnel that was blocked and is believed to be the other side of the tunnel in Lakhamandal.
This village belle would first walk down the hill, wash in the Yamuna and then come up to offer her prayer in figure-hugging wet clothes. And I, like the eternal lecherous villain, would ogle at her from the corner of my eyes.
Soon I began my ‘Ram Teri Ganga Maili’ act (no offence to anybody. For ref for the visual only). Every Friday, I would take most of my clothes off and take a bath in the ice-cold river same time she would also come to the river bank.
But much to my disappointment, she would never look at me and would head straight to offer her prayers.
This went on for a while. But no luck. And my libido had reached its height. I needed sex man!
So one day in all my desperation, I was helping myself in one corner of a shack; far away from anybody. There was not a single soul and my fantasies knew no limits. Man, the tsunami was about to happen when suddenly, I could hear the head monk screaming from a distance, “Anu…..Anu”. He was at least a good 70 to 80 feet away from where I was. I ran. Of course, half done!
He was sitting and smoking his Hookah. He reluctantly looked up and said, “बेटा लिंग में हाथ मात लगा (Son, don’t touch your willie!).
I stood shocked with all my libido flying out of my ears. I was totally embarrassed and to cover my embarrassment, I gave the ugliest smile possible.
How the hell did he know that I was helping myself ?? There was no way he would have known or seen.
I still have no answer!
(disclaimer - images have been sourced from the internet. we don't have any claim on them. used as reference)