White Knights
- Part 5 -

By N. Bobo Meitei *

The decision to find a hotel around the place where she supposedly lives is taken. By the time he gets to the place he tries time and again to get hold of her, "hello! Who's this?" a voice answer the phone, "my love! It's me. I am back for you." His excited voice goes into the phone. The cold voice replies "James! I am not in not Bangkok and I don't know when I'll be there." With that the hang up tone can be heard.

Handset in his hand, jaw wide open, and his blinking eyes he amuses few passers by who have mistaken him for Mr. Bean. Back in the hotel he is treated better than the last time. In the lobby desperate eyes ogle at him virtually asking where the white skin bag comes from and if he is single "take me!" their eyes say. He is in no mood to relate to their queries, but he smiles, letting them know" may be later."

What he has heard from the phone stays within his head, as if bouncing and hitting against one wall only to bounce and to land on the other with a loud echo. Aware of the consequences if he harbours that unproductive state of mind, he recalls of those desperate and submissive faces decorated by smiles in the lobby. At that instant he goes down to find solace.

Hearing the British footsteps they all rise as if they all are the concubines in a harem being approach by a maharaja touching his kempt whiskers. They smile and give him the coquettish expression he deserves for doing them the honour.

In return to their understanding of his situation he approaches the approachable ladies and shows his desirable respect. "Where you come from?" smacks him first, follows by "You live alone." The answers to the questions brighten their perplexity; "England" turns them into chirpy birds while 'yes, I am alone here" sparkles the chirpy faces.

It's already 7 in the afternoon, the streets are trampled by people, and the buildings around now wear erotic looks, earnestly flashing words like "super ladies", "Go-go ladies", etc. Nostalgia as his inseparable companion he walks between the alleys where the "Heineken, Guinness, Tiger" are hung, but the sight Heineken reminds of the temptation that has been generated by its brand name. How could he forget that lady wrapped in Heineken dress standing outside one of the bars, for who he slaved over in England, and for her existential existence he showered her with his sweat-soaked dough?

How others' sorrow can be the advantageous point for someone else to capitalize her purpose? The faster and bigger the magnitude of that capitalization is when the assaulted victim is rather desperate, and willing to submit any kind of solace without having to think about conditional conditions.

England is left behind and the thought of telling that he has been betrayed him reminds him of how he will appear as a laughing stock in front of the conspicuous larger gathering, and any attempt to let the cat out means losing his family's face. So, every time he speaks to his mother he makes sure they never touch the wedding topic.

But like all mothers who know their children without even seeing their children his mother senses something has been going out there, where he has been putting up with a new-found betrayal.

He wanders and goes from one place to another with bitter revengeful intention in his mind, or to kill the past that has shamed him. One night at "Shark" bar another night at "Hot catties." bar One late night after a long alcoholic lubrication with some stranded English mates, he accidentally spends more hours at "the Gulliver", drinking until midnight, until the time he is left alone by his stranded English mates of his. Packing himself up at the same time struggling to head back to the hotel he spots a decent looking lady standing in front of him with a halo behind her beautifully shaped body.

Her halo pacifies the bitter feeling within him and the smiles salvage him, she asks if he is alright, to which he sheepishly says "yes, lady. Thank you." The haloed lady helps him to sit somewhere properly and with a generous smile she asks in her angelic tone about what has been torturing him. Like most honest drunk people he illustrates his story of betrayal with exaggerated emotions. While the illustration is being punctuated by instantaneous sobbing and the sudden elevation of tones he successfully accomplishes the task he has been assigned by the angel like haloed lady.

When the story is successfully told they both look at each other, the angel admiring his honesty sweetened by his exaggeration while well sprinkled with the fragrant of Dutch beer, and the zonked out humiliated man senses the sense of coziness at the presence of the haloed lady, halo empowered by neon streetlamps. When Illusion appears, to many, as comfortable reality, the reality could appear harsh to some.

When the neon lamps are gone, being replaced by sunrise, they stand up from the place where he has made a long confession and listened by the once haloed lady, whose charm still works on him. Clutching each other hands they walk down the streets while their giggles competing with the honking of motorcycles and the hollering of hawkers. Between the hollers and the giggles there are barefooted monks scurrying with their filled up pots, who are trailed by their aging temple boys.

The earnest desire of the monks are hindered by sobered people as well as by bathed people holding out alms, they halt to chant the monotonous chanting which they ,sometimes, mutter in their deep sleep. While the streets are patrolled by monks guarded by devotees James stands among the crowd wondering if there is going to be a religious demonstration, thinking and assessing the eventful event he, unconsciously, releases his hand from the his new-found lady, but by the time his senses return to him his eyes search for his lady who is nowhere to be seen.

Wondering and at the same time cursing himself for falling into the same pothole again, he finds himself on the verge of breaking down in front of the devoted people around him. Big hands spread out over his face concealing the timid expression he struggles to keep his composure, there is a soft pat on his shoulder, someone calling his name in a flattering voice, the spread out hands are pulled down to allow the wetted eyes to find out who she is, and by the time he fully realizes that it is she he abruptly exposes the concealed face and musters a faint smile showing that all is not gone.

She is standing behind him with a plastic bag full of alms for the patrolling monks, examining and allowing him to take his time she thinks if she has done anything wrong. "Are those for the monks? I thought you have left me." With a smile on his face while the tears streaming down his crimsoned chicks.

She grabs his wet hands with a strong grip conveying what she means to say "I will never leave you. Love you mak mak na ( a lot )." Standing next to her, she squatting to offer the alms and seeking the weary monk's incoherent blessing in return, he examines how different things are in this country. A country where people squat to seek blessing unlike immaculately dressed people sitting in a proper place listening and while being quite aware of the people around one.

Here they just come out in evening gown to offer food to the shabby looking untidy monks. He stands waiting at the same time struggling to put down the insuppressible contemptuous feeling for the sake of his new-found flattering lady.

Agreeing to disagree with the intention to justify his contempt is something he is willing to accomplish given a proper time, while procrastinating and not even attempting to dig up why here things are different is another thing he could not be bothered ,for doubting one's long nourished conviction means self-contradicting, reducing himself to a man without any stance, that's despicable and to permit that despicable side of life to be exposed is to forget the basis and the values which helped one to grow up with hubris.

"Time flies and now we have been together for a while. What about moving into a new place where we can test whether we get along as reconcilable couple?" he suggests.

She lived with a man of her kind few months ago with the cherished dream of having a family, without giving a clue of her immoral conduct to her parents who have been busy cultivating rice, when the suggestion is heard her face turns rather serious and with an introspective look on her face and her body standings still she examines how things went wrong with that man of her kind, how distasteful it was, how inept she was harbouring a dream which was destined to betray her. The recollection of her past encourages her to say nothing.

Deep down she is aware of the flamboyant results; cheerful congratulation for hitting a whitish jack spot plus the possible ambition of jetting between England and her native land.

She, however, has to defend her morality, defending that acceptable morality is to appear decent, and to give in to the test she has been offered means not holding up her decency, something to which she has the courage to say "no", offering him the chance to find out why certain things, considered immoral, can't be courted right away. "Not now. I need time and living together with man can only happen after getting married and it is rather inappropriate."

Thinking how inappropriate things are appropriate in this part of the planet he shifts his glance from her mouth to the slimy tarmac. "Still it is so different and why she can't just agree if she truly loves me?" He questions himself. Again that judgmental on his part remains a debatable one to her.

What is appropriate in one country can be inappropriate and failing to discern that difference could only lead up to a clash between two civilizations. " Aha! The clash of civilization!" he mutters.

To be continued ....