The Elephanta Suite by Paul Theroux

Dr. Nagaraj had pinched her, and without thinking she said, "We must be going." She was overcome by the mustiness of the shop, the incense that seemed a mingling of perfume and cowshit, the imploring shatoosh seller—the illegality of what he was doing—and within earshot the yells of the men at the shrine, the smell of its smoky fires. She picked up two scarves and said, "I'll take these two."
    "I told him you are not tourists, you are
yatris
yourselves, doing
puja
at Agni."
    "That's us," Audie said.
    "I will deal with money. You know it is some thousands of dollars?" Dr. Nagaraj said. "You can pay me later. I will find you in the car."
    They made their way to the car through the crowd that had gathered at the shop to gape at them. Dr. Nagaraj got into the front seat, and they were soon driving back down the main street of the cracked and littered town. It was a whole town, spread as though broken and scattered on the side of Monkey Hill, out of sight of Agni. Dirty, busy, poorly lit shops selling shoes and saris, one shop with barred windows selling beer and whiskey, chaotic, so full of life it suggested death, too.
    "Monkey temple?" Audie said as they passed the shouters, the fires, the sign carriers, the policemen.
    "Hanuman temple," Dr. Nagaraj said.
    "How long has this mob scene been going on?"
    "Some years now."
    Beth sat stunned and heard Audie inquire in a reasonable voice, "Would you mind explaining your story? Maybe I'm stupid. But I don't get it."
    "Listen, my friend. Grandmother of Sanjeev said to me, 'Don't be sad. Garuda guided the little bird to his death unknowingly, as you guided Sanjeev. You were meant to deliver him.'"
    They continued on to Agni in silence, and at each curve in the road a little of Hanuman Nagar was lost, first the sight of it, then the sound of it, and at last even its smoke. When they entered the Agni gate, it was gone.
    "'Maybe this is your purpose in world,' she said." As soon as the car slowed down, Dr. Nagaraj began speaking. "'To guide people to their fate. You are wee-ickle.' Better we stop here."
    After Dr. Nagaraj dismissed the driver, the three walked the rest of the way up the hill. Audie asked the cost of the scarves. Dr. Nagaraj seemed relieved and mentioned the price, and he smiled as five thousand dollars was counted into his hand.
    "A great bargain, sir. And you are so lucky. This antelope is almost extinct."

4
    The shock of the day, and her excited fear, gave her perfect recall. At yoga the next morning, during a massage—hot oil, slippery fingers—inside the pavilion, by the pool, she remembered everything. She was not able to rid herself of the images of the town of Hanuman Nagar: the cows, the bus stop, the shops, the cracks in the old walls, the paper advertisements peeling from the walls, the thick bars on the windows of the liquor store, the mocking boys like little fearless old men, the overworked women, the secretive shatoosh seller, the whole weary town held together by rusty wire and wooden braces. One oblong pothole in the street had looked to her like an open grave—she could have fitted in it.
    Most of all the confusion at the monkey temple. Audie had explained it over breakfast. A mosque had been built centuries before on the site of an ancient Hindu temple, and protesters had besieged it and reclaimed it, torn the mosque apart, and built a shrine to the monkey god. The Muslims were angry and protested the occupation, but the Hindus were defiant, chanting and stoking their fire.
    She remembered details she had only glimpsed at the time, chief among them the sight of idle monkeys scampering among the occupiers and protesters, snatching at bags, biting each other, swinging up the trees and onto the parapets of the shrine itself.
    Now, in the stillness of Agni, she believed that she could hear the loud voices from the town, the straining of car engines, music, fugitive laughter, the pinching smell of smoke. Or was that a sense of life from