Dance in the Sun

We’re off to the magical kingdom
Where the giant crocodiles grow
Where the sun shines bright
And P. James does magic shows!

“Starboard!” cried Vendu, as we all dived to one side, shifting the weight on the boat. Vendu pulled the stick to which the outboard rudder was attached, pushing the whirring blades into the surf, as the boat jumped up over the waves and swerved to the right. The Alpina Verona bounced along the waves, making good time, as we neared the temple

Vendu busied himself with anchoring the boat, as the rest of us got off one by one. With the motor of the boat cut off, there was not a single man-made sound on the island. Just the waves, crashing pacific on the shore. And animal sounds – the small furry kinds and the feathered kinds, from the forest ahead of us. Blues, greens, and bright yellows filled the scene.

The small crowd of tourists walked off in different directions, eager to explore the mystical
island. Vendu sat on a rock near his boat and lit his pipe.

“Would you like to see the temple?” he asked, his mouth bent crooked to accommodate the pipe as he spoke.

“Sure”, I replied.

He got up and jumped over a couple of rocks into the trees that lined the side of the beach. The terrain was a mix of sand and rock. I followed him. “This way” he beckoned. One of the many temples stood before us. Sombre. Carved into the rocks, were gods and goddesses, monkeys, mortals, elephants – they were monolithic mammoths. The myths of yore captured in stone. Frozen in time.

The apsaras, the apsaras
They dance naked among the flowers
Mushrooming around them
As they shoot up to the stars

We climbed to the top of the hills, discovering temple after temple. Jumping from rock to rock, taking our cues from the goats that resided in the area. Night drew near as we sat atop the highest rock. In the distance the silhouette of one of the temples stood, stark, against the setting sun.