Egon Tusk #3

The jumbo jet touched down on the bustling tarmac of Mumbai’s Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj International Airport. Vivek Swamirami and Egon Tusk stepped out into the humid afternoon air, where a sleek black limousine awaited them. The stark contrast between the luxury of the car and the chaos of the city streets struck Egon immediately, and his anxiety began to bubble beneath the surface.

“It’s just two weeks, Egon,” Vivek said softly, his tone both encouraging and firm. “This is for your own good.”

Egon didn’t reply. His mind was already consumed by the creeping edges of withdrawal, and the cacophony of the city wasn’t helping. As they drove through the packed streets, the limousine was repeatedly halted by swarms of children in tattered clothing, their tiny hands pressed against the windows as they begged for money.

“Why are we stopping?” Egon demanded, his voice strained. “Tell the driver to go! Just… just drive!”

The driver, a wiry man with a kind but weathered face, honked his horn repeatedly, trying to inch forward through the crowd. “Patience, sir. This is the way of the city.”

Egon squirmed in his seat, tugging at his collar and muttering under his breath. Vivek placed a calming hand on his shoulder. “Breathe, Egon. We’re almost there.”

The journey through Mumbai’s chaotic streets gave way to quieter, winding roads as they climbed into the lush hills outside the city. Towering trees surrounded them, their emerald leaves shimmering in the afternoon sun. Finally, the car pulled up to the gates of the Ashram—a serene sanctuary nestled in the mountains, its terracotta roofs peeking through the verdant foliage.

“Welcome to Ananda Dham,” the driver announced with a small smile.

They were greeted at the entrance by a tall, dignified man in a saffron robe, his hands pressed together in a traditional namaste. “I am Guru Devendra,” he said, his deep voice exuding calm. “And this is my disciple, Anand.” A younger man, barefoot and clad in simple white attire, stepped forward, bowing respectfully.

Vivek returned the gesture with a deep bow. Egon, however, merely nodded, too distracted by his discomfort to engage in pleasantries.

“Come,” Guru Devendra said warmly. “You must be tired. Let us show you to your quarters.”

The room was simple, with two traditional Indian charpoys—wooden-framed beds with woven rope supports—and an open window overlooking the serene forest. Egon’s expression darkened immediately.

“Where’s the king-sized bed?” he asked, his voice rising. “Where’s the shower? I need a proper bath, not… whatever this is!”

Vivek stepped in quickly, taking Egon’s hands in his own. “Egon, listen to me. This place is about simplicity, about finding peace. You don’t need luxury here. Let’s take this one step at a time.”

Egon huffed, but Vivek’s soothing tone and gentle touch seemed to ease his tension. “Fine. But I need a bath. Now.”

“Of course,” Vivek said, leading him down the hall to a communal bathhouse. The warm water and sandalwood-scented soap worked wonders on Egon’s frayed nerves, especially with Vivek’s patient care. As Vivek bathed him, he spoke softly, reminding Egon of their shared journey, their love, and the importance of letting go.

By the time they returned to their room, Egon seemed calmer, though still visibly uneasy. Dinner awaited them—a traditional vegetarian thali with an assortment of fragrant curries, lentils, rice, flatbreads, and a small bowl of chutney. The meal was accompanied by a steaming pot of masala chai, its warm spices filling the room with an inviting aroma.

Egon stared at the food, his expression a mix of curiosity and skepticism. “This is it? No steak? No wine?”

Vivek smiled, serving Egon a portion. “This is nourishment for both the body and the soul, Egon. Trust me, you’ll feel better after eating.”

Egon reluctantly picked up a piece of flatbread and dipped it into the dal. His first bite was tentative, but as the flavors danced on his palate, his skepticism began to melt away.

“This… isn’t bad,” Egon admitted, taking another bite. “What’s in this?”

“Love,” Vivek replied, a teasing smile on his lips. “And a blend of spices perfected over centuries.”

Egon chuckled lightly for the first time that day. The simple yet flavorful meal seemed to ground him, bringing a sense of calm that had eluded him since their arrival. They ate in companionable silence, the tension in the room dissipating with each bite.

After dinner, Anand returned to clear the dishes, offering them a quiet goodnight. As the door closed, Egon glanced at the two charpoys and then at Vivek.

“I can’t sleep on that,” he grumbled. “I’ll wake up with my back in knots.”

Vivek walked over to Egon, his expression tender. “It’s not about comfort, Egon. It’s about embracing the experience. But if it helps, we can share one.”

Egon’s irritation softened at Vivek’s suggestion. “You’d do that?”

“Of course,” Vivek said, taking Egon’s hand and guiding him to the nearest charpoy. He sat down and patted the space beside him. “Come here.”

Egon hesitated before joining him. The charpoy creaked under their combined weight, but it held firm. Vivek lay down first, pulling Egon close. The night air wafted in through the open window, carrying with it the soothing sounds of rustling leaves and distant chanting.

“Do you think this will work?” Egon murmured, his voice tinged with vulnerability.

“I believe in you, Egon,” Vivek replied, stroking his hair gently. “And I believe in us. We’ll get through this together.”

Egon closed his eyes, lulled by Vivek’s steady breathing and the rhythmic hum of the Ashram. For the first time in days, his mind felt at peace. As the moonlight spilled into the room, the two of them drifted off to sleep, entwined in each other’s arms, ready to face the challenges of the days ahead.