”Nandi, Shiva’s bull” Rajiv pointed to a carved bull in the hillside. “Very old temple, many carvings inside.” He leaned over the boat, splashing the water. ”How is your English so good?” Garry asked him. “Do you learn it at school?” ”No, I don’t go to school. I have to look after my mother. She’s not well. I learn English from tourist. I talk with tourist every day.” Back on dry land, we paid the boatman, and gave little Rajiv ten rupees. What he did next, neither of us would have predicted or expected. He took the ten rupees and gave it straight to an elderly beggar at the river’s edge. ”This man very poor,” he explained. Obviously, he wasn’t going to take money so we decided to give him some food. At a small restaurant near the river, we asked what he liked. ”Banana porridge,” he said cheekily. While he was wolfing down his porridge, we noticed an ugly gash on his arm. It had gone septic and needed treatment. We always carry plasters and anti-septic cream on our travels. He was reluctant to let us treat it, pulling his arm away. ”No, it’s going to hurt, I know.” ”Don’t be silly it’s only cream. It won’t hurt I promise.” He wasn’t too sure, but after the plaster was on, he was happy again. ”Thank you, I’ll have more porridge now… and a coke,” he demanded. He was so irresistibly darling I couldn’t say no, not that I wanted to. The waiter of the restaurant later told us he was a street kid that had been neglected by his parents. We bumped into him every day we were in Hampi. We gave him plasters and cream for his arm and treated him to the odd bowl of banana porridge.
We ate that evening in one of the many rooftop restaurants. Down on the dusty main street, cows, pigs and goats foraged for food. Many of the small houses had started their fires and families were getting ready to eat, the smoke hanging low in the air. Mothers were calling their kids, tugging them away from their street games. There was a timeless feel to the place and the atmosphere was one of relaxation. The lovely slow pace of life was a real treat. Needing a few bits and pieces for the Enfield, Garry drove into Hospet the next day, to the nearest garage. He was sitting, waiting for the work to be done, when he was approached by a young man who asked if he could get a lift to Hampi when Garry was returning. Thinking nothing of it, Garry agreed. Once the bike was ready, they set off. Strapped to the back of the bike was a small bag, containing, among other things our expensive camera. Back in Hampi, the man got off. ”You can give me twenty rupees?” he chanced. ”I’ve just given you a lift!” It was only when Garry had parked up that he noticed the bag on the back was open and the camera was gone. Somehow the thief had managed to get his nimble fingers into the bag and hide the camera before getting off the bike. Cursing, Garry went into the guesthouse, where he told the owner what had happened. The two of them drove through the village asking people if they had seen anyone with a big camera. A group of rickshaw drivers were sitting at the side of the road. ”Yes, we seen man just now, running up that hill over there,” one of them said. The hotel owner went running up and to Garry’s amazement returned a few minutes later with the culprit. When the rickshaw drivers learned what had happened, they all gathered and started punching and kicking him.
One screamed, “Bastard!” as he slapped the thief across the face. ”Why you do this?” said another as he kicked him. They were all very keen to let Garry know that this man was not from Hampi. ”Hampi people don’t steal, Sir. This man only come to rob tourist.” ”We don’t want people like this in our town. Hampi people very good. He must go to the police station,” the hotel owner said. Garry came back to the hotel to let me know what had happened. We went along to the police station, where the camera thief had been taken. It was now that Garry regretted not just letting him go. If he had known the brutality of the policemen here, he’d never have brought him. The hotel owner relayed the story to police, who erupted in rage; they took turns whacking the man, their bamboo canes crashing down on his body with brutal force. When one got tired or broke his stick, another was waiting to lay in. ”Jesus Christ! There’s no need for that!” said Garry, horrified. “Would you like to hit him, or press charges?” the policeman asked both of us. ”Neither, just let him go.” ”I think he’s learned his lesson,” I said.
He was still in there when we left. I hate to think what they did to the poor guy when we were gone. Their measures were very extreme. I wouldn’t fancy getting on the wrong side of the law here. Hampi is such a beautiful place, and the locals want to keep tourists coming. They get very angry with people who rob them. For us, this was a harsh insight into the Indian justice system. Somewhat reluctantly, we forced ourselves away from this enchanting little village. Rajiv was there to see us off, running along behind the bike, until he could no longer keep up. We were following the cloud of smoke to Mumbai. Setting off from Hampi is the last thing I remember until I woke up in hospital two days later. I have a vague recollection of feeling very hot and thirsty along the way. There was little or no shelter on this road and the sun beat down on us mercilessly. By the time we reached the town of Hubli, about 120km away, I was running a temperature. Deciding we’d have to stay here, we parked outside a hotel. Just as I was about to go in and ask if there were any rooms, I had an epileptic attack. I have had epilepsy since I was eleven, and was used to having minor seizures, which would pass after a few minutes. But I was not coming out of this one. Instead it got worse, and developed into a full grand-mal seizure.
While I was still sitting on the back of the bike, Garry wheeled it off the road and into a nearby garage. Throngs of people had started to gather which wasn’t helping. Garry carefully got me off the bike and lay me on the ground. ”Could you just ask them to stand back or preferably go away?” Garry pleaded with the garage owner, who was very helpful. Much as he tried, the crowd refused to move. Garry was driven to chasing a couple of them up the road, but couldn’t go far, as he didn’t want to leave me. They just returned and continued their pointing and giggling. At this stage, I was in an awful state. Garry had see me having small seizures many times, but nothing like this; this was serious. ”I need to get her to a hospital,” he said to the garage owner. ”I will get taxi. You can leave the bike here,” he replied. Within minutes we were in a rickshaw. ”Hospital, quick,” Garry urged. The driver thought the emergency was great fun. ”We are ambulance,” he grinned. “Nee-naw, nee-naw.”
At the hospital, a wheelchair was brought out. ”No, she needs a stretcher,” said Garry.”Wheelchair is okay”, said the porter “She cannot sit, she needs a stretcher,” Garry insisted. He eventually got the stretcher and I was rushed to the emergency room. ”She has epilepsy,” Garry said. “Can you help her?” ”Yes Sir, but first you must fill forms and pay money,” the doctor said. ”Can’t it wait?” Garry asked. “No you must do now.” ”Okay, okay. Give me the forms!” Garry said urgently. Forms filled and money paid, one of the doctors scribbled out a prescription and handed it to Garry. ”Take this to the pharmacy, and they will give you the required drugs.” he said calmly. “Where’s the pharmacy?” Garry asked. ”Sita . Straight,” the man pointed to nowhere. ”What do you mean, straight? Straight where?” Garry yelled. Finally, he found the pharmacy, at the end of the street, but no thanks to the doctor.” Please, this is urgent, can you get me these drugs,” ”Yes, Sir. Just wait, Sir,” the man behind the counter was busy chatting to a friend. ”I need them now!” He must have sensed the urgency in Garry’s voice, and moved more quickly to get him the drugs. It had been about twenty minutes since we had arrived, and I was still in a bad way.
Garry ran back to the hospital and gave the drugs to the doctor. There was an amount of blood and Garry noticed that none of medical staff were wearing protective gloves. ”Wait”, Garry said. “I should tell you, she has HIV. You should wear gloves” All