I Travel Alone, Again

Ok, I’m not in jail, thank God, but I’m quite sad. I guess we hadn’t really realized the gravity of the situation. We went to Kongpo to check and see if my permit had showed up, and as I had predicted, it hadn’t. Kunga spoke to a man who supposedly was the one who took care of sending my application 3 months ago. He now seems to be saying he sent it 1 month ago. WHAT?! I’m really pissed now, but nothing seems so clear… Should I be pissed, or am I reacting too fast? Calm down. (Easy to say...)

We go back to my place and discuss what I will do, maybe I can stay for a couple days, if I’m really low-profile and don’t go out, then we see. Now remember, it’s Monday, so its my weekly walk with sweet little Passang. I go over at 5 for dinner. As we sit on the floor eating our rice, potatoes and green veggies, I recount what happened today to Sanguay (Passang’s master). He has a frightened look on his face and immediately asks me to get Kunga on the phone: this requires a translator for it is too serious a matter for having misunderstandings due to language barriers. I dial Kunga and pass him the phone. They chat for a few minutes. Passang switches his regard between Sanguay and me with big interested eyes, and you can see something is computing in that little big mind of his. Does he understand? I’m sure not, he’s too little, but there are words he understands in that conversation, and everyone can feel the mood, even him, and he can obviously see this is serious. Sanguay passes me the phone. Kunga tells me I must finish my meal, make my way home discreetly, without being followed, make my bags (pack only what I really need) and get the hell out. I feel a big lump in my throat, and no, its not the rice and potatoes. I try to fight back the tears, but I’m sure I have little red patches around my eyes and a sniffling nose. I don’t want to go. I really don’t want to go. I see I have no choice. So I leave my plate, I’m not hungry anymore. I hug Passang, who seems confused (I’m kinda confused myself), and head home. I start packing, gosh I have a lot of stuff. Too much. The man who sent my application shows up, as well as another man who works where I stay. They call a translator over so we can clarify this situation. As I pack Kunga shows up and I have this hoard of monks in my room, all of them calm in their panick. They are afraid, because they say the cops will come and question everyone as to where I am and where I’ve been staying. They could make big problems for the people who have been sheltering me and ask for outrageous amounts of money. I’m ready, I think, and I hop in the taxi Kunga has arranged for me, he’ll be coming along as he doesn’t want to leave me alone through this right now. Thank you so much Kunga. It makes it so much easier to have you along helping me, I feel a little less sad. We rush out of the camp and I’m told I’m ok now, we’re out of the camp limit, I don’t need to worry anymore. The thing is, I’m not the one who’s worried. Maybe I’m not aware enough of the situation, but I just don’t feel worried. Just sad. We’re heading to Hubli, where I’ll spend the night and meditate on what I’ll be doing, where I’ll be going etc. I’ve been traveling alone since I got here, but I knew where I was going. Now I have no idea…