What a huge adventure it has been!

Chapter 15, excerpted from Chitbodhi’s memoir, One Life, continues the day after his leaving darshan with Osho

Train station — Photo by Joan Gravell / Alamy Stock Photo

The next morning I was sitting in a train to Bombay. I hadn’t seen Bombay on my arrival in India, so thought this would be the right opportunity to stay for a few days, do some sightseeing and then go straight on back to Europe.

Bombay had a small Sannyas Center, run by Indian sannyasins. I stayed there for three days, then got my train ticket to Delhi. I couldn’t get a train straight there, only one with a stopover of 10 hours in Ahmedabad. Shit! But first, 14 hours on this seat, which had been fought for by my porter.

When I arrived in Ahmedabad I didn’t feel like leaving the station. Ahmedabad is a typical big Indian city – poor! It wasn’t even mentioned in my small guide to India. The residents probably had never seen a Western tourist or a backpacker like me.

The central hall of the railway station was huge, with hundreds of travelers sitting on the floor, waiting for trains. To look for a bench to sit was useless from the start. So I found a small space in the middle of it all. I sat down on the floor, my backpack to the right and my shoulder bag to my left. I watched this chaos for a while and then… Okay, I was ready for my 10-hour wait.

Travelers, trying to get to the different platforms, were constantly pushing through the hundreds who were sitting down. I had a book out to read; I felt to my left to get some water out of my shoulder bag, and… there was no shoulder bag! I looked. It was gone.

“Someone stole my shoulder bag!”

“Where was it? How did it look like?” asked a man sitting to my right with his wife and two kids. I jumped up, he did the same, and I immediately spotted my bag, just about to leave the big hall, draped around a shoulder of the thief!

“There!”

“You wait and watch your backpack.”

“Thief, thief!” the man yelled, pointing to the end of the hall.

Our neighborhood was now alerted, with other people jumping up, pointing the same way, shouting, “Thief, thief!” which echoed through the crowd.

My neighbor and some other men tried to push through the sitting mass of people. Lots of people started running now. The sound of “Thief, thief!” grew louder and a few policemen appeared on the edge, looking around, and then following the crowd running after the thief. I was standing there in the middle of the hall, watching and guarding my backpack.

Suddenly I remembered… On my way to India, I had been wise enough to have worn my money sewn into my left trouser leg. But stupidly, leaving India… my traveler’s checks, passport, Indian money and $50 in cash had all been in my shoulder bag. I had nothing but my backpack. All my money and my passport gone, not even one Indian rupee left!

After a while the crowd came back, including five policemen, all with disappointed faces. Lots of people surrounding me, talking all at once, all telling me, “The thief has escaped.”

I had guessed that much already from the expression on their faces.

The policeman and my neighbor took charge now. One grabbed my hand and the other picked up my backpack, and they led me though the mass of waiting people. Many “sorries” I heard passing them. We all ended up in the small police station: all the policemen, the man and his wife and two kids, and many more, all talking at the same time – and me in the middle.

“You need to make a report,” my new Indian friend said to me.

Yes. I needed that report to claim my traveler’s checks from American Express, and I needed a passport. And all this I would get back in Bombay where I had just come from… The German Embassy was there, and the main office of American Express. 14 hours back – and I had no money.

A policeman handed me a cup of hot, spicy chai, sat me down in front of the desk, the most senior policeman opposite me. The English of all of them was limited, so conversation was in Hindi. Everybody talking, at least 20 Indians participating, writing my report in Hindi, and me doing nothing, just drinking my tea and watching in amazement.

All wanted to help and the report was ready in 30 minutes – first in Hindi, then my new friend took over to rewrite it in English, with everybody watching. He and one police officer had meanwhile figured out that if I wanted to go back to Bombay I had to get a ticket, although I had already paid in full all the way up to Delhi. They reasoned that the railway office could reimburse me and from that I could get the ticket back to Bombay.

My new friend explained their plan to me and off we all went. The chief of the police and three of his men followed us just out of sympathy, and far back my new friend’s wife and their two kids. When we arrived at the stationmaster’s office they all talked at the same time. Long discussions followed in Hindi. Obviously the plan was not really possible, but I had such big support on my side.

Finally the stationmaster gave in and I got some money returned to immediately buy from him the ticket back to Bombay. But it was still not enough. I was 20 rupees short. At that time, as I remember, that was about $5.

Now they all pitched in. The policemen, my new Indian friend, even the stationmaster pulled out his wallet to complete the money for the new ticket. Until I had enough to buy the ticket back to Bombay!

All this unfolded in front of my eyes without my participation. Maybe I was still shocked. Life had taken over to smooth things for me. I had my ticket now, no other money, and still seven hours to kill until my train started its journey back to Bombay. It was about 11 am.

All settled, the police left and I was standing alone with my Indian family. I was ready to go back to the big hall and wait for another eternity, with now only my backpack to watch. But the man didn’t let me go. He took my arm and my backpack and dragged me towards the exit.

“Come, come with us. You have to visit my house. I am Arjun and this is my wife Preeti.” (The names of the kids I have forgotten).

“But I am okay now. You wanted to leave with your family by train. You will miss your train. I am okay now.”

“No, no, we can go tomorrow.”

One rickshaw for him and me, and one more for his family, we left for his house somewhere in Ahmedabad. A long ride, 30 minutes later, we had left the big city, and I started getting really nervous. Where the fuck are we going? Maybe they want to rob me again? Maybe a friend of his has robbed my bag and now they want the rest… and me.

No more houses around. The ride took close to one hour. We arrived at a small village, maybe 25 houses, surrounded only by sugarcane fields.

I needn’t have worried. That day has become unforgettable for me.

When we had arrived at his house, within minutes the whole village had gathered around us. Over 40 people, and I had to tell my story. The few who could speak a little English translated for everybody else. As we sat outside in front of the house on bamboo mats, Indian tea and cake appeared.

He asked if I wanted some beer.

“Beer? Really, you have beer?”

“Yes. I know Germans like beer – I read.”

Someone ran out, I heard a rickshaw leave and 15 minutes later the same guy came running towards us, 2 bottles of Kingfisher beer in his hand. The beer was warm, alright, but it was beer!

I had become the sensation of the village!

Then, out of the house two women appeared and waved everybody inside. I followed.

The room was large, the floor covered with bamboo mats, and right in the middle, on the floor: food. While we men had been talking outside, the women had put a meal together. They had probably collected all the spare vegetables from all the houses and here it was!

Vegetables, sweets and chapattis, a typical Indian meal, neatly arranged in the middle of the room. Still half the village was there and everybody squeezed in. The food was delicious; my warm beer was also delicious, the best it could be under those circumstances. When the food was finished, all was cleared away in a few minutes and two men carried in the wooden beds. Arjun pointed to my bed and said, “After food we have to sleep.”

I had never slept after lunch in my whole life. I watched how the men lay down on their beds, and within two minutes, they all slept. I was the only one awake. Finally I lay down, and tried to close my eyes. But I couldn’t sleep. My mind was racing, remembering, trying to come to terms with this morning’s events, all plans down the drain, a new reality unfolding. Go back to Bombay and organize the passport and traveler’s checks. Start again – in maybe two weeks – my long journey back. So frustrating, but I felt happy.

They all woke up an hour later. I hadn’t slept. The beds were carried out and all the village people returned. When it was getting closer to the time for my train back to Bombay, another warm beer appeared.

An hour later a rickshaw appeared, driven by the same guy who had gotten the beer earlier. I didn’t need to have worried; Arjun had obviously already organized my ride back. A quick goodbye from everybody and off we went – Arjun, me and my backpack, to the train station.

While we were waiting for the train he gave me a big bundle – food – for my long journey, and 20 rupees for my bus in Bombay back to the Sannyas Center.

We hugged and he had tears in his eyes. And, yes, me too – seeing his. While I was leaning out of the train window, the train left the station, and I waved until Arjun became a very small figure and disappeared.

What an adventure had just happened to me! How badly it could have ended, without his help, and that of all his friends, and the whole village, and all the policemen, and the stationmaster!

And what a great time I had with them, total strangers, helping from their heart. Never in my life would I see them again, but I will never forget them.

Thanks to all you there in Ahmedabad! I hope life has treated you all well in the years that followed!

Back in Bombay I went straight to the Sannyas Center, explaining my misfortune (fortune) and adventure. They were incredibly helpful, letting me stay for free, giving me food until I had arranged for a new passport and gotten my traveler’s checks back.

The passport was quick. American Express was slow, every day promising: “Next day. Call us tomorrow.” Waiting, waiting in Bombay. No money in my pocket, not even one cent. I couldn’t take a public bus, couldn’t buy anything.

So I started walking through the city. Starting every day at 8 am, just after my phone call to the American Express, and returning at 8 or 9 in the evening. Probably 20 to 30 km a day, wielding a Bombay map from the Center, discovering India and Bombay on foot. Today, we call it sightseeing, meaning we rush from location to location, by car, train, bus, and stop – a quick look around – and on to the next destination. In my case it was walking without a goal, sometimes checking my position on the map, but keeping on walking, my senses wide open, every ten meters a new adventure, every single meter, every second meter a new adventure, visual, sound, smell, we are in India, pulsating with life every square centimeter I pass. I was so happy!

One day, passing through a street with lots of travel agencies, I asked in a few offices how much a flight back to Berlin would cost. Surprise, surprise – less than the $600 I would get back in traveler’s checks.

That decided it in a second for me. I didn’t feel like going overland again. My first holdup in Ahmedabad didn’t feel like a good omen for the rest of that long trip: India, Pakistan, Afghanistan… safe territory, but Iran – no way. It didn’t feel good.

Anyway, I had to get going with my plans in Berlin.

Berlin, the first town back in Western civilization, and now me coming back wearing red – I had to make so many changes in my life.

Finally, on the 7th day, in the morning, a yes from American Express. I collected my new traveler’s checks, and the same day bought my flight back to Berlin.

Goodbye India and Bombay. What a huge adventure it has been!

Chapter 15 (edited) from Chitbodhi’s book, One Life – Featured image by Joan Gravell / Alamy Stock Photo

Follow the whole series of excerpts on Osho News: One Life by Chitbodhi
Oberhausen College – too good to be true – From Chitbodhi’s memoir, One Life. Co-protagonists are: “A teacher, Dr. L. and 26 incredible classmates!”
Holzkamp – Chitbodhi remembers events during his days at Uni in Berlin
Squatting a Church (16 December 1977) – Chapter 8
A sudden decision – A Long Read from chapter 13
Becoming one of them – Chapter 14 (Part 1) – Receiving a new name and being in the Encounter Group
Tasting life in orange – A second excerpt from chapter 14 of Chitbodhi’s memoir