The Goddess Legacy

Chapter 36

Spencer’s neck and back were throbbing from sitting in the cramped backseat of a taxi all the way to Jaipur, and by the time he arrived at the temple, he was more than ready to get out. He paid the driver a surprisingly small amount of money and eyed the towering building crawling with workers on scaffolds that ringed the temple’s exterior. Judging by the number of workers entering and leaving the holy place, work was underway in the interior as well.

He took his time studying the grounds. The complex was larger than he’d thought, but any ideas he’d had about sneaking in during work hours were quickly disabused by the pair of uniformed guards by the entrance, who seemed reasonably alert and more than a little interested in him — one of the few people in sight who wasn’t construction personnel. He decided that discretion was the better part of valor and left as quickly as he’d come, resigned to filling the rest of the afternoon with busywork while he waited for dusk.

Spencer walked down the road into town, the sun baking his skin through the makeup sufficiently that he wouldn’t need much of it in another day or two. He tanned quickly, he knew from his time in the tropics. Although he did feel considerably safer now that he was out of Delhi. Even though Reynolds had called off the dogs, millions of people had seen his photograph on TV, and he wasn’t delusional enough to bet that none of them would recognize him even a few days later — his scuffle at the hotel had more than proved that.

The hike took him an hour — the traffic was nothing compared to New Delhi, but the number of ox carts and bicycles was at least triple that of the city. He even sighted a horse, its ribs like washboards through its hide, dragging a cart filled with produce, driven by a ten-year-old boy sitting atop the precariously laden conveyance, holding the reins and a switch.

Spencer had lived in poor areas of the world, but nothing had prepared him for the poverty surrounding him, even the recent trip to Myanmar, which was as bad as he’d ever seen. But here, the unfairness of life was underscored all the more when the occasional luxury SUV or Mercedes roared past, no doubt carrying captains of industry or politicians, who lived in a different reality than the masses. He knew the average local lived on three hundred dollars a month, but that number was badly skewed by the millions working in technology positions and at call centers — plum jobs that paid considerably more. Laborers like those on the road were lucky if they took home half that, and the income inequality was obvious when he stopped at a public toilet and almost vomited from the stench, as well as the sight of a family of four sleeping on the filthy floor near the urinals, out of the heat, all of them so thin they might have blown away in a strong wind.

He tried not to think about it as he continued into town, but the desperation was everywhere he looked, especially in the hopeless eyes of the children, who stared back at him with numb acceptance of circumstances he couldn’t imagine. The cows had it far better than these people, he thought, as a relatively fat bovine with garlands of flowers draped around its neck waddled along in front of him.

The wonder of the place for Spencer wasn’t the extreme circumstances — he’d seen more than enough of those while living in Peru — but rather that he was witnessing present day events and not something from centuries before. While on the web he’d seen an account of increased suicide rates among farmers, whose crops were failing due to drought and whose only perceived options were starvation or taking their own lives, usually after sending their families to survive however they could in the cities.

It was easy for him to understand how slavery and prostitution could flourish in such an environment, where criminals preyed on weak and unsuspecting new arrivals, who were always flat broke and desperate to earn enough to eat for the day. It was in this way that mothers sold their children to pimps for a handful of rupees, their spirits and bodies so desiccated that they could shed no tears. The authorities were powerless, due to sheer numbers, to prevent atrocities from becoming so mundane they weren’t even commented on in the media.

He tried to imagine how foreigners — with their glowing complexions, expensive clothes, and seemingly endless prosperity — must appear to these untouchables, and shook his head as he walked, feeling guilty even though he’d done nothing wrong. Only a few days before, he’d been worrying about losing most of his fortune due to the larceny of the hedge fund to which he’d entrusted his money, and now he was among an entire population for whom the cost of a nice dinner at home could support a family for a month.

Spencer told himself that his only crime was to have been born on the right side of the planet, and that he was blameless for these people’s circumstance, but the assurance felt hollow. The truth was if someone had shown him footage, he would have tuned out, preoccupied by his own concerns, there being a limit to how much suffering he could endure before losing interest. This was the way of the world, and he couldn’t change it: his neighbors would agonize over which color Bentley coupe to buy next, which Aspen ski condo would appreciate the most, which first-growth Bordeaux showed the greatest promise of aging well, and he would gripe about how poorly his Lamborghini ran, how impractical it was in traffic, how much fuel it consumed each week.

But here, the vapidity of his existence struck home with a resonance he’d never experienced.

He arrived at the outskirts of town soaked through with sweat and flagged down a bicycle rickshaw, light-headed from lack of hydration. The driver nodded once when he told him what he was after, and began pedaling for a district where a good quality digital camera could be bought at a reasonable price — and a hot, tired son of privilege could cool himself with a chilled drink in the comfort of the shade. He’d considered using the crappy built-in camera on the cell phone, but saw no reason to take any chances.

Spencer noted that there were far more women in traditional garb than he’d seen in New Delhi, and presumed that it held true the further from the metropolis he traveled. He knew from his online reading that Mumbai and Bangalore were urban and cosmopolitan, as was Delhi, with skyscrapers jutting into the sky like giant fangs, but the poor usually wore the robes of the provinces, their only possessions the clothes on their back, immediately identifying them as victims to be exploited by the big-city operators.

The store was an electronics emporium with loud music from overhead speakers and countless muted big-screen televisions flashing the same film — a musical, Spencer guessed by the elaborate dance numbers. He took his time with his purchase, having nowhere else to be, and after an hour walked out of the store with a Canon that fit in the palm of his hand whose images he could download to any computer and send to Allie.

He spent the afternoon on a computer in a cyber café, drinking bottled water and eating his fill of junk food, sticking with packaged goods in an effort to avoid stomach troubles. The brief stop in the public restroom had given him all too much information on the hygiene he might expect in the boonies, and he had resigned himself to eating garbage unless in a high-traffic restaurant with above-market prices.

As the sun drifted lower in an eggplant sky, he paid his tab and made for the temple, the temperature now moderate enough to brave the trek all the way to the holy spot on foot. Hopefully he’d spent sufficient time for the site to clear of laborers. Wood smoke drifted from nearby fields burning the remnants of crops, mingling with the ever-present pollution from ancient cars, the combination a constant irritant to his burning eyes and throat.

The weight of the gun he’d confiscated at the professor’s house pressed against the small of his back, providing reassurance that in the event he was jumped, it would be the last thing his assailants ever did. He didn’t know what the statistics were on violent crime in rural India, but with the general impoverishment of the majority, he had to believe he was a target, and he spent the entire walk scanning around him, alert to any threats as he made his way to the temple.