Tha Aftermath

'SHITTING FUCKING HELL'

I was up and limping round in circles, swearing profusely, trying to walk off the pain in my foot. But I was up and moving.

I paused took a deep breath and checked myself. Pain in foot, but I could stand on it, it was not broken, already the throbbing was beginning to recede. Arms ok. Hands ok, fingers all there. Hang on, bleeding from some cuts and scrapes on my palm, but only superficial. I could move my heard, no neck pain. No internal pain. I was ok.

'I'm ok. I'm ok. I'M OK!' Thank God. I was ok. Everything else didn't matter, everything else was fixable.

A large crowd had gathered round me, dwarfing the one in Belasar. 'You ok? You ok', the mob jabbered at me.

'Yes yes, I think so'.

i took a moment to compose myself. I almost couldn't face going to look at Amblis. I took a deep breath and went to look at her.

She was on her side, bits of glass everywhere. It wasn't immediately apparent if there was any damage - it was only when she was righted that we could properly see.

The leg guards had done their job, they had saved my right leg from meeting the full force of the tractor, from grtting utterly pulped, but it was now twisted and buckled.

The handlebars were also bent out of shape. The foot brake was sticking out at a funny angle. One mirror was shattered and in thousands of pieces on the road. The luggage rack was banged and twisted out of shape, as was the tin tool box which contained the spares.

But there was no big pool of oil or petrol leaking anywhere. Her innards, the engine, carburettor and gear box seemed untouched.

Her spine, the chassis, and the forks also seemed true. The wheels also still looked straight.

'What you want? Police, Doctor, Ambulance?' The crowd surged around me, all wanting to be helpful.

I wasn't sure. I didn't really want the police involved. It would have meant a lot of hassle, and probably days of waiting.

'Mechanic. I need mechanic for bike'.

The crowd seemed to retreat a little bit and confer. A few older men at the centre, seemed to confer and reach an agreement. One of them came over, he spoke more English.

'The mechanic is in Belesar, 20km away. The Tractor will take your bike. You can go with this man. I will follow on bike'.

Already dozens of hands were hoisting Amlis on the back of a tractor, I don't know if it was the same one that hit me. I was ushered into the cab of a little van, cramped with three other men and a driver, and we trundled off the 20kms to Belasar.

I felt strangely calm. Perhaps too calm. I was ok, the bike was going to the mechanics. Was I supposed to be fearful, angry, disappointed? In my heart I knew that everything was ok.

We got to Belesar and offloaded at the mechanics. A respectable, capable looking man approached me. 'You are mechanic?' I asked.

'No, he mechanic'. He pointed into the workshop, where a man who could not have been more than twenty was engrossed in the guts of an engine. He looked so young, but the others treated him with great respect.

As we were waiting for the Amblis, I felt composed enough to speak about the crash itself. I approached the Elder who had helped me back at the village with my notebook.

'Ok, your help please. What was the name of the village where the crash happened?'

'Khaisam Khast, Tes - Shangerelb. Village, Belesar', he said and then wrote in spidery writing in my notebook.

'And who is the man who drove the tractor?'

'He not here', he looked uncomfortable.

'Well where is he?'

'He run away'. He looked even more uncomfortable, and shuffled from foot to foot.

'What do you mean he ran away! It was his fault! He crashed into me. He should be here, and at least pay something towards bike. What is his name?'

'Im sorry, I do not know, he run away'. He looked in deep pain ,whether frmo having to tell lies or genuine embarrassment that he had gone.

I started to feel a real hot anger inside. It was one thing to be part in an accident, even if it was completely his fault, another thing to run off and leave someone stranded, who doesn't speak the language, with a broken bike.

''He is a bad man. It was his fault. He should be here'.

'Yes, tractor man bad man. It was his fault. Tractor fault'. The Elder agreed.

But I knew there was no point in pusuing this. I was ok, the bike was being fixed, the Tractor man could suffer his own punishments for causing and then fleeing the accident.

I went to watch the mechanic at work. He stripped the handlebars of the switches and grip, and then with a long steel tube, bent it back into some semblance of normality.

Next he took off the mangled leg guard, and set to with a hammer, checking and banging, and making true. The Footbrake was taken off before being straightened, but the luggage rack only needed three blows.

'No Parts, only Jodhpur', he gestured helplessly at the mirror and the handlebars which although better but was by no means straight.

But the test was starting her up. I was really nervous, and mud covered my boots. But when I kicked down hard, she answered with a roar. A test drive up and down the street. THe handle alignment was off, and maybe there was a slight hesitation in some of the firing, but it appeared all ok.

'How much?' I asked when I got back. The mechanic scratched his head for a bit, discussed with the elder. '500rps' he replied.

'Listen up', I addressed the small crowd that still remained watching me. 'The tractor man is a bad man. He caused the accident. He should be here to pay. But 500 rps is a small price, and I can afford that no problem so I will pay. I want to thank you all who helped me, especially you sir' I bowed to the elder, 'and you', I bowed also to the mechanic. 'Accidents happen. If it hadn't happened then I would not have met you, and experienced your kindness. Thankyou guys. You are good men'.

And indeed I did feel good about it. The care and worry and help that a lot of people had given me in the last few hours was considerable, and I felt touched and well looked after.

I went for chai with the elder before I left. It turned out that he was a bus driver between Jodhpur and Jaisamer. He had been doing this route for 20 years. He was a genuine man, and a real leader to the people. It felt good to be with him.

The two hundred kilometres to Jodhpur took 3 hours. I stopped once for a 5 minute break. It was the easiest ride I think I have had.

As I left Belesar, I was gripped with a powerful elation and great joy. I was alive! It truly is good to be alive.

My story does not end here, nor will it. I have no goals at the moment, but I will have more and I will achieve them too.

Life is good. And right here, right now, life is amazing.