On the 2000th Step

He keeled over. Onto the bench. 5 feet to my left. Some Indians next to him helped. Others glanced to the left. Continued walking. Yell from behind stops me. Let's wait a minute and see. Maybe we can help out.

Step 2000 of 10000. I am panting. And sweating. Heart racing. At 24, it is hard for me. 59 years old. And a big pot belly. What was he thinking? His 3 brothers are up ahead. Can word travel that fast? Up the mountain? I don't think so. I am imagining it now. They reach the top. Proud. Pilgrimage complete. Word slowly travels from behind. Rising. 100 steps per minute. Then it arrives. Feelings of helplessness.

He moans. Ooh that's a good sign. He's alive I guess. His tongue is sticking out. They rub his feet. They smack his face a bit. They rub his chest. People are crowding now. A woman pushes to the front. On her knees. Mutters a prayer. She offers her dolly for the man. No one takes it. He wouldn't fit anyway.

I am a silent observer. On the veranda above. My compadre is not so. He moves in. What can he possibly do? Wilderness training, he say. CPR he says. Images of dummies flash into my mind. This has got to be a joke.

His head is rolling to the side. Falling off the bench. No one seems to notice. More foot rubbing, chest rubbing. We must hold up his arm. It's heavy. Keeps rolling back. There's no more breathing now. Fingers to the neck. It's faint. On the wrist, faint. Now, nothing.

And so he starts the rescue effort. Pump pump pump. Breathe breathe breathe. And the chest rises up and up. Indian next to me opens the eyelids. Bad move, buddy. Now I have a new image in my head. The Indians bicker. Discuss what to do. We are in the background. Do their cell phones even work up here? He needs to go downwards. Way down.

20 minutes later and we are finished. It's time to relinquish. We have 8000 more steps ahead of us. We've already sat almost an hour. The sun is up high now. Let them deal with it. Reluctantly, we go. Lifelessness left behind.

6 hours later. We descend to the 2000th step. Approach the shopkeeper. Perched on the cliff side. What happened to the man before? Head tilts to the side. Tongue pokes out. Puru? Puru. We look at each other. Shit.

And so it is. Narrow mountain pass. No helicopter rescue. Hell, no helicopter. No cell. Nothing to ferry him downwards with. Feet rubbing, chest rubbing, prayers. Complete resignation. Nothing Western about it. On the 2000th step I found India, suddenly, once more. Just 1 in 1 billion I suppose.