untitled part 8

They found their way to the right ticket box and bought seats on the next bus. In the convenience store they stocked up on water and snacks for the day ahead. She could hardly believe the amount of water she could consume in one day here; in colder climates she barely remembered drinking at all.

The ruins were incredible to behold. Acres of parkland dotted sparcely with towering trees, held a vast network of crumbling brick buildings and ancient Buddha's of varying size. She was overwhelmed by the impression of being on a giant's gameboard, surrounded by the chess pieces of a forgotten game.

While there were many groups of tourists wandering through, the vast size meant it was almost silent; that special silence reserved for holy places.

She felt in awe as they pedalled their rented bikes through the parkland, stopping here and there for photos of crumbling chedi's or solemn Buddha's, their hands raised in a gesture of perpetual peace. Tall columns and pillars lined the walkways, when they parked the bikes and walked among the ruins. Birds chirped and cicadas hummed their song of heat.

Eventually they sought the shade of an old tree, and sat facing the reflective surface of a pond. They sat very close together, but without touching. Silently, they sipped from their bottles of water and thought their own thoughts. After countless minutes, he broke into her wandering thoughts.

"I can't even start to describe this place. It's beyond my ability."
"I know what you mean," she replied. "Mere words can't fully caputre the feeling of seeing all this - walking through history."
"It's the same with photos. They never really capture the feeling, the energy of a place."
"I think truely skilled photographers can do it. Haven't you ever gotten a chill from seeing an amazing picture?"
"Sure, the same way a written discription can give me goosebumps. But it's beyond my talents to do it."

Talking stopped. She raked her fingers through the grass between them, marvelling at the intensity of the green, when the sun hit the translucent blade. Tiny perfections of nature always amazed her; to her it was proof of the random accident of creation. Surely a being, even if it was a god, wouldn't have been able to put in so much detail. Something would have been overlooked, not right, if it was all created by hand, no matter how omnipotent.

She spread her fingers out, and he moved his hand over hers, clasping her palm in his grasp. For a moment she experienced the electric excitement flutter through her tummy. Junior High all over again. She closed her fingers over his and he squeezed her hand.
"I'd kiss you," he whispered, "but we're in a holy place."

There was something so perfect and innocent in the gesture of holding hands at that moment. Intinacy without vulgarity.

They sat with barely a movement for almost half an hour. Eventually both began to feel an interest in exploring the remaining end of the park, so they stood up and walked back to the bikes, hand in hand. Words seemed unnecessary in these moments.

After riding along avenues lined with tamarind trees, they stopped at a tiny chedi in near perfect condition. It stood by itself in a little field, separated by paths and roads from the other chedi's. The bottom of the chedi was ringed with elephants, their front legs and heads protuding from the lowest wall, as though a herd were stepping forth from within. Again, the near perfect condition drew their interest, and they hopped off their bikes for a closer look.

An old man was sitting on the ground nearby, and he rose to greet them. He offered to take their photo together in front of the chedi, which they gratefully accepted. Then he sold them a few postcards of the sights. They thanked him, then turned to look at their map, as they still had not seen the famed massive Buddha. The man approached them once more with a handful of what appeared to be sticks or dead leaves. They turned to look and she realized it wasn't leaves but tamarind pods. The man showed them how to peel off the shell and eat the sticky, sour flesh from around the seeds. Neither had tried tamarind before, and were surprised with the tangy taste. The old man filled their pockets with pods before allowing them to ride off, thanking him and bowing their heads.