Isaac's eyes were shut tight. He was imagining what would happen to his body in the event that the bus got into a head-on collision, wondering how long it would hurt for and if he would make it to a hospital and what a rural hospital in India was like and how long it would take him to die of an infection--and if they would have any morphine on hand to ease him out of the world. Collisions were on Isaac's mind because the backroads of Karnataka are too narrow for buses to pass one another in opposite directions. The ritual of oncoming traffic demanded that both vehicles swerve to the shoulders, leaving only inches between them, horns blaring and lights flashing. On every pass Isaac would bounce from one wall of his bunk chamber to the other. The night bus from Mysore to Hampi was a sleeper with two decks of bunk chambers: doubles on the right side and singles on the left. They were little more than particle board boxes with shower curtains and thin plastic-covered mattresses lumped at one end to simulate a pillow. Isaac soon learned to lay flat on his back for the sake of stability. This trick afforded him an hour or two of fitful sleep over the twelve hour journey, mostly toward the end when exhaustion trumped the jostle.

Sometime after sunrise a brown fist shot through the curtain into Isaac's bunk chamber and rapped against his wall. It was attached to a man who was ululating, "Hampihampihampihampi!" By the time Isaac mumbled, "I'm awake," the knocker was halfway down the bus.

The road outside was dusty and red. A few cement block storefronts lined the streets, alternating with less permanent bamboo and tarpaulin structures. Most of the hawkers were still setting up and couldn't be bothered spruiking their wares to the new arrivals. Isaac shouldered his pack and walked along the street past two middle aged men leaning against a fence. They offered hash, mushrooms, weed but he waved them away. They asked him where he was from and how long he was staying and he told them he wasn't sure. They laughed and said, maybe you come back later for a tour. He said, maybe yeah. Later. The two men nodded and smiled and promised to meet him. Isaac made a note to avoid that little block.

The hostel was a tidy two story affair. Cafe on the top floor, overlooking the river and the ancient temple complex on its far shore. Isaac slid his backpack from his shoulders and leaned over the railing to get a better look at the activity in the distance. Downstream, men were bathing two small elephants; upstream, a ferry skiff was straining, loaded with backpackers.

"First time here?" The voice belonged to a woman. Isaac paused before turning around, playing a game with himself where he tried to picture what she would look like before he saw her. His guess: elephant harem pants and a loose fitting cotton shirt; fading henna at the wrist. Braids? If the hair was long, definitely braids.

Isaac turned to see that she had short hair, but otherwise he was correct. He smiled and answered her. "Yeah. Just got here from Mysore. How is it?"

She returned the smile. Her teeth were bad but not ugly. "A good friend of mine calls it his 'honey pot'. I agree with him. It's a hard place to leave."

"Glad to hear it, I'm not sure yet if I plan on leaving. Mind if I sit down?"

Her name was Delia and she'd come to Hampi several weeks ago. "I quit my job as an English teacher." In Saudi Arabia, of all places. She was originally from Atlanta, but she'd been in Saudi for three years, had no idea how she'd lasted that long. "The money was good but," she trailed off. "Human rights, you know?" He didn't. She didn't explain. "What about you?"

He gave the usual response: New York City, stressful job, more to life. "Decided to say, 'fuck it' and took some time off." She pressed and he admitted that he'd been laid off. He tried to keep the worthless feeling in his stomach from showing on his face. It passed. "Severance." Inheritance, really. "If not now, when?" He couldn't remember where he'd heard the phrase, but he knew he was using it in the wrong context. She smiled back so it was probably okay, or she didn't know any better.

They got a couple of beers. Later they smoked some hash together. One of them or both of them invited her into Isaac's room. Her body was soft. The two of them crowded onto the hostel twin bed but managed. Clumsily, drunkenly. Afterward she said, "You know this moment right here?" The question felt invasive but she didn't wait for him to answer. "It's good. Like, you wish it would last forever." He agreed: the nakedness, the skin on skin and just the right amount of sweat. It wouldn't last forever, though. By morning they would have bad breath and the sweat would be clammy and their nakedness wouldn't be smoothed over by the darkness and the intoxication. There would be the formalities of a one night stand. With luck, morning sex that could dovetail into a breakfast and a hike through the ruins or some yoga classes or something. "It's wonderful," was all he said, not wanting to be a downer.

Delia shifted onto her side, nuzzling her head onto his chest, she was talking to the room, "Right? Moments. They don't come along too often, the good ones. And you hope they'll last forever, but they never do and then it's like you spend the whole time dreading the end. By then it's over."

"Like a good massage." Maybe she thought he was being flip with her, but he wasn't. "Like, it's a human touch, but it comes without any demands except that you relax." But, he explained, every time he got one he would spend half the time wishing it would last longer and the rest wishing they would stop grinding their fucking elbows into his spine, but for one fleeting instant it's perfect. So, "yeah, I think I understand."

Delia turned her head around, her eyes and voice were all urgency. "You should meet this guy, Thagee Baba. He's a teacher." Not, she assured him, a con artist like so many of the sadhus and babas and assorted holy men that congregated in these backpackers' enclaves. A legitimate wise man. "I'll introduce you tomorrow."

He wanted to tell her, please fucking don't, but he didn't have the guts. "I don't know about tomorrow, I just got here," and he stumbled over the usual bullshit, but they both knew that he was being a chicken. He tried to bring the conversation back around. "Besides, what happened to the moment?"

"You ruined it," she said, but she didn't go anywhere. Instead, she curled up next to him on the too-small mattress and they went to sleep under the fan. When Isaac woke up he pushed his morning hard-on into Delia's back, hopefully. She rolled over and got out of bed. "Wise to those tricks, kid."

"Worth a shot?"

She smiled at him. "Come with me to meet Thagee Baba. This afternoon, I'll be in the cafe at two."

Isaac agreed, knowing he would regret it.

Three months before, he had been in an air conditioned office in midtown searching for pleasant ways to commit suicide. Private browsing mode, of course. The office was business casual: polo shirt with logo, khaki, pleats. Two hour commute from Jersey. Desk job designing banners for internal corporate emails. Then, bam. Laid off just as Aunt Florence's heart gives out and who's the favorite nephew? Isaac bought a plane ticket as soon as the check cleared.

There was a brief period when he was sure the travel had helped him turn a corner: the food, the weather; the way that people in underdeveloped countries fell all over themselves for his money, to rip him off or to sell him something. Either way, it made him feel aristocratic despite his dirty t-shirt and heavy backpack. Money however, even Aunt Florence money, doesn't last forever. It was about a month into the trip when Isaac did the simple math to work out how much longer he could stay away. Three months, maybe four if he could keep to fan rooms and away from beach-side daiquiris. Two months later he was in Hampi with enough left for a bus ticket to Bangalore and a one-way flight to JFK. There were maybe three or four days before he had to make a decision.

Breakfast at the restaurant down the street was a thin rice flour pancake wrapped around some potatoes served with a small tin of sambal. It cost him the equivalent of thirty cents US, forty including tea. The waiter was a sweaty man in highwaters, flip flops, a discolored t-shirt who fidgeted when he took Isaac's order. "Dosa, masala tea?" He swiped the menu and said something to the woman sitting on the ground behind the kitchen doorway, mixing dough with her hand. She kept at her work, plunging her fist into the dented metal bowl, spinning it on the hard pack dirt. It looked like she was playing in baby shit, which might have put Isaac off his meal if he'd seen it near the beginning of his travels but now it was just another thing in the background, like a cow chewing on a plastic bag or a child sitting naked-assed on a pile of garbage. Revulsion had, somewhere along the way, become cosmopolitan indifference that he wore as a badge around less experienced travelers. He loved to warn the newbies, "Careful, they don't have western toilets here," or frighten them with tales of unwashed vegetables causing diarrhea or pathogens lurking in their iced beverages.

Mysticism, however, was something that Isaac had not developed a stomach for. Listening to some smug asshole in a turban talk about enlightenment during the hottest part of the afternoon sounded like torture. The right thing to do would be to meet Delia and break it to her that spirituality wasn't his thing, maybe they could meet later for a hike, or maybe just spend the night again.

Waiting in the hostel cafe felt a bit too desperate, like he was eager for her presence (he was, though). The tea shop across the street had a good enough view that he would be able to see her when she arrived. He'd walk across the way, make excuses and plans for later. She was buoyant when she sat down. Her disappointment seemed real as two o'clock approached and despite the hint of guilt, it was nice to be missed by a stranger. Isaac paid as soon as he saw her stand up, unsure what he was intending to actually do. It didn't seem like a good idea to approach her then. Too awkward. He could make up an excuse when he saw her later. He decided, instead, to follow her, keeping about fifty yards behind as she walked along the riverbank. The Indian boys stared at her unabashedly but she managed to walk unfazed but not unfriendly past them. She had to be a strong woman, traveling to these parts on her own. He found himself nervous more often than he'd like to admit, despite the shield that his gender afforded him against worst case scenarios.

Isaac was just far enough back for plausible deniability. Following her was much more exciting than joining her would be, besides there would be no forced participation and if he remained the voyeur he'd be able to leave without pissing anybody off when the oms started. She veered off onto an uphill path. Isaac waited in the shade, giving her more distance.

Half an hour worth of uphill later the winding path spread out onto a clear area with a cliff-side panoramic view of a hook in the river below and a horizon cluttered with enormous boulders. There were fifteen or twenty people gathered around an idling bus. Isaac stayed in the shadow of a rock outcropping, too far away to make out what was being said. The small crowd began hugging one another in turns. Each time Delia shared a hug with someone it tickled something possessive in him.

After the hugs, several people filed onto the bus. Its engine roared up and settled into a steady loping diesel grumble. The rest of the people, including Delia, stood back, holding hands, staring at its windows. A saffron-robed man with a beard stepped into view, addressing the audience, touching each of them on the shoulder as he walked down the line. The details of his words were lost to the breeze but their resonance was pleasing. Delia was next to a weeping fat girl, she brushed the girl's hair back with her hand and kissed her on the cheek. The bus rolled backward several feet, then began moving forward. A needle of dread dug at Isaac, but he knew better than to worry about the driver accidentally taking them off the cliff ahead. India was a country of near misses and close scrapes, even during an action as mundane as leaving a parking lot. The dread dug deeper as the bus continued onward, speeding up, aiming straight rather than slowing into a sharp turn. Its front wheels left the edge of the cliff before Isaac could bring himself to acknowledge what he was watching. The rear doors of the bus disappeared over the edge. The screech of metal crushing against rock was what made it real.

The remaining crowd came together in a circle, arms wrapped over shoulders. No one rushed to the cliff's edge or howled in surprise or horror. A few muffled whimpers, a sob or two suppressed under deep breaths came from the huddle of survivors. A slow, open throated chant began: one, two voices, the rest falling in, some faltering before blending into a long mournful note that burrowed into Isaac's chest. He stepped backward to get away from the invasive sound, before giving in to the urge to scurry down the path.

By the time Delia got back to the hostel Isaac was sitting in the cafe, most of the way to drunk. He had three large Kingfisher bottles emptied in front of him and was halfway through a fourth. She sat down, like no big deal. "I missed you today, it was really special." She told him it was an incredible experience, life changing. Isaac tried to keep his hands steady and his mouth shut, but the secret inside him was anxious and wanted out so he had to settle for a clenched jaw and small tremors. She told him that he would have loved the ceremony and maybe hated it a little and he ground his teeth together. She did one of those dreamy eyes-closed nods and mhhm'd, "Challenging stuff, but so worth it," and drank from his half-bottle of beer.

All he wanted to do was admit to following her and ask what the hell kind of cult she was wrapped up in. Instead, changing the subject, he blurted out: "I was going to kill myself," as he took the beer bottle back. "Before I left New York. Before I got laid off." He didn't mention the money, what would she think if he was the sort of person who got suicidal over finances, the kind of guy who would put off suicide just because he had a few extra bucks in his bank account? He told her that he decided to give life another shot, "but I was bullshitting myself." He continued, telling her that he, in fact, was a bullshitter and that he was bullshitting her, too. That he couldn't help it.

"How?" She asked, "are you bullshitting me?"

He waved for another beer. They drank until nightfall, until his sentences stopped making sense. She put him to bed and laid against his body, snuggled into his armpit. "I'll find out, you know?" Why bother hiding it, he figured outloud, committing himself to confessing. She pushed, he demurred, she pushed. Of the confession the only bit that was intelligible was "I saw you," and the word "bus." He tensed, waiting for an explosion.

She didn't revolt, though. No standing and shouting or pious speeches about betrayals of trust. Just a head scoot as she readjusted herself on his chest. "Oh," she said, "What did you think?" Like all he had done was sneak in on a yoga class.

There was nothing to say, Isaac realized. How do you respond to a question like that?

"You can't get it out of your head, can you? That instant in time, just before they went over the edge. It lasts forever, you know? That's what Thagee Baba says. Each instant is a kind of little infinity but it takes something special to see it: getting a massage, fucking, the bus this afternoon." She rolled over on top of his chest so that they were nose to nose. Her weight on him was comforting, calming. "The more intense the moment, the more of its infinity you're privy to. Baba tells us that's where immortality hides. In the revealed moment."

It sounded very much like psychotic bullshit to Isaac. Insanity. A way for hippies to justify dropping out. Another of many nihilistic philosophies to make people feel okay about fucking their lives off in little dusty backwaters. "Then what?" He demanded, "The moment lasts forever and then you die."

Her face was serene, "You were going to die, right?" Her bad teeth flashed between her words. "You came here to commit suicide?"

The comforting weight of her body on his chest turned suffocating. On the backs of his eyelids he saw the fluorescent lighting of a midtown office, the ugly caverns of Penn Station, drinking warm beer from a tall can in a ludicrous brown paper bag on the ride home. Her body pressed down on him like the inevitability of his return to a life he had planned to end. "Yeah, I came here to kill myself," why gussy it up? "My aunt beat me to dying and left me a chunk of change, otherwise I would have taken care of it months ago. She left me enough for the last three months. I gave myself a reprieve until it ran out." The money only lasted two months, he admitted, amused that the specter of death wasn't enough to encourage him to be frugal, "so you could say I've been living in the moment."

Delia's eyes narrowed and her voice took a sober tone. "When I was in Saudi I went to a public execution." Holy shit, was all Isaac had in way of reply before she continued, "My boss Faddy, he was trying to be nice. Got me seats right up front. Good seats, he said when he handed me the tickets. Mind if I smoke? Thanks." She sat up on the bed, crossed her legs and rolled a smoke from the pouch she'd set on the nightstand earlier. She lit, inhaled, exhaled a cloud of smoke. "Okay, so I was up front. This woman, see? She'd been raped by one of the princes--in Saudi every other guy is a prince--and she fought back. Scratched up his face, ruined his good looks along with his left eye." She took another deep draw on the cigarette. "Anyway, they sentenced her to death, of course. The woman, she came out and I figured she'd be crying but she wasn't. She was serene, laid her head down without being forced or anything. And Faddy wasn't kidding around about the seats. I was like from here to the door away from her." She paused, like she was giving him room to speak or ask questions, but Isaac just nodded her on. She adjusted her jaw and continued, "Her eyes. She had these crazy green eyes, that's how close I was, I could see them, and I swear we looked right at each other. The blade came down, oh yeah? They used a sword."  She shook her head and said the word "Saudi" by way of explanation. "Anyway, every time I close my eyes now, I see her."

"I'm sorry." It was all he could say, there were no reflexive words of wisdom or consolation he had prepared for something like that.

"Don't be. It woke me up. That woman, I was there for her very last instant of life. I shared that with her and even though she didn't know, it was a gift she gave to me. Anyway. I quit, went traveling and ended up here. Just like you." She took another deep drag of her cigarette and began looking around for an ashtray before just dropping it over the side of the bed onto the cement floor. "The thing that Thagee Baba talks about--that's how I knew, when I heard him it all clicked into place. When he talks about moments." She tilted her head and said, "Come tomorrow, it's my turn to get on that bus. To seize my moment." Isaac tried but could not muster an argument. There wasn't anything he could say that made sense after that. Delia laid down again, next to him, and nuzzled into his armpit.


The afternoon was dusty and hot and in no way different than any other afternoon that Isaac had spent in the south of India. Except that he was standing with a group of people, listening to a middle aged man lecture on the value of "The Moment," which contained, "an infinity," and how each and every person present was, "akin to being a god, with command over countless infinities," but how the ignorance of this caused people pain. Something had been lost, the mystic said, and he was teaching those lucky gathered few how to find it again.

There was a short chant. Thagee Baba walked along the line of his students. When he reached Isaac he tapped him on the shoulder. "Delia has brought you here?" Isaac nodded. The baba patted him on the cheek. He said, "You should thank her," before walking the rest of the line.

An old white bus pulled into the clearing. "This is your biggest test," Thagee Baba said as the bus braked against the dust. "You have the power to pass infinities of time, that is the gift of humanity, but it is also a curse, no?" Delia's eyes stayed fixed on him as she nodded. He somehow made eye contact with everybody all at once. "When a person sees their last moment coming, they have no choice but to make it last forever, to unpack the infinite space inside, do you see?" Isaac found himself nodding along. "Come on then," Thagee Baba continued, "it's time my children."

The crowd filed onto the bus, leaving Isaac standing in the hard packed dust, watching Delia walk away, waiting for her to look over her shoulder at him, remembering the weight of her body on his chest, longing for it, wondering why that moment couldn't be the one that lasted forever, but then again, maybe it did? He watched her walk inside the bus, taking a seat somewhere in the middle. Seven were on the bus, each had their own window seat, but all of them were either looking ahead or upward. Isaac's heartbeat picked up pace as the bus gunned its engines.

The wheels spun slightly against the dirt before catching. It could have been a thousand years or a few seconds as the bus sped inevitably toward the edge. Delia faced straight ahead. Why couldn't he see her eyes? Shouldn't that have been part of the deal? She got to see the woman's eyes at the execution. It didn't seem fair. He wanted to scream and stop everything but he realized that it was too late for that. The front wheels of the bus went over, less than a second later the rear doors disappeared as well. Metal crumpled and squealed against the rocks.

Thagee Baba put his hand on Isaac's shoulder, squeezing, "You saw thousand tiny infinities. How do you feel?"

Isaac closed his eyes and pictured the white glow of fluorescent office lighting. He was back in his ergonomic seat, browsing for the right cocktail of drugs to turn off his own lights for good. The image of the bus intruded. Delia's last walk, the calmness in the way she took her seat. He remembered her weight on his chest. How did he feel, though? Maybe a bit sad he wasn't on the bus, not because of the enlightenment or the infinities, that was all bullshit. It would have been a hell of a way to go out, though. Way more interesting than a handful of opiates.

The baba's hands were hard and he squeezed Isaac's shoulder again.  "I'll see you tomorrow, up here?" The baba had a serene squint-eyed look on his face, no doubt living through his countless infinities while they stood there. Isaac didn't say anything as he walked away, down the little winding path toward the hostel. He still had enough money left for a bus ticket to Bangalore, a one-way to JFK, and that handful of opiates.