A Man Named Mowgli, Hampi

I follow the boy up to our hut, skipping to keep up with his strong pace. He has an air of indifference about him which surprises me. In any normal circumstances, I'd barely notice but we've quickly become used to locals' keen interest in us as foreigners; where we're from, where we're going, what we're doing in India. I realise I don't even know his name. 

'Mowgli,' he responds, 'like the jungle.'

As he looks back, I notice how intensely different he is. Whilst he shares the jet black hair and copper complexion of his many brothers, he appears to glow as the sun's rays reflect beautifully off his smooth skin and brighten the white of his eyes. 

'You're from England.'

It's more of a statement than a question and I'm impressed that he can so confidently distinguish between the many tongues which share our language. 

'Yeh I can tell, innit.' His lips flicker with a wicked smile as he slips into his best cockney imitation. It's not a conversation but it's a start and I grasp at the opportunity to return the question. 

'Yuh, Hampi. Born here. Grew up here. My family all still here.' He says it proudly and he has every right to be. The place is stunning. 

I wait for him to elaborate but he doesn't. Instead I ask him where's best to watch the sunset. 

Mowgli hesitates for a moment, long enough for me to wonder how he's not memorised the directions. Did he not just say he's lived here all his life?

'Come at six... I'll show you.'

When we meet again he's shed his cloak of indifference and replaced it with an endearing enthusiasm. 

'How old are you?'

'How many days in Hampi?'

'You climb?'

I tell him I can climb but I'm not sure I'd say I do. Not very often anyway. I look back to my mum knowing her answer would be very different. 

'It's okay, I climb often. I know every boulder in Hampi.'

He doesn't need to say how many that is. We're quite literally surrounded by them, as though caught in the still shot of a raging avalanche, and as we start to ascend we see the full extent to which they dominate this land; some have been intricately arranged into temples for the Gods whilst others are balancing impossibly in placements only nature could construct. It's quite breathtaking. 

The route becomes gradually steeper and without a word, Mowgli takes my mum's arm and backpack all in one swift movement to haul her upwards. 

'You're like a mountain goat,' she calls to him. 

'No. I'm mountain lion.'

With his chest puffed out and a dark main of hair haloed by the sun, he really does look like Mowgli, King of the Jungle. He has my full attention, so much so that I’ve not noticed the emerging scene around us. 

Between the baron rocks, fluorescent green rice fields glow so vibrantly, as to slightly tint the entire landscape emerald and give it an almost ethereal sense. I'd heard other travellers compare Hampi to the film sets of fictional classics such as Jurassic Park or Indiana Jones but in my opinion, it's far too beautiful for that. This place exceeds the depths of any imagination. 

Mowgli leaves us for a moment and takes a seat next to his friend who passes him a bongo drum. Minutes later another joins them with a didgeridoo. A foreigner in hippy dress then picks up his scarves and paints the rhythm in the sky. Slowly, more and more people gather around him, united by the moment but moving to their own beat. 

As the sun disappears, what had started as a soft, steady drumming culminates in an almighty clash of motion and sound. It first occurs to me how diverse the scene is and the number of nationalities represented within it but the thought quickly disintegrates. These people aren't the kind to be defined by their country; they're each one an individual, representing only themselves. No matter my general opinion on hippies, there's a lot to be said for that.

Just as we're beginning to wonder how we'll climb down in the dark, Mowgli emerges from the crowd and leads us safely back to our room. I hope we see him again later. 

*

'Come, join me.'

We're pleased to see Mowgli is still up when we return. 

'You found dinner?'

Well no, actually. It had been our intention but a mix up at the restaurant left us with nothing but a plain chapati between us. 

'Amit! Please bring these girls some food. And beer? Come on, why not?'

I categorically do not every drink beer but for the first time in twenty-six years, I find myself giving into peer pressure. 

'It's Indian beer. Very, very good.'

And very, very big, he failed to add - twice the size of a standard UK bottle. I brace myself for the taste and take a gigantic gulp, hoping to finish it faster. 

'You see?'

In truth, I'm pleasantly surprised which sets the tone rather well; Mowgli continues to surprise me. 

'You're very lucky, you know.'

I do. Over the past few days in India, I've come to know it again and again. 

'I never take guests to watch sunset. In high season I'm too busy and in low season I go alone. You are the first.'

Surprise displays itself in the form of a smile which spreads across my face. There are a thousand reasons for why he might consider us lucky but he's chosen this one. 

'Most people when they arrive want to know one of two things; the wifi password and where to buy the best charas. You were different. You wanted to see things.' 

Whilst flattered, I imagine it's not difficult to out-do many of the backpackers who visit Hampi. It definitely attracts a certain type; the kind who claim to travel to find themselves when all they really find is cheap weed and an endless stream of strangers too stoned to object to their self-indulgent spiel.

Even as Mowgli speaks I can hear some ginger bearded kid behind us droning on about the the parameters of the Universe and how he's constantly changing. 'I'm 26 but this is my 4th pair of feet.' No joke. 

Nevertheless, I'm glad we intrigue him as much as he does us and happily share with him my obsession with the sun. He tells us there are many other spots in Hampi to watch it rise and fall.

'Why do you only stay one night? There's so much to see. I can show you it all.'

I can see in his eyes that he's made it his mission to persuade us to stay. Had we not already booked our hotel on the other side of the river, there's a very good chance he'd succeed. I'm already onto my second beer...

'You're vegetarian?'

It's a reasonable question as Amit arrives with our dal fry and paneer kadai, neither which contain a hint of meat. 

Mowgli explains that he doesn't eat pig meat out of respect for his parents who practice Hinduism. I feel ignorant for not knowing that it's part of their religion too. 

'In India, it depends on your caste. The higher castes are completely vegetarian. Others, like me, we do not eat pig.' 

He explains that despite being a relatively wealthy man now, he can never shake his caste which was set long ago by his father's father's father who was a farmer working the fields. It's very difficult for Indians of a lower caste to find well paid jobs. He's done well for himself but it's not always been this way. 

'There have been moments in my life when I've had just two rupee in my pocket. The caste system is cruel and when you're down you're down - there's no government there to help you. If anything, they're against you.'

Mowgli built this entire guest house in less than three weeks and could only work at night - if the government had discovered it going up, they'd have tried to pull the place down. Any fairly priced accommodation on this side of the river takes business away from their fancy, five star resorts on the other side. 

'They don't like to see the poor take from the rich. It's not the way the system is supposed to work.'

An overwhelming sense of regret comes over us as we realise the contribution we'll be making to this problem tomorrow night. We'd made the decision on a whim when arriving in forty degree heat after a twelve hour journey but now the thought of AC and a swimming pool makes my heart sink. I can't bring myself to tell Mowgli where we're going. 

'The rich get richer and the poor get poorer. That's the way our country is run.'

It turns out that hospitality is not the only business that's corrupt. Even doctors, those who we'd hope to be able to turn to in a crisis, prey on the poor in India. 

'If I go to the doctors with a headache, they'll tell me I'm dying to make themselves money. It happens all the time and when people really are sick, they can't afford to be treated.'

Healthcare is evidently not free in Hampi, neither schooling. Mowgli explains that he funds his two nephews' education because his brother earns just 100 rupees a day in the fields. 

'In England, this would not be the case no? My brother could send his own children to school, no problem?

I nod, explaining that every child is entitled to education until they're eighteen. After that, they have to pay. 

'But you have scholarships no? Like in America and Australia. I got one! I studied in Melbourne for six years!'

It turns out Mowgli is not the small town Indian boy I first thought. 

Though born, raised and now back in Hampi, he's travelled well; extremely well considering he's the first local we've met who's left the country. He goes on to describe his time in Australia and later, Nepal, Thailand, and Sri Lanka. Next month he plans to make the most of low season and explore the North. 

'I want to travel more and to see the world but Hampi is my home. I'll always return to my home.' 

My mum asks then whether the guest house is a permanent venture; a valid question given that many are destroyed every year in the monsoons and not rebuilt. 

Mowgli laughs. 

'Please. Nothing is permanent. We are not permanent. My future is a bubble; light, colourful and on the way up but at risk of bursting at any moment.'

It's my turn now to laugh. Has he been hanging out with too many of these hippies? Or has he just made a really good point?

There's always a risk for anyone that life can fall apart in an instant but in India, as a lower caste man making his way in the world, Mowgli seems considerably more vulnerable. He doesn't count on his luck lasting forever but he's making the most of every minute whilst it does.