Exhausted, I walked up to one of the establishments in the Muslim Quarter to eat some boiled rice.

On my way back to the monastery, a big guy with long hair on a Harley Davidson (later I knew it was actually a Royal Enfield) approached me.

“Hey, do you know of any place where to stay here?” he asked.

“I’m staying at that  monastery, which is okay,” I said, pointing to the building.

I got up at dawn to meditate on the roof of the monastery. Who would have guessed that the motorbiker also meditated, but there he was, sitting in half-lotus posture. We got up almost simultaneously.

“Good morning,” I said first.

“What’s wrong with your face?” was his answer.

I reached there and noticed an abnormal skin irregularity on the forehead. I immediately moved to the nearest mirror to discover the cause. Last night, in my exhaustion, I had fallen asleep with half my head outside the mosquito net, and my “winged friends” didn’t miss their chance. After the intense “enemas and bleedings” (diarrhea and mosquitoes) I had never been as pure as then.

“I’m going to visit Vulture’s Peak, will you come with me?” asked the biker.

“I’ve tried for several days,” I said, surprised by the unexpected help.

I’d finally reach Vulture Peak in the company of that strange fellow… a kind of knight riding a sort of horse who seemed to come to my help.

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