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The darker side of India’s spirtual heartland


Soon two Israeli guys showed up and we started to chat. I told them the course of events of my day. They were shocked to hear me tell this, as the very same thing happened to them the day before. We even came to the conclusion that the filthy man was the same guy that had also tricked the Israelis. I began to feel better about myself. It wasn’t my fault, this was a scam. The Israelis told me the police were in the process of arresting this problem. The previous week the police took 25 guys to prison. We continued chatting on the roof top over-looking the river and the burning ghats. Finally a hotel that actually was “right on the river.” I met some other tourists that night, and we shared a chat, and a smoke; the events of the day fading like the smoke from the neighboring burning ghat into the night sky.

The next morning I left with my two new Israeli friends, Avner and Omri, feeling refreshed and energized for the adventures of the new day. We left together for the train station, each of us jumping into his own cycle-rickshaw.

“Last one to the station has to pay!” I shouted, as my cyclist-driver took off. We were all headed to Khajuharo, home of the ancient kamasutra temples. We needed to find some girls.

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