A section from 'The Daughter of Ganges'

Currently working on translating this marvelous piece from Raluca Petrescu's The Daughter of Ganges. I've been struck once more by the writer's delicate choice of words, especially in this section. Your mind will travel to India and you'll find yourself roaming the intricate narrow alleyways of Saway Madhopur. While advancing through each chapter, you can almost smell the sweet aroma of the cardamom chai. Oh and also, how weird is Mark's confession in the letter that Amelia managed to rip out of his diary? Here's just snippets from Amelia's marvelous adventure. Curious much? Stay tuned for more!

P.S. The book is available in Romanian and Spanish for now. English version coming soon.

Click here for Romanian https://letras.ro/product/fiica-gangelui-ed-tiparita/ or DM her on Instagram here → https://www.instagram.com/ralu_mirella/ for the Spanish version.

III. AMELIA

July 2018, Sawai Madhopur

I was sat down on a marble bench in the town center, and I was contemplating the engaging commotion of the village. My eyes were following the people that swarmed like ants in search for their daily food. I was observing the merchants that brought their fruit and vegetables and arranged them onto their stalls. Cows were grazing on the side of the road a few feet from me. They kept me company. Whenever they’d start moving, all the cars stopped and patiently let them pass and so I’d follow them. They were the safest means of crossing the street. The streets were packed with motorcycles driven by talented drivers who passed among people with such an impressive precision. The combined turmoil of cars, motorcycles and bystanders and the annoying honking were conducting the constant agitated traffic. Nevertheless, all that chaos was fascinating to me. It was part of Asia’s charm. Improvised restaurants on narrow sidewalks with their cement cracked by age and the staggering smells of spices coming from the kitchens were inviting me in. Colored stalls filled with fresh fruit and vegetables were waiting for their hasty customers. They wouldn't even get off of their motorcycles when they had the intention to buy something. They’d pick bundles of whatever, pay, throw them in their bamboo baskets and keep on their way all the while honking annoyingly so they could make their way through the never ending traffic.

The main religion of the country was Hinduism, followed by Islam and Christianity, both in a low percentage. I started researching the area’s history and I tried to find out answers to my questions by asking the locals. I tried to grasp the essence of that place through the eyes of an unprejudiced child. Early in the morning, I was lured by the floral scents coming from the flower market. I was losing myself in jasmine, rose, hydrangea, gladiolus and other tens of unknown flowers’ perfumes. I bought a garland and a bouquet of mixed flowers which I had handpicked myself off of a colorful stall. I thought they might give a fresh air to the little house sitting at the top of the hill. All the stalls of spices were at the end of the rainbow-street. Their sweet intense scent flooded my nostrils with foreign smells which only awakened my curiosity. Ready for a new adventure, I happily turned left from the flower market onto another narrow crowded alley. I found myself in front of dark red piles of something that I discovered later to be saffron. They conveyed such elegant and subtle scents. Another pile of the brightest orange turmeric hypnotized me. I dipped two fingers in the golden dust and touched my cheeks to give them some color. I was the happiest child. That carousel of aromas gave me life.

At the end of the narrow street of spices, a new alley stretched at my feet. This is where one could find all types of food. The momo dumplings winked at me. Some were filled with meat or vegetables and others would have a mix of both. I asked for two vegetable momos and one papri chaat, some sort of crispy wafer-like fast-food snack made of flour. They sprinkled on it a mix of potatoes, chickpeas, chili, yogurt and tamarind chutney. What a feast! I sat down at one of the tiny plastic tables on the sidewalk and enjoyed my newly purchased food. I went for a chai masala instead of dessert. It was my newly discovered most favorite hot beverage. It absolutely defeated coffee. While enjoying my chai, I thought about the page I ripped out of Mark’s diary which was quietly waiting in my leather bag. Mark’s words came alive in my mind once more. I can’t remember how many times I had tried reading between the lines all those words that seemed to have come from a dark past.

‘03/1984

I’m back in Vrindavan after so long. Distant lands with their conquering aromas towards which I am drawn. Here I am, once again, on my way towards the colorful streets painted by the magical powders of Krishna’s musical evenings and of the Holi festival. I dived into a black sea drawn by my heart’s desires where a creature whose body has the color of clouds resides. Oh, how I hope to see her again! The incandescent flame which she lit in me still burns for her.

Euphoria and escape from the tiring uproar of Berlin and from the 144km never ending wall that steals our freedom.’

Although I had travelled to India on many occasions, I had never actually seen the Festival of Colors, Holi. I'd only read that it was celebrated depending on the full moon, at the end of February or beginning of March. I guessed that Mark was referring to the same festival in his diary. Nevertheless, I had no idea what the quote and the drawing of the circle at the bottom of the page could possibly mean. I tried to do the math in my mind. Mark was currently 56, meaning that in 1984 he was 22. During that time, he must have been either in his 3rd or 4th year at Architecture. I couldn’t estimate it better than that. Still shrouded in the same twisted thoughts, I got up from the plastic chair and left the improvised terrace from the busy sidewalk. I made my way through the crowd and headed towards a jewelry stall that boasted of souvenirs in shapes of deities and other known symbols such as Man, Pentagrams, the Banyan tree or Ganesha.

— Ganesha leads karma through creating and removing obstacles from each other’s way. It represents the power that lies within every human being, the long bearded man with a turban uttered from behind his stand when he noticed my admiration for a clay statuette of the Ganesha god. He was smoking some kind of tobacco. I tried to stay away from its sweet smoke coming from the pipe.

— I’d be interested in this Ganesha charm, I babbled in English.

The stifling smoke moved in waves behind the stand. The old man stood up from among the clouds of smoke. I could see his silhouette moving at the back of the stall searching for something in his raffia bags.

— Here it is! A charm with Ganesha’s elephant head. May it lighten your mind, and may you find whatever you are looking for!

I handed him 100 rupees and thanked him right before I lost myself in the crowd once more.

The street I was on looked like an anthill with thousands of ants dressed in holiday clothes. I was feeling slightly confused and for a few seconds I couldn’t remember which direction I'd come from. I stopped for a second, and tried to focus at the never ending street. Suddenly, my eyes caught the sight of a familiar face. It looked like Mark, but a different Mark, tall and young. He turned his face towards me, and his golden hair locks flew in the wind leaving behind a beam of light. He was a few feet away from me. He was headed towards a narrow alleyway while fixing me with the eyes as if he was inviting me to follow him. So, I was on the move [. . .]