Enroute Holy Malur

Sins had heard a lot about the town of Malur in the state of Karnataka. To proceed along on these line of thoughts, one of the first things he had checked and mapped out was his newly rented bike’s mileage. It came out as a solid 37 kilometers per one litre of petrol, which currently hovered at 69 bucks. A round trip to Malur was just 84 kilometers.

One fine morning, on a day which promised a crystal clear blue sky, Sins decided to make a day trip to Malur, in a bid to access the farms he had heard so much about. He could picture vast open fields of marijuana in his mind, after a mutual friend had forwarded him a picture from his trip last month. However, Sins’ friend hadn’t been able to transport the quantity he had imagined, due to his pessimism of getting on the wrong side of law.

He had heard legends about the town’s hidden gems, namely the farmers and the middlemen. As soon as he had glanced at the picture, requested and validated for proof, calls had been sent out for relevant questions in hope of correct answers. After all, every experience mattered, and in his case it was information to supplement whatever he found on the internet, scarce though the exercise turned out to be.

Before he knew it, Sunday had arrived, and his subconscious automatically woke him up just before first light, as if guiding him on his endeavor by the grace of the divine morning light and hoping for the best, and leaving the rest to destiny.

Curiosity spurred him, as he kicked his bike into top gear, after reaching the national highway. After an hour, coasting at a speed of 80, with the wind ruffling his oversized tee shirt, he spied a rusty tin thatched shop located approximately a kilometre away, against an aesthetic backdrop of a 100 feet tall hill, although it seemed more like a gigantic slope covered with small and semi tall plants. A few trees lined up at its very top.

He decided to stop at the rusty looking shop to scout for a cigarette, which he was successful at. The vendor smiled at him in a pleasant way. As Sins inhaled, the vendor spoke up to him in a very clear, concise tone, which seemed to him, that it was intended to deliver the information he was seeking.

“Sir, I know what you’re looking for”

Sins stared at him for a couple of seconds, too sceptical to believe. The man merely smiled. It was a genuine smile, without any hint of bias or malice. It was very…Peaceful. Sins didn’t say anything. The man understood Sins’ scepticism. As if to answer and pacify his uneasiness, he crouched underneath his counter, where small jars containing locally made sweet had been arranged as two concentric circles.

The man stood up suddenly from his crouching position, and almost as dazedly as Sins himself, placed a packet of the greenest marijuana Sins had ever seen in his life.

Sins inhaled the last three drags of the cigarette in one, and folded his hands in front of the man.

The man just smiled pleasantly.

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