Title: Dark Horse: Chapter Seven, Reality
Rating: PG-13 [mild drug use]

Summary: George comes to a realization about Sitara. Sitara returns home and faces her father. Donovan ventures from the ashram, into Rishikesh.






Waking with greater sense of peace than he had in a long time, George stretched. He had not spent all night with Sitara, as he wished, but left her after his confession and a few more kisses. Retreating to his own quarters had not been easy, but he saw exhaustion in her eyes. Aware her dance performance had to drain energy; he kissed her good night and returned to his own bed. Though he slept with the soft, sleeping sounds of his wife in the other bed in the room, George had dreamt of emerald green and tittering ankle bells. That alone was reason to wake in a good mood. He glanced in Pattie’s bed, found it empty, and rolled out of his own.

Ignoring his half-erection, George sat on his mediation mat, curled into a half-lotus position, and took a deep breath. As he began to empty out his mind, the green began to filter in again. Rather than force it out, he embraced the emotions that accompanied the color. He felt his soul and heart expand. His lips curved into a crooked smile. He could not chase away the fact she infected his mind and soul. More importantly, he did not want to. Sitara made him feel… everything he always wanted to feel.

He had not come to India to find a woman, but he had found his soul through a woman.

Rolling out of his morning meditation, his body and soul calmed, George got to his feet. He brushed his teeth and glanced around the room. His eyes focused on Pattie’s bed and things. He loved his wife; there was no denying it, ever. Yet, as he thought about it, he realized he was no longer in love with her. It was not because of Sitara, but rather the Indian beauty made him realize it. His previous infidelities hinted at it, but it was this moment of realization that finally hit him.

He just did not want to hurt her. Ever.

With these heavy thoughts weighing down his thoughts, George headed out of the room and towards the group breakfasting under the canvas tent. He picked up breakfast and slipped onto a bench, greeting a few but not fully engaging in conversation. The monkeys whooped nearby, some encroaching on the table already, but he paid them no mind either.

“Good morning, husband,” Pattie moved to sit next to him, leaning over and kissing his cheek.

“Oh, good morning, Pattie,” his eyes flicked to hers.

Her eyes searched his, “Is being twenty-five stressful?”

He smirked, “…no.”

“Then why so quiet?”

“Well… I think perhaps…”

“What?” her hand covered his and squeezed it gently.

“I think maybe we should have separate quarters.”

Pattie paused for a moment, “Why?”

“Meditation,” he stated.

She smiled crookedly, “I was going to suggest the same thing, but I didn’t want to ruin your birthday.”

George smiled quickly and kissed her, “You are wonderful.”

With that worry pushed from his mind, his eyes wandered the morning crowd. Only then did he notice the green-eyed beauty was not amongst them. As he realized it, he also knew he would have felt her presence has she been there. However, he did not feel it right to ask Pattie where Sitara was, so he remained silent.

The day’s schedule in mind, George headed to ask the Maharishi for separate quarters from his wife, he crossed paths with Donovan. They walked silently for a few minutes. Donovan paused and lit a forbidden joint, offering it to George. Hesitating for a minute, he accepted it and took a deep hit.

“Sitara’s dance was pretty amazing last night,” Donovan commented.

“Both of them,” he agreed.

“Pity it was a onetime thing.”

“Agreed.”

“Did she say good bye to you?”

The color drained from his face, “She’s gone?”

“Yep,” he sucked on the joint.

“When?”

Donovan shrugged, “No idea.”

“Oh well… perhaps she’ll return,” he accepted another hit of the joint. “You are heading to see the Maharishi?”

“Apparently, I am moving to a different place.”

“I am hoping for the same myself,” George stated.

Donovan’s eyebrows arched up as they once more began to walk, “Problems with Pattie?”

“Disruptions in meditation on both our sides.”

“Ah, of course.”

They reached the Maharishi’s chambers. As Donovan still puffed on a joint, George ducked in first. Though the guru pushed him to reveal more of his thoughts, he kept his ground, saying he just wanted undisturbed space to meditate in. Besides, with Sitara gone unexpectedly and perhaps forever, he really had no other reason to need time and space from his wife. Maybe emerald green was just a dream, not a reality.



After hours of arguing with her chaperone, Sitara was nearly happy to return to Jaipur the following day. Staying at the ashram to perform for George had been amazing, the last night with him filling her soul with enough sparkling gold to keep her sane through the harassment of her father’s employees. She did not even protest sitting in the back of the car, not driving the distance like she normally did. Instead, she curled up in the backseat, replaying the weekend over in her mind.

Though she had left the ashram before most everyone woke up the day before, she believed it to be the right choice. Had she waited for George or even Donovan to rise, she would have been tempted to remain longer. It was an easy decision to leave before they stirred, but not as easy to act on it. She stretched into a few yoga poses before taking her luggage to her car. With a brief farewell to the Maharishi, she left as the sun began to shoot golden spikes over the Ganges River. Never before had she felt like she was leaving behind something, but this time was different.

Sitara had tasted freedom – and a glimmer of love or affection – and she liked it.

Her soul wanted to remain at the ashram, but she forced herself into the car and drove away. She had a duty and responsibility to her father. She could not stay. It was even more apparent over a day’s drive away from Rishikesh. Her heart might have ached for what she left behind, but her mind knew going home was the right choice. She did not need to be getting caught up in what could never be; only foolish girls believed in the things George and Donovan seemed to offer. That was not real life. Or at least she kept telling herself.

As the car made its way through the crowded streets of Jaipur, Sitara sat up fully. She fixed her appearance, ignoring the dirty faces that peered into the windows. Her green eyes flicked up as the car stopped. Seeing the gates of Barlow Estate, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The car rumbled through the gate towards the house.

Accepting a hand, Sitara climbed out of the car and headed directly into the house. While she would have preferred to retire to her rooms and take a bath, she headed directly to her father’s library. A hush seemed to settle over the house as she headed down marble hallways. It seemed odd, putting her on edge, but she pushed it aside and reached for the library doors.

She slipped into the library, closing the doors behind her. Crossing the thick Persian rug, she stopped in front of his large desk. Slowly his green eyes rose to look at her. He did not smile at all, but rather frowned. Sitara withheld her emotions and slipped into the chair across from him. Geoff capped his pen and set it down, folding his hands on the desk. His eyes swept up and down, apparently looking for something…

“The doctor will be here in the morning,” he stated.

“For?”

“To ensure your virginity.”

Sitara’s mouth dropped open, “Excuse me?”

“You defied your chaperones and repeatedly went to the ashram alone. You were unsupervised for many hours in Rishikesh. There is no way to assure your virginity without–”

“You don’t trust me? Do you really think that the moment I am without supervision I would go out and… and do that?”

He stared at her for a moment, “I do not know. The Sita I know would not have defied instructions to begin with.”

“Are you serious? Are you really serious? I asked if I could remain and dance in Rishikesh. You gave permission.”

“You did not. The Maharishi did. Though I believe he is a charlatan and certainly not a holy man, I was not going to tell him no. That would look bad internationally for one.”

She rolled her eyes, “So you allowed me to remain to save face, only to admonish me once I return home? How is that even fair?”

“I never claimed it was fair. Life is not fair.”

Sitara rolled her eyes again, folded her arms across her chest, and remained silent.

“The doctor will be here in the morning,” Geoff repeated. “And he will check your virginity.”

“Why does it bloody matter?”

“I cannot marry you if you are not a virgin.”

“Sure you can. You married mum while she was pregnant with me. You cannot claim she was a virgin then.”

His eyes darkened, “That was different. We were in love.”

“And who’s to say I’m not in love.”

“Sitara, do not distract from the problem at hand by bringing up your dear mother. You know I cannot handle talking about her.”

Her eyes narrowed, “If you were so concerned about my virginity so that I could marry, you should have married me off years ago”

Before he could respond, she abruptly stood and hurried out of his library. With the rustle of her silk sari and the soft clang of her golden bangles, Sitara ran down the hallway towards her wing of the manor. She passed servants, but avoided them all, including her nurse and maid. Her door slammed close behind her and she collapsed onto her large, luxurious bed. Within moments, the silk beneath her darkened with her tears.

She never should have left Rishikesh that much was clear.

“Bacci,” a soft voice spoke, the weight of the speaker weighing down her bed, “do not cry.”

“But Neela,” she turned her face towards her nurse, “he does not even trust me! He is bringing a doctor here to test my virginity tomorrow!”

The older woman brushed hair from her face, “It is not that he does not trust you, bacci.”

“Then why?”

“Because if you are to marry and it is known you were unsupervised for such a length of time, he will need irrefutable proof that you are an upstanding woman. Men these days do not trust the word of a woman,” she explained.

“I am still as much a virgin as I was when I left here.”

“I know, bacci,” she smiled reassuringly. “I know. Your father is merely doing what he thinks is best.”

“If it was so important to marry me off as a virgin, why hasn’t he done it already?”

“I think,” Neela paused, “that he sees too much of your mother in you to let you go to just anyone. He is not as concerned with business deals as he appears, bacci. He will not release you easily.”

“Will he ever release me?”

“I hope so, bacci. I hope so.”



Finding himself needing greater stimulation than the ashram provided, especially with no birthday celebrations in sight, Donovan convinced the Maharishi to let him and Paul Horn out. His thoughts continued to flit back to the missing Indian beauty, but he presumed since she vanished without a good-bye two weeks before, she would not return. He even felt his attraction to Jenny waning, leading to less and less time spent with her. He needed a break from all of the meditating and that meant heading into the busy little streets of Rishikesh.

They meandered through streets filled with animals, bicycles, and people on foot. Occasionally a car honked to disperse the crowd. Donovan glanced at each vehicle, hoping to see the pretty Indian girl behind the wheel. However, face after face drove by unfamiliar.

The heady incense contrasted starkly with the stench of the open sewers, combining into an odd perfume that was completely and totally India. Donovan knew he would never be able to replicate it at all. Not that he would ever want to, but it certainly was interesting. The scents seemed to complement the busy streets, filled with open-air shops filled with people shouting out their deals.

Donovan picked up a new journal in the stationary store, complete with yellowed pages and an Indian scene on front. They browsed posters of deities, mostly of Krishna and various goddesses. Selecting a few shiny posters of Ganesh and Kali, the two men headed back out into the streets.

Eyes falling on a pretty girl with dark black hair and eyes lined thickly with kohl, Donovan found his thoughts flitting back to Sitara. Even the girl’s brightly colored rags seemed to remind him of the dancing Indian beauty. Perhaps if she had at least said good-bye he would not keep thinking of her. He briefly wondered if she invaded George’s thoughts as well, but discarded it, as the Beatle seemed to take to the meditation far more easily than he had.

Though they passed by beggar children, some without limbs, a rather healthy-looking boy attached himself to them, “Hello, sirs.”

“Hello there,” Paul greeted the boy.

“I can be your guide. I know this area very well.”

“We are staying at the ashram across the river,” Donovan stated.

“There are many ashrams in this area,” he stated. “Which one, sirs?”

“The Maharishi Mahesh Yogi.”

“I see,” the boy replied, a glimpse of emotion in his eyes. “Can I show you around? Be your guide?

The two men agreed to it and followed the boy around for a while. He explained that there were thousands of gurus in India, many of them in the area of Rishikesh, but avoided speaking of the Maharishi himself. Donovan did not quite understand it, as he always found the man to be jovial and giggly, but maybe there was more to it.

By the end of the tour by the boy, he was pleading to go with the two – not to the ashram, but to leave the Indian town, even the country with them. He pitched a good sell, promising he could do anything for them that they needed, be it as a servant or an assistant. Both Paul and Donovan knew it was not possible. However, it put Sitara’s entire situation in contrast. He could tell she did not want to remain any more than the street urchin did. She clearly was not poor, so what happened at her home that made her want to leave so much? He wished he could ring her on the phone and ask.

The Maharishi certainly had her number.

“We need to go back now,” Donovan suddenly declared.

“I come too?” the boy asked.

He frowned, “I’m sorry. But perhaps you can show us around again.”

Paul gave the boy some money before the two men departed and headed back to the ashram. Smoking a cigarette on the walk over, Donovan kept playing the conversation not yet had. He was very certain he would charm her into telling him things she would never tell anyone else – just as soon as he got her on the phone.

After depositing his small purchases in his room, Donovan went in search of the Maharishi. He found him with conversing with George. He leaned on the doorframe, chewing on a blade of grass. The Maharishi finally looked up to the folksinger.

“How was your venture to town?” he asked.

George remained seated where he was, feeling no need to leave.

“Just what I needed,” Donovan answered. “Tell me, would it be possible to make a phone call?”

“That would depend. Who would you like to phone?”

“The dancer from George’s birthday party a couple of weeks ago,” he responded.

George’s eyes brightened, glancing from Donovan to the Maharishi.

“Do you wish her to dance again? I am certain I can find an acceptable replacement,” the guru declared.

“I do not doubt that, Maharishi,” Donovan responded. “However, there are a number of things I wanted to ask her.”

George looked to the guru, part of him hating the fact he had not come up with such a solution himself. The Maharishi shifted in his position. His hands moved to his knees and he closed his eyes. Taking a deep breath, he slowly pulled into himself. Both men sighed, knowing the Maharishi chose to not answer by beginning to meditate. George rolled out of his position and got to his feet. Donovan pushed off the doorway as the guitarist passed him.

“What do you want to talk to her about?” he asked as Donovan fell instep beside him.

“Mainly, why she wants to get away so badly,” he answered.

George did not respond. He knew Sitara wanted out of the country. He even knew some of the reasons behind it. However, he did not intend to tell Donovan. For whatever reason, George felt like he was in competition with the younger folksinger. He would not feed his competition any information.

“Did you see her before she left?” he asked. “Or was before the fireworks the last time for you too?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

Donovan stopped and chuckled, which in turn made George stop and look at him.

“I get it now.”

“What?”

“You shagged her. That’s why she fled without saying goodbye.”

George’s eyes widened, “I did not.”

“No?”

“No. She went home. As scheduled. That is all.”

“Uh huh. Why do I not believe you?”

George stared at him silently.

“You shagged her.”

“No. And please do not repeat such things. It did not happen.”

It was Donovan’s turn to stare silently, hoping to break George down.

“Yes, I saw her after the fireworks, to thank her for her performance, but that is all. I told her good night and returned to my room with my wife.”

“Who you then asked to move into a different room.”

“Because we were interrupting each other’s mediation.”

“Uh huh.”

“What difference does it make to you anyways?” he asked.

Donovan shrugged and smiled, “It doesn’t. I was just trying to get your goat, George. I don’t care about the nature of your relationship with Sita. I’m still going to ring her.”

As the folksinger turned and headed down to the kitchen, George watched him walk away for a moment. He decided against following Donovan. Instead, he turned back around, returning to the Maharishi. Ducking back in, he frowned as he found the room empty. He would have to find some other way to make certain Donovan did not call Sitara – at least not before he did.