Title: Dark Horse: Chapter Three, Searching for Love
Rating: PG-13 [mild drug use]

Summary: George meditates. Donovan spends time with Sitara. Sitara gets to meet the rest of the crew and even stays overnight at the ashram, allowing her and George to spend time together under the moonlight.




Stepping out of the lecture hall, deep in thought, George had temporarily forgotten all about the song. As always, the Maharishi put forth numerous thoughts and ideas that never before crossed his mind. With a charge to go meditate on the teachings for two hours, George headed directly towards the room he shared with Pattie. He ignored everyone else, especially those that sat down to play music or other activities. He had to work this teaching out first.

Even though he had a slight nagging feeling that he should be doing something else, George curled into a meditation pose in his quarters. His thoughts began to unravel the Maharishi’s teachings. Just as he neared the beginning thread of the Maharishi’s questions, the sounds of his wife entering the room shook him from his course. George attempted to ignore her and hoped that he could maintain some concentration.

“George, what do you think he meant by–”

He remained silent, keeping his eyes closed, hoping she would understand and leave him be. She noticed his silence and her eyes went wide. Quickly apologizing, she left the room, leaving him to silence. Taking a deep breath, he began anew on the search for an answer.

Seemingly, as soon as he cleared his mind once more, Pattie returned. She did not say anything, but he could feel her presence. Sitting down next to him, she attempted to meditate for a while but soon gave up and left the room again. He sighed and attempted to direct his thoughts again.

As his mind emptied of all distractions and began to work towards the Maharishi’s teachings, emerald green filled his mind’s eye. His eyes flew open, realizing he had likely missed his opportunity to spend time with Sitara. Though eager to see if he had missed his opportunity completely, he still was aware enough to unwind from his position correctly. He stretched up to the ceiling once on his feet, before turning to the door. Stepping out, he hoped he could find the Indian beauty. He was certain she was good for his soul.



A bit off guard from Donovan’s declaration that she was looking for love, Sitara pulled her gaze away from his. She glanced around at the compound, hearing his statement ring through her head. Finding a response was beyond difficult. She truly did not really know what love was. Things were different where she was from. Surrounded by other girls, who seemed to get younger each year as her companions were married off but she was not, Sitara’s interactions with men were abysmal. There was no dating in India society; marriages were arranged. Love was never expected or even really talked about.

However, she had read the Kama Sutra. She knew her mother’s people had once believed in love. Even though she learned vast amounts about the changes in the society in which she lived, she could not understand why love – and by proxy, sex – had become a business arrangement. Where had all the soul gone from relationships, from knowing and being around other people?

Her eyes returned to Donovan, searching his eyes. There was an unfamiliar sincerity, humanity, in his eyes. Sometimes, she would see such things reflected in her father’s eyes. Then again, her father was not Indian. He left Britain in his youth to tour his family’s holdings, became enamored with India and returned frequently before settling permanently after five years of traveling. A decade after his first visit to India, he met her mother at a festival, and after two years of pleading, secured her hand in marriage. They were wed for three months before the birth of Sitara – and subsequent death of her mother. Her father refused to remarry or even take a mistress. His life became devoted to his daughter. Perhaps, that was love.

“I suppose you are correct, Don,” she finally spoke some ten minutes later.

“About what, flower?” he asked, his fingertips lifting and playing with a curl that had drifted across her chest.

Aware of his touch but not what it could mean, Sitara replied, “Perhaps I am looking for love.”

“Do you think you will find it here?”

Her eyes flicked to his fingers, “I do not know. Do you think I will?”

He leaned forward and kissed her quickly, “I think it is possible. You just have to be open to it.”

“Do you think you can… show me?”

He grinned, “Perhaps.”

Motion behind him drew her attention. Followers of the Maharishi poured out of the lecture hall. She noticed George in the last of the group, but he seemed so intense that she did not even consider waving. Donovan glanced over his shoulder and noticed what she watched. His fingers dropped her hair and he adjusted how he sat, subtly putting a bit more space between them.

His girlfriend, Jenny, approached the two with her sister, Pattie. The older Boyd introduced her sister to Sitara, who got to her feet to properly greet Jenny. Donovan watched with cool detachment, not entirely sure how to react to his girlfriend and the Indian beauty. A part of him quickly stripped them naked and…

“You missed a lovely lecture, Don,” Jenny declared, plopping into the grass next to him.

“Pity.”

“Excuse me. I have a few questions for George,” Pattie declared, leaving the three alone.

By the time Pattie returned, Sitara and Jenny had talked about clothes, jewelry, and the lingering stain of henna on the Indian’s hands. Donovan only remained during the girl talk to watch their interactions. He felt he has to know both of them better by watching just that. When the elder Boyd returned, he quickly excused himself and went to smoke with John, leaving the women to be women.

He sat next to Paul and accepted a passing joint. Inhaling deeply, he let the acrid smoke curl about in his lungs before passing it on. The others chatted around him, but he ignored the conversations for a few minutes. Instead, his eyes remained on the three women, trying to read what they were talking about.

“Who’s the bird?” John muttered, following Donovan’s gaze.

“Just a local girl,” he responded, taking a puff on the joint.

“Oh yeah?” he quickly got to his feet and headed down to the three women.

All three looked up at the bespectacled songwriter. Sitara felt a bit intimidated by his stare down, but she straightened her shoulders and maintained his gaze. Neither spoke, increasing the tension around the small group. Slowly Sitara got to her feet, her eyes never wavering from his.

She held out her hand, “Sitara Barlow.”

“John Lennon,” he shook her hand slightly. “What are you doing here?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I was having a pleasant conversation with my new friends.”

“Who do you think you ar–”

Another hand thrust in front of her, drawing her attention to another man, “Hello, I’m Paul. This is Ringo.”

She shook each of their hands, “Pleasure to meet you both.”

Frustrated that Paul interrupted his intimidation tactics, John left the group and stomped off. The men shrugged it off and invited the women to join them. They all sat down in the grass, conversations bubbling and weaving through different subjects. Though remaining mostly silent, Sitara folded seamlessly into the group, offering a different insight on their spiritual questions. She had never experienced anything like it at all. It was exhilarating.



Disappointed that he had apparently missed the emerald-eyed girl, George decided to join everyone for the evening meal. As he neared the outdoor eating area, the canvas tent wavering in the light wind, his stomach tightened slightly. Confused as to why he would suddenly be struck by nerves, he stopped for a minute and took a deep breath. Calmed, George continued to the public area.

His dark eyes widened slightly. Sitting between his wife and her sister sat Sitara, laughing at some story Paul had just told. He was uncertain what surprised him most: the fact she was there hours after her arrival or the fact she apparently blended into the group easily.

She looked away from Paul and their eyes met. Her sweet smile beckoned him out of the failing light. George quickly took a seat across from her at the table. She said nothing, but held his eyes a moment longer before turning to listen to Jane’s story about something that happened in Delhi before heading to Rishikesh. Eyes leaving her a moment later, George smiled and greeted his wife before accepting a plate of food.

Remaining as social as he normally was, George joined conversation, sharing as many stories as they others. Though Sitara never offered up her own stories, she did not remain silent either; oftentimes interjecting with explanations of customs someone confused. Though most had a decent handle on Hindi religion and practice at that point, she explained intricacies with such ease, pulling examples familiar from European history. Though he had no reason to be at all, George found himself proud of Sitara’s vast knowledge and skills in sharing it.

After dinner, some parted to meditate but the band sat down to play music. John finally re-emerged, though he glared at Sitara who sat with the wives and girlfriends. George yearned to get her alone, to speak with her on matters not discussed at dinner, like why she kept invading his thoughts. Instead, he picked up a guitar and played along with the band, Donovan, and other musicians. In the midst of playing a Beatles song, albeit morphed due to the available instruments, George glanced to Sitara and instantly noticed a glimpse of aw in her eyes. She flushed and turned her attention back to something Jane was explaining, apparently embarrassed George had seen her interest in his music.

The group diminished more as more went to meditate and some went to bed. The large gathering became intimate and joints circulated once more. Eventually Pattie and Sitara embraced, the last of the women still gathered, before Pattie headed to bed. Handing off the joint to his left, George jumped to his feet to intercept both women before anyone else could.

“Be a gentleman, George, and walk her to her car,” Pattie suggested and kissed him sweetly. “And try to be quiet when you come to bed.”

“I’m surprised you’re still here,” he commented softly as his wife walked away.

“I had not meant to say so late,” Sitara claimed, turning towards the parking lot.

“Will you… drive back to the city tonight?”

“Oh no. Not at all. I had planned to remain in Rishikesh tonight, at an inn, for I have to make certain a delivery arrives on time tomorrow,” she explained, strolling slowly to her car. “However, your playing has delayed me horribly tonight.”

“Oh. I’m sorry,” he muttered. “Perhaps you can stay here tonight instead?”

“I am. The Maharishi called the inn and informed them of such well over an hour ago.”

George stopped, “Then why are we going to your car? Shouldn’t I escort you to your room instead?”

“No,” she smiled, turning to face him fully. “I need my suitcase before I go to my room.”

“Oh yes, of course,” he nodded with a sheepish smile. “So…”

“Pattie is quite nice,” she declared, turning back towards the parking lot. “I envy you and her.”

“She is wonderful, but you have no need to envy us.”

Sitara glanced sideways at him, “Of course I do. You have love. Apparently that is what I am seeking.”

“And who told you this?”

“Donovan.”

George fell silent for a minute, “You two spent time together, I take it.”

“Hours.”

“I see.”

“He is a very pleasant fellow.”

“Yes.”

They walked a few steps in silence. George tried to reconcile his thoughts with her words. For the life of him, he still could not bring up the fact she consumed most of his waking moments. It felt… wrong to do so, especially since she apparently got along well with his wife. However, as much as he was trying, he could not deny feeling jealousy over Donovan spending hours with her. It did explain the folksinger’s absence from the lecture, but that did not make him feel any better. It was not as if he had any claim to her; he was married to Pattie. Alternatively, Donovan was dating Jenny, so he clearly could not claim Sitara any more than he could. It confused him greatly.

“Did I say something wrong?” she asked softly.

George’s eyes snapped to hers as she stopped just out of view from the gate, “No, what makes you say that?”

“Your aura shifted.”

“It did?”

“…Yes…” he green eyes looked up into his.

Gazing down into her eyes, he was certain his aura must have shifted again. His confusion and jealousy seemed to disappear as they stared at each other. Everything seemed to melt away into the night air as he stood there with the Indian beauty. He wanted to embrace her, to kiss her, but he somehow restrained himself. Somewhere, deep in her eyes, he found… he was not entirely sure what it was, but it spoke to his soul in a way nothing else ever had before. Getting lost in her eyes captured him more than any moment in meditation. Who was she?

“I’m just a girl,” she muttered softly.

Eyes widening upon realization that he must have uttered his last thought, George forced a break to their connection and turned back towards the car. Before he could step forward to retrieve her luggage from the vehicle, her hand touched his and kept him in the shadows. She quietly approached her vehicle, opened the trunk, and pulled out a medium-sized suitcase. The sound was enough to rouse some of the sleeping crowd outside the gate and some began to shake the gate. The guards shouted out at them while Sitara hurried back to George’s side, her empty hand slipping into his.

He squeezed her hand reassuringly, “It happens all the time.”

She smiled sheepishly, “I don’t know how they’re going to get the supplies in tomorrow. It will take horribly long to bring it all in via helicopter.”

“I suppose so,” his thumb rubbed her knuckles. “And I suppose, for you to leave.”

“Maybe I’m not leaving.”

His eyes brightened, “Really?”

“Maybe,” she winked and turned towards the guesthouse.

George hesitated long enough to grasp her suitcase from her. Remaining speechless, they slowly wandered through the trees. Sitara stopped, squeezing his hand. His eyes flicked to her, questioning silently why she stopped. She pointed up the hill ahead of them. In the silvery light of the moon, two monkeys chased each other down a tree. With little pause, one mounted the other. Monkey grunts and shrieks filled the air. A moment later, they scampered into the darkness of night. Though not shocked to see monkeys mate, George did not know how to react to the fact that Sitara had stopped them, waited until the monkeys were done, and continued on the path towards the lodging. He kept pace with her, his hand still holding hers, but his mind kept replaying the scene, trying to figure it out.

“How did you… why did you…”

“He would have attacked us if we had not stopped,” she stated matter-of-factly. 

“How…”

“Monkeys are fairly predictable, especially in the heat of a rut. An interruption could turn deadly.”

George could not utter a response.

“I know… everyone is sleeping or meditating,” she stopped at the base of the guest lodge. “And I’m sure that you would like to but…”

“Yes?” his shook his mind of the image of the monkeys.

“I normally… don’t sleep this early. Would you consider staying up with me for a while? You can say no, of course,” she whispered.

“I would love to keep you company,” he quickly responded.

“Fantastic. I will just put this away and return promptly,” Sitara grabbed her suitcase from him. “Do you mind if I leave my sari behind?”

George blinked, glancing over her attire. Not entirely certain how the sari functioned, he struggled to answer. Her eyes went to his, still waiting for an answer.

“Um, it’s up to you. If you will be more comfortable without it…” he managed to mumble.

She nodded and hurried into a vacant room. Shifting around nervously, George lit a cigarette. His eyes kept flicking to the open door Sitara disappeared through a few minutes before. As he neared the end of the cigarette, she stepped out. Though no artificial light shined on her, he could easily see the change in her appearance. Discovering that a sari functioned much as a toga did, the cigarette tumbled from his fingers and hit the ground. Without the draping garment about her body, she wore a simple form-fitting blouse and a long skirt, both in the same light cream fabric as her sari, with the same embroidery. He thought her body womanly before, but now… now he knew.

“Sitara…” he breathed as she approached.

“I can go put it back on,” she turned to walk away.

George reached out and grasped her hand, unknowingly stepping on the smoldering cigarette, “No, no. It’s quite fine.”

She turned back to face him, their eyes meeting, and she smiled, “Okay. Let’s go where we can talk freely?”

He glanced at the other sleeping quarters and nodded. They turned away and picked out a destination in the moonlight. Wordlessly they moved through the complex, away from the others. George led her to a small grove of trees before releasing her hand. She continued on, silently exploring the flora around. Kicking off her sandals, Sitara pulled herself up onto a tree branch and balanced on it. Standing nearby, George watched as she walked along it, her stained feet curving with the branch, practically holding it.

“Sita…” he muttered. “Do you think you should be…”

Looking down at him, she grinned, “Are you worried I’m going to fall?”

“Well now that you mention it…”

“Will you catch me if I fall?”

“Of course, but you should just come down and that won’t be an issue,” he held his hand up to her.

Sitara turned around on the branch, facing him fully, “Well as it turns out, I was wrong about this tree.”

“Excuse me?”

She carefully jumped down, landing directly in front of him, “Back home, when I climb trees, I nearly always find something new and magical.”

“But you didn’t this time?”

“No… but I suppose it should be no surprise as I did not expect there to be magical ruins here,” she commented. “At least not like the temples down south.”

“Temples…”

Sitara nodded, “Mmmhmmmm. They have the most wonderful carvings on them.”

He knew precisely what the temples were carved with, having toured India previously with Ravi Shankar. How images of couples fornicating in all sorts of twisted positions were magical to her, he was uncertain. Sitara had an air of book smarts touched with innocence. Liking explicit carvings surprised him.

“And when have you seen these carvings?”

“I sneak out at night,” she declared, smiling. “It’s the only way I get to see beyond the walls, when I’m not attired as a boy doing business.”

Smiling crookedly, he reached up and caressed her cheek, “They cannot cage you, hmmm?”

“Oh but I am tethered! Even when I manage to slip out under the cover of night, I am not truly free. Even here, two days’ journey away, I am chained.”

“How so? Here you may do whatever you wish; no one will think poorly of you.”

Her eyes dropped to the forest floor, “He will find out. I cannot disappoint my father.”

His hand went to her chin, tilting her eyes back up to him, “You are free here, Sita. I promise.”

“I wish…”

Interrupting her unfinished thought, George leaned down to kiss her. Her hand instantly slipped between them, blocking his mouth from touching hers. She wiggled away from him, slipped her shoes back on, and headed out of the forest. George took two large steps, caught her by the hand, and stopped her next to a tree. Her free hand covered his mouth, which he promptly kissed.

“Don’t run away, Sita,” he muttered against her palm. “Sit and talk with me.”

“Do you promise to not kiss me?”

“I promise to not try.”