Title: Dark Horse: Chapter Two, Silent Solitude
Rating: PG-13 [mild drug use]

Summary: George worries about what is happening between Cynthia and John and tries to cheer her up. Sitara impresses her father at his birthday celebration, causing a delay to her arrival at the ashram. Donovan gets some alone time with Sitara...



With his back against the rocky shell of a meditation room, George puffed on a cigarette under the night sky. He watched the dark shadows of the night, noticing every now and then that he was not the only awake that evening. It did not surprise him or even really intrigue him that much that so many seemed unable to sleep. Just another something to distract his thoughts that night.

One night figure captured his attention more than any other did. Already confused as to why John and moved into separate quarters from Cynthia, George could not fathom why the other man was sneaking about in the darkness. He kept his eyes trained on John, watching him move past all of the sleeping quarters and meditation rooms. He continued past the kitchen and other outbuildings.

He was headed to the gates.

Curious, George got to his feet and moved slightly to not lose sight of John. The elder songwriter met someone else at the gate, another man George could not identify, and the two slipped out. Finding that bizarre and against the entire reason for them to be there, he ground out his cigarette and considered going after them. However, he did not want to cause a scene. What John did was his business. He would leave him be. If he chose to sneak out at night, that was his business. It was bad enough that Ringo already considered leaving; he did not want to give cause for more band fracturing. He would meditate on it, seek his answer there.

Re-entering the sparse quarters he shared with his wife, George sat on a mat facing the window. Closing his eyes, he pulled his feet into his lap and let the cool light of the moon guide his meditations. He inhaled deeply and pushed out all of his worries and frustrations. More slowly than expected, his mind and soul emptied out.

For hours, George meditated, facing the window. The warm glow of the morning sun slowly pulled him out of his trance. Emerald green eyes filled his thoughts instantly. He smiled slightly, not bothered by the thought of her that morning at all. In his new awareness, he heard his wife stir in her small, single bed. Rolling and stretching out of his meditation pose, George crawled into bed, practically on top of her, kissing her awake.

Pattie giggled, “Good morning, George.”

“Good morning, beautiful,” his hand slipped over her breast.

“Mmmmm,” she pulled him into a kiss. “I think today will be just lovely if this is how we will start it.”

“I certainly agree.”

They joined Paul, Jane, and Cynthia under the gauzy tent for breakfast an hour later. Both noticed the absence of John, but were unsurprised due to his choice in living conditions. George felt uneasy about it though and shifted a bit in his seat. He remained silent during breakfast, waiting for a moment to speak with Cynthia alone.

Paul exited first, talking something about monkeys. With a giggle, Jane pulled Pattie out with her, saying she needed to talk with her about George’s birthday in a few days. Dismissing the women’s chatter, George moved next to Cynthia, who silently pushed her cornflakes around in the bowl.

“Cyn?” he spoke softly.

Her eyes lifted to meet his, “Hi.”

“Love, what’s wrong?”

Tears instantly surfaced in her eyes and she looked back down at the table.

“Where’s John?”

“I don’t know. He’s ignoring me completely.”

“Well…”

“He…”

He looped his arm around her shoulders and embraced her comfortingly, “Shhh, it’s okay. I’m sure it’s going to be okay.”

“He’s been… he’s been sneaking out and drinking and I don’t know what else. I don’t know what to do, George,” she sobbed.

“Um… well… why don’t we go meditate?”

“I…” she sighed. “Okay.”

He kissed her temple and got up, offering his hand. They left the kitchen, heading towards one of George’s favorite locations in the complex. Finding a soft patch of grass, the two sat, shifting until they were comfortable. Softly, he helped to direct her meditation, thinking she would need it in her current state of mind. Slowly, his words became just breaths and they sat in silent solitude. He only hoped it would help, because there certainly was not anything he could do with John.



Eyes closed while dark kohl liner was smudged around her lash line, Sitara rehearsed the dance once more in her mind. Though she performed the classical dance every year on her father’s birthday for the past seven years, it seemed to have more parts to it every year. In addition to that, Mistress Manishi elected to add an additional, more popular dance number every year. Sitara could handle the dances inspired by Bollywood, as they built upon the classical dances she already knew and combined them with folk dances. It was the classical dance, a Sattriya that she worried about. Running over the intricate parts made it difficult to sit still as women affixed small jewels to the back of her hands before turning to embellish her makeup with the same jewels. She understood the makeup was part of the costume, but preparations always made her anxious.

“Perfect, Sita,” a soft, deep voice declared.

Her eyes fluttered open, meeting the kind of eyes of the woman who raised her, “Thank you, mum.”

The elder woman kissed the younger’s forehead, “Tonight’s performance will be blessed, Sita. Your mother will guide you.”

“As she always has, mum,” she responded.

“Come. The guests await you, Sita.”

“Yes, mum.”

Attired in a deep red dress covered with white and silver beading, bells, and mirrors, Sitara joined the other dancers just inside the house. She crept towards the window and parted the curtains enough to see the partygoers gathered in the garden. Her father, regal as always, sat in the center on mass of brightly colored pillows. Around him, city dignitaries, high-ranking businessmen, and a few of his favorites from the company sat with their wives. She knew her gift to her father was not only an excellent performance, but also bragging rights to all those in attendance and those not fortunate to garner an invitation to the party. Some years that burden was too great to bear, yet seemingly that year the butterflies were gone from her stomach. Everything would be flawless.

“Ladies, it is time,” Mistress Manishi declared.

“You will be amazing, Sita.”

“Thank you,” she smiled at her nurse before joining the other girls.

The initial Bollywood dance went smoothly. One of the girls tripped on another’s skirt, but Sitara ignored it and continued to dance with a smile. She did not miss a step, a hand gesture, a smile. Her performance was perfect, a reality she saw reflected in her father’s eyes as he led the cheer at the completion. After a quick curtsy, Sitara rushed back into the house to change into her Sattriya costume while three of the other girls performed another quick dance.

With her headpiece barely in place, Sitara returned to the door onto the patio. She watched the final moments of the girls’ dance, chewing on her bottom lip slightly. Admonished by Mistress Manishi for her actions, she struggled to not roll her eyes. Instead, she struck her initial pose and headed out onto the now dark patio. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes as the lights flashed back on her. The nearby band began to play and Sitara began to tell the story through her dance. Though intent on her every movement from her fingers to her toes to even her facial expressions, Sitara noticed the garden had gone completely silent. It was a good sign, a very good sign.

Freezing in her final pose, she listened to the silence replace the music. No one clapped. No one spoke. And she could not move until someone did something. Slowly her father rose to his feet and clapped. Around him, the one hundred party guests did the same. A smile lit up Sitara’s face as she straightened back up, her eyes meeting her father’s. He returned the smile with pride, nodding his approval of the performance. She bowed once and hurried off the patio, returning to the happy embrace of her nurse.

Rushing down the hallway with the other girls and her nurse, as Mistress Manishi was already networking the party, Sitara triumphantly returned to her room to remove her costume and dress for the party. In her third outfit of the evening, Sitara returned to the party flanked by the other dancers who quickly sought out their own parents. Slowly she approached her father, her green eyes looking up to him.

Geoff kissed her forehead, “You were immaculate, Sita. Your mother would be proud.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” he nodded with a smile. “As am I.”



Leaving the lecture, George glanced down to the gate. A part of him felt disheartened finding the parking lot empty. It had been a week of lectures and meditations. He kept himself occupied; distracting his thoughts from focusing on the beauty, but it had been very difficult. Attempting to keep Cynthia company had helped, but it was not enough. He was antsy for her arrival.

Not that anyone else could tell. For all appearances, he was aloof and relaxed. Even his wife did not seem to suspect anything, but then again she had been pre-occupied all week as well. It did not matter, not in the whole of things. Everything would happen as it was meant to be. He knew that. He just needed to believe it. When waiting for someone to arrive, it was hard to truly believe.

Walking past the women reading books, George headed to his new meditation spot. No one questioned it; no one had any reason to. They did not know that he had a perfect view of the front gate if he turned his head slightly to the left when in repose. Nevertheless, he tried to not think of that because it made erasing the thought from his mind that much more difficult. She would arrive when she was meant.

Trying to walk his mind through what the Maharishi had just spent the past two hours explaining, George folded his feet into his lap, places his hands on his knees, and closed his eyes. He attempted to follow through each little guided thought, but within a few minutes, his mind was completely overcome. A melody floated up from the buzz of bugs and the chatter of monkeys. He threw off the airs of meditation, scrambled to his feet, and headed out in search of an instrument.

He found Paul first and quickly borrowed a guitar. Plopping down in the grass, George adjusted the tuning and began to play the melody that seemed to have come from nowhere. For a moment, Paul just listened, before nodding and reaching for his guitar. Both men played for a few minutes; George’s eyes closed to better capture the feeling. He heard a third guitar join in, but did not open his eyes to see who played as well. It did not sound the same in his head as it did in the group, but that did not matter. The song had been birthed into the conscious realm. He could build on that.

Setting down the guitar, he opened his eyes and glanced around. John and Paul continued to play, only allowing a brief pause from his song into whatever they were now creating. It did not matter to him in the moment, though he supposed if anything came from it, he should be paying attention. Instead, he got to his feet and stepped out of the impromptu musical session. He continued to play the melody in his mind, trying to figure out what it meant.

“George,” Pattie’s soft voice interrupted his thoughts.

He stopped, his dark eyes turning to her, “Pattie.”

“That was beautiful. Really inspired,” she commented.

“Thank you.”

“What was it?”

“I don’t know. It was something,” he responded.

“You look stressed. Let’s go have a cup of tea and relax,” Pattie suggested.

“I… tea… that would be wonderful, yes.”

Holding hands, she led him down to the kitchen. He sat silently while she retrieved two cups of chai from the Australians who had taken over cooking duties. George hardly paid any attention to his wife or the two men; his mind kept replaying the melody. He had never had a song overtake him so strongly. Was it because of the meditation or the location? Or was it something else?

He sipped the tea placed before him for a few moments, but hardly tasted it. He did not speak, did not really hear what Pattie was telling him about the letter from her mother. Deciding that the obsessive nature of the song needed to be worked out and that the best person to discuss it with would be the Maharishi, George pushed the teacup away and got to his feet.

A figure, a womanly figure, stepped into the doorway, her curves silhouetted by the midday sun. Though he could hardly see who it was, he knew from her body alone. The women of the complex, including his wife, wore loose pajama pants and loose shirts. The figure’s hourglass shape was nothing like women he saw daily. He knew who it was.

“Hello, George.”

Her velvety voice made his soul soar and he did not know why, “Hello, Sitara.”

She stepped forward, fully into the kitchen. No longer lit from behind, George quickly observed her appearance. In their two previous meetings, though awed by her beauty, he had never truly looked at her. Her dark chocolate brown hair hung in soft curls about her shoulders, one escaping over her shoulder to curl on top of her right breast. She wore a rich vanilla-colored sari covered with royal blue embroidery and sparkling beading. Though the garment hid much of her skin from view, it clung to her curves perfectly. Her body shape was certainly heavenly.

And he felt like he was staring.

She smiled but said nothing. Instead, she stepped beyond him and checked the tea boxes in the storage cupboard. George watched as she bent over to check the bottom cupboards. Without having Donovan around competing for her attention, he could not believe his luck.

“Who is she?” Pattie spoke up.

George’s eyes went to his wife, “Um, Sitara. She brings us tea every week.”

“I see.”

Turning around, Sitara approached the couple and held out her hand to Pattie, “Hello, I’m Sitara.”

“Pattie, George’s wife.”

“A pleasure to meet you,” she smiled warmly. “That is a fantastic necklace. Where did you get it?”

She touched the necklace about her throat, “Oh… France, I think.”

“Beautiful,” she continued to smile. “And I cannot deny being jealous that you have traveled so far and wide. If you have time, I would love to hear about your travels.”

A bit taken aback by the woman’s friendly response, Pattie struggled to reply, “I would love to.”

“Fantastic. I need to finish up business first, but then I’ll come find you, perhaps?”

Pattie nodded, “I’d like that.”

“Don’t you have to leave right away?” George interrupted.

“No,” she shook her head, her eyes going to him. “Not this time.”

Not wanting to arouse more suspicion than he already had, he merely nodded, “Well, we will let you get to work then.”

She nodded once and stepped towards the door, “I will see you around.”

As she left the kitchen, George announced, “I’m going to go see the Maharishi.”

“Doesn’t he have a lecture about to start?” Pattie asked.

“Oh yes, he does. We should go.”

Before she could protest, George headed out of the kitchen and towards the Maharishi’s pavilion. He slipped in with the others and took a seat. Pattie entered a moment later and sat beside Cynthia. John’s wife glanced at her and smiled slightly. Before anyone could say anything, the Maharishi entered the pavilion. He greeted his disciples and headed to take a seat in front of them all. George wanted to glance around to see who attended the lecture, but the moment the elder man spoke, his thoughts focused entirely on the man’s voice.



Leaning against the tree, sucking on a joint, Donovan watched the India tea princess laugh as she conversed with the Maharishi’s servants. Her laugh was musical and stirred him in a way he could not explain. Or maybe he was smoking a better quality weed than he thought. He continued to watch her silently while he smoked, watching the servants take away the boxes of tea as they had more than a week prior. He expected her to get into her car and drive away, but instead, her eyes glanced around. As he had not yet greeted her, Donovan pushed away from tree. Her eyes lit up upon seeing him, a smile lighting her face.

“Hello, beautiful,” he greeted softly, stopping in front of her.

She flushed slightly, “Hello, Don.”

“I expected you two days ago.”

Her dark eyebrow arched up, “Keeping track of me?”

“Missing you.”

She flushed again, “Well then, you are in luck, Don.”

“Oh?” he asked, trying to not show too much interest.

“I don’t need to leave just yet…”

“Splendid.”

Her eyes left him briefly, glancing around, “Do you think, perhaps, you could show me around?”

“I would love to. Are you not familiar with the ashram?”

“I have heard rumors of it, but have not fully wandered around,” she responded. “I mainly stick to the kitchen and the occasional visit to the Maharishi.”

“Ah,” he reached for her hand. “Then let me take you on a magical journey.”

Sitara happily held his hand, letting him lead her away from the parking lot. They did not converse, just walked silently. Her green eyes cast around, absorbing everything they passed. She stopped, pulling her hand free from his, and squatted in front of a flower. He smiled as she leaned forward and sniffed it, getting a dusting of pollen on her nose.

As she stood back up and faced him, Donovan reached forward and dusted her nose off. Their eyes connected and he leaned forward. Wavering slightly, her eyes filled with confusion. His thumb caressed her cheek before slipping to her chin, tilting her face up towards his.

“Close your eyes,” he breathed.

“Why?” she asked softly.

“I want to kiss you.”

Hesitant as she had never been kissed before, Sitara bit her bottom lip slightly. He noticed her unease and continued to caress her cheek. His other hand grasped her, squeezing it gently. Her eyes searched his briefly and she closed her eyes, her lips smiling slightly. Smiling briefly himself, Donovan leaned down and gently pressed his lips to hers. Her lips were possibly the softest lips he had ever kissed.

He leaned back. His eyes swept over her face, looking for her reaction. Her lips curved into another smile, but her eyes remained closed. Reading it as a good sign, he leaned in and kissed her again. He wanted to push the kisser deeper, but held back. His thumb traced over her bottom lip after ending the sweet kiss.

“That was…” she breathed.

“I agree,” Donovan responded. “Shall we continue our tour?”

“I would like that very much,” she nodded.

“Splendid,” he pivoted, his hand holding hers. “Tell me about yourself, sweetheart.”

“Well… what would you like to know?”

“Hmm… perhaps explain the tea.”

“Oh that is simple. My father inherited a tea company from his father and was given another by my mother’s family as dowry,” she responded. “Since that time, he has bought out others and things of that nature. Barlow Teas is not the largest company in India, but that’s because Daddy focuses on quality.”

“And you hand deliver the tea?”

She chuckled slightly, “No. Daddy wants me to take over the company, though by Indian law, I cannot own any of it. He put me in charge of this particular account when… it continued to be unpaid… I think, as a test. Moreover, I believe, because of his Western followers, the Maharishi is more open to dealing with a woman. At least I do not have to hide my gender here.”

“You have had to in the past?”

Sitara nodded, “Many times it has been the only chance of getting a meeting with businessmen.”

“Do you not have brothers to learn the family business?” he led her to patch of grass and tugged her to sit.

“No,” Sitara sat on the lawn next to him. “I am an only child. My mother died in childbirth.”

“Oh, I am sorry to hear that.”

Her eyes went to his, “It is… what it is. I do not want for anything.”

His eyes searched hers, “I do not believe you, Sita.”

A bit thrown by his use of her nickname, she remained silent. Her lips parted slightly but she did not speak.

“I think you do want for something.”

“And what do you think I want for, Don?”

He folded her hand in his and lifted it to his mouth, kissing the fading pattern on her palm, “Love.”