Title: Dark Horse: Prologue, Shooting Star
Rating: PG-13 [mild drug use]

Summary: Sitara Barlow has to go collect on Maharishi Mahesh Yogi's account, being overdue in payment to Barlow teas. The Beatles are in residence, attending an advanced Transcendental Meditation session. George Harrison draws Sitara's attention and he is drawn to her. But he is not there to find a woman...



 

Rumbling to a halt on dirt compacted from hundreds of vehicles and thousands of feet, the hardly rusted and dented vehicle sighed in relief. As the engine shuddered to a complete silence, the driver’s side door opened and a heavily beaded, green-slippered foot appeared, kissing the dusty ground. After the other foot touched the ground, a sparkly green sari hovered as the driver gathered a notebook and purse from the passenger’s seat. The door closed and the driver pivoted, glancing up at the ashram. She brushed her dark chocolate hair from her eyes and headed up, passing other devotees and townspeople.

The gatekeeper turned away most at the gate, but it did not worry the young woman at all. She confidently stepped up to the gate, smiled at him, and entered the ashram. Continuing through the complex, she passed small groups of people meditating, playing music, and writing. She did not stop to converse, as she was there for business, but she smiled as those she passed, making note of those she would like to speak with if granted time.

Traditionally, she would not have been allowed in such a place; not because she was not a follower of the maharishi, but rather because she was… a she. Passing through business circles was strictly a man’s world, not somewhere she should tread. Though born in India, she was not quite Indian and that seemed to give her some liberties – but not enough that she did not dress as a man on occasion. It annoyed her to no end, but she could not disappoint her father.

As an only child, her father gave her everything, but expected everything as well. The best private tutors from England and France educated the young woman since her first words, providing her greater opportunities than most everyone. Her wet nurse, later nanny, taught her the magic and histories of her mother’s culture. For all intents and purposes, she could have moved seamlessly between the Eastern and Western Worlds – if her father ever let her leave. Though most girls married by the age of fourteen, her father still refused all offers of marriage, even to the sons of businessmen who could increase the Barlow tea empire more. At the age of seventeen, she should have been married with a child or children already. Instead, despite Indian inheritance laws, her father groomed her to take over the Tea Company once he passed. He had even made certain that the majority of the company’s holdings were in his homeland’s banks, under British laws, just to circumvent the Indian standards and legalities. He set her up to change Indian social beliefs of women by taking over his business.

That made this trip even more difficult than previous business calls on the ashram. Recent payments from the Maharishi had fallen short of contract agreements and she would have to fix it. Her father remained in Jaipur, seeing to the major business. Rishikesh became her big account. She was not looking forward to meeting up with the Maharishi to negotiate.

Crossing the lawn towards the pavilion, a melody captured her thoughts and slowed her steps to a near halt. Her green eyes cast about, seeking out the source. It was unlike any music she had ever heard before. Finding the source, she smiled, seeing a group of unfamiliar musicians. Without even thinking, she changed her destination and headed over to the small group. She remained a few feet away, just outside the halo of awareness of the players. Her gaze flitted between the players, before settling on the one whose aura spoke most strongly to her.

She had to tear herself away from the music after a few minutes or else be stuck there forever. Biting her bottom lip, she turned away and headed towards the pavilion. The Maharishi’s accountant intercepted her, and she struggled to hide her frustration. The pleasure of listening to the music completely disappeared. This was not going to go well.



A frown touched his brow as the beauty in green walked away, but he continued to play. With a week’s stay at the ashram behind him, he assumed he had met or seen everyone, but certainly not this woman. Something about her completely captivated him. When she left, he felt something disappear, almost like having the memory of a dream stripped away.

Closing his eyes, he let the music say what he was feeling. The others followed his musical lead. No one spoke; no one needed to. The music was enough.

He could not deny looking for her once the music ended. Not seeing the unfamiliar beauty, he convinced himself that he had merely imagined her presence. He excused himself from the group and headed back to his quarters to meditate. Before he reached his private chambers, a friend stepped in his path.

“That playing was truly inspired, mate,” he smiled. “But it changed.”

He smirked, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Donovan.”

His brows arched, “Oh, bollocks, mate. I saw her too.”

He blinked, but said nothing.

Donovan playfully slapped his shoulder, “Least you know she wasn’t just a figment of your imagination, eh, George?”

Shaking his head, George turned away from the musician and stepped into his quarters. He stored his guitar and moved to his meditation mat. Moving through a few yoga poses, he worked out his tension before curling into a lotus position. Keeping his breaths regular, George slowly began to wipe his mind clear of all thoughts. He felt serenity fill his soul and ground his body.

Yet even in his meditative state, a fragment of thought kept invading his mind. Filling his thoughts was not an image or a sound, but rather merely a color. A deep emerald green continued to pervade his mind and soul. He was about to recite his mantra to focus his mind and soul when it suddenly dawned on him. 

His eyes flew open and he got to his feet. Completely focused on the thought connected to the color, George opened the door abruptly. His thoughts arrested, finding his beautiful wife reaching for the door.

“Pattie.”

“George? Are you okay?” she asked softly.

“I… I just had a vision. I must speak with someone about it,” he responded.

Pattie’s eyes filled with concern, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not now, love,” he quickly kissed her. “Later.”

Before she could ask any more questions, George hurried off. Appearing to be making a beeline to the Maharishi, he spotted Donovan and changed his course. He slowed his steps and calmed his breath. Once more appearing at ease, he approached the small group of people. He eased into the conversation, trying to get Donovan to step aside so they could speak.

Finally getting the singer aside, George questioned softly, “That girl… where did she go?”

Donovan smirked, puffing on a joint, “Oh ho.”

“Do you know where she went?”

He remained silent, puffing away.

“Oh come on. You saw her. You must have watched her too. Where did she go?”

“Down to the pavilion,” he motioned with his head. “Shall I come along?”

“No. I mean, if you wish to.”

“I think I will.”



Sighing, she looked down at the figure scribbled on the paper, “With all due respect, this will not do at all.”

“That is all that I am allowed to offer you, Miss Barlow.”

“This is not a negotiation. I am here to collect what is due, as per our contract.”

“The Maharishi believes the contract is–”

“It is a completely generous and binding agreement, sir. The Maharishi signed it. As did Mr. Barlow. There will be no negotiation,” she got to her feet. “And there will be no tea until we are paid in full, upfront.”

His eyes went wide, “But Miss Barlow, if we do not get our shipment of tea, we will have none.”

“That is none of my concern. No payment, no tea.”

He narrowed his eyes, “Then I suppose we will have to find another supplier.”

“As you wish, but you will still owe us the same payment. You and I both know Barlow tea is the highest quality tea in the country. If you prefer to serve cheap teas to your foreign guests, that is your prerogative. Good day, sir.”

She snapped her folder close and headed towards the door. Purposefully taking a moment at the door to fiddle with her sari though it was perfectly in place, she glanced slightly over her shoulder. The accountant stared down at the contract, wringing his hands slightly. She smiled slightly to herself, knowing she had completely strong-armed him into complying.

“Wait, Miss Barlow,” he called as she opened the door. “We cannot be without tea. I will have the full payment for you next week.”

She turned to face him, “I will personally bring next week’s delivery to insure such. Until further notice, Barlow Teas will not be delivered until we receive payment.”

“But–”

“No. We allowed you to float payments before and it lead to this. You will pay me in full before any delivery for the foreseeable future,” she stated.

“Understood.”

Without saying any more, she turned and departed, a slight smirk of satisfaction on her face. She managed a few steps from the building before her thoughts screeched to a halt. Keeping her pace, her eyes focused on the two men heading up the path towards her. Though in any other company she would have properly cast her eyes down and stepped aside for them, she kept her eyes up and remained on the path. Her gaze flitted between to the two men before settling on the one who captured her attention earlier.

Then she stopped.

They stopped a few feet in front of her, greeting her in unison.

Instantly picking up a similar accent to her father, she smiled warmly, “Hello.”

“I’m Donovan and this is George,” the curly-haired one declared, reaching for her hand. “And who might you be?”

“Sitara,” she responded, watching as he kissed her hand.

“What a lovely name,” Donovan claimed, not releasing her hand.

She pulled her hand free, looking to George, “I heard you play earlier. It was lovely.”

“Not nearly as lovely as you,” he proclaimed.

She flushed slightly, “Immensely more so.”

“Would you care for a cup of tea, Sitara?” Donovan interrupted the flirting.

Unable to resist, she burst out laughing, “No, dear sir, I will decline that invitation.”

“You do not like tea? Perhaps something a bit stronger...”

“It is not that at all, Donovan,” she answered. “Perhaps, some day I will further explain my declination. However, today I cannot linger for such a conversation. It was a pleasure to meet you both.”

“You are leaving?” George spoke up.

Her green eyes went to him, “I am. I must return to the city before nightfall.”

“Could you not stay here?”

She smiled crookedly, “I cannot as I am not here on holiday but rather business. Perhaps, should my next visit go smoothly, we can speak again.”

“And when will that be, pretty lady?” Donovan asked, drawing her attention back to him.

“Next week,” she replied. “I must cut this short and leave. Good day, gentlemen.”

Before either could protest with sweet words once more, Sitara stepped forward, forcing the two to step to the side to let her through. Unintentionally, the tail end of her sari brushed across George’s hand as she passed him. His fingers closed slightly over the silk material, but not enough for her to notice as she continued down the path.

Her heart pounded as she hurried back to the gate and eventually the beat up car. It made no sense to her at all. She had not done anything physical at all; merely spoke with two attractive, white men after besting a notorious spendthrift. Either incident was a silly reason for her heart to beat so strongly in her chest, even when coupled with each other. She tossed her belongings into the passenger seat and pulled the door closed. Closing her eyes, Sitara took a deep breath to calm herself. She had a great distance to drive before dark and could not be distracted by anything, especially nothis magnetic aura.



Lying in bed with Pattie curled around him, George’s thoughts kept going green. Meditating, playing music, smoking with Donovan could not shake the fact she consumed his thoughts. He could not explain it at all. He had seen and known many beautiful women in his life; his wife certainly one of the jewels among them. However, this woman, this exotic woman, entranced him in ways he could not explain, could not fathom. He had not come to India to find a woman. However, could she be the one who truly showed him the path to enlightenment? Should he no longer be worrying over the Maharishi’s teachings? Should he speak with him about her?

Unable to sleep and not wanting to wake his wife, George carefully unraveled from her embrace and slipped out of the bed. He located his sandals in the darkness and shuffled out into the night air. Inhaling deeply, he looked up at the sky. He silently asked the stars for some sort of guidance. Keeping his breaths deep and even, he remained focused up, seeing a star shoot across the glittery night sky. After its sparkle faded, George glanced around for some telltale interpretation of the shooting star.

His soul answered the unspoken question: the star went south. And so must he.