The healing man in white

by Emma Bennett (United Arab Emirates)

I didn't expect to find Indonesia

I open my eyes and the room is black. I blink a few times, trying to will my vision to adjust and I try to lift my head. It’s heavy with fatigue and the burden of the darkness. I try to focus and see there are tiny pinpricks of light in the bamboo walls. I try to lift my legs but the pain shoots immediately up my calves. I am in agony with intense cramp. I moan and try unsuccessfully to reach for my toes to stretch out. My feet are like claws and the pain is excruciating. I start whimpering like a puppy and try to hobble my way to the rickety bamboo door. Struggling with the clasp and still gripped with cramp, I limp out onto the little patio. I draw breath and am momentarily distracted by the sensational scene before me. The dawn is only just breaking over the horizon and I am looking directly into a steep jungle ravine lined with bamboo stems and bright tropical flowers, a light mist circling. A river must be at the bottom of the ravine as I can hear raging water. Birds are chirping and the whimsical scent of tropical flowers wafts by. I feel like I’ve been transported to another world. It’s hard to believe I have made it to this Balinese utopia after my long journey on foot. The searing pain comes back and I hobble over to a nearby bamboo chair to collapse. This is the first chance I’ve had to really look at my feet. They are broken and battered. Toenails are missing and everything is swollen and weeping. My feet are the perfect outward manifestation of everything I feel on the inside. I’ve come to this magical place to try and heal from my wounds – physical and emotional. It’s then that I notice a figure dressed in white coming towards me through the bamboo. I don’t have the energy to get up, or even to contemplate whether they are friendly or foe, I just wait. I see a little Balinese man with lovely caramel-coloured skin, wearing only the loose-fitting muslin pants characteristic of workers in this area. He comes as far as the edge of the deck and places a thermos down. He looks up at me with a beaming smile full of broken teeth, nods and then scurries away back through the trees. I haul myself up and limp over to grab the thermos, then plonk back down. I gingerly open the lid of the thermos to pour out the golden liquid. The smell of lemongrass engulfs me as I take the smallest of sips of this delicious tea. I feel it’s warmth tracking down my throat and into my belly, warming each little piece of my cold and broken body. I can almost feel the love that’s been infused somehow in this simple gift. Over the next few days I feel myself getting stronger. And every morning, this lovely man appears out of the trees, bearing this delicious panacea. But he never stops. Never speaks. One morning, I try to anticipate his arrival and I wait near the clearing to intercept him before he can run away. He’s too quick though and still eludes me by dropping the thermos on the other end of the deck. Soon, my time in this magical place draws to a close and I have to move onto the next part of my trip. I don’t want to leave without thanking this beautiful man for his kindness. I feel like he has not only helped restore my physical strength, but he has restored my faith that there are people in the world who just want to do good for others, asking nothing in return. I wander down to the village for the final time and ask about this man. But they all seem perplexed and they smile and suggest that maybe I imagined him? I look back as the taxi pulls away. And there he is with his big smile, arms outstretched. I can feel him wishing me well. I’m forever grateful to this nameless man and this beautiful place for helping bring me back to life.