B was on guard duty outside the side gate, sat with another under the huge, blue umbrella. The monsoon rains downpoured deliciously, with force, washing away everything. I soaked up her presence, delighting in being wanted, included.

Strong winds stirred the huge, tree-like bamboos surrounding the meditation hall. The tethered canvas roof blustered as they creaked.

The smell of spices and rickshaw fumes and open sewers mingled with the spray.

How it felt to be with another, watchfully, in silence but in togetherness. Seeing the locals pass, watching other watchers quietly taking care, protecting, as fellow-seekers flailed and gibbered and fell into silence. Then, the highly amplified voice as Osho began to talk: “Deeper! Deeper! Like an arrow, right to the very centre of your being! In this very moment, you are the Buddha!” Eyes closed, I follow.

Thoughts drift to B in the shower, making love, her waist-long hair plastering against wet skin, the water draining away in the centre of the polished concrete floor. We climb out onto the roof terrace and watch the moon.