Robert Leach Home page The Journey to Mount Kailash by Robert Leach
Robert’s work and presentation was fantastic! It took me back to my time in the miracle and mystery that is India. I really enjoyed it. Geoff Smith Very fine writing… this is a fine collection, exuberant and humane. And recommended. Paul Lee (The Journal)					This superbly-written account tells, with a remarkable admixture of poetry and prose, of India’s historic and legendary background, and its contemporary politics, while concurrently containing fly-on-the-wall scenes and sightings of people, places, social customs and accompanying cultural observances….surely destined for a wider literary acclaim. Bernard Jackson (Quantum Leap)
may be ordered from: Distributors: Central Books, 99 Wallis Road, London E9 5LN (orders@centralbooks.com) or Publishers: Indigo Dreams Publishing, 132 Hinckley Road, Stoney Stanton, Leicestershire, LE9 4LN (www.indigodreams.co.uk) or Snakebird (snakebird@snakebird.net)
The sun that shines on snow-mottled Kailash Gives light, not warmth. The air Crisps, your lungs Cringe. The sun slides away. Quick dusk Sprays the sky Indigo, auburn, green, Purple as wine. Crimson as blood. Darkness glows, Icy winds creep, sweep over Mansarovar, Bite into bones. You lie, clenched under rough rocks, And the freeze storm screeches Its witch’s brew, gobbles up Your desperation, scours The barnacles of your belief. Out of grey, wet, gloomy mist, The blizzard rears up like a whinnying horse Shrieking its grief.		The Journey to Mount Kailash “I just loved it … it’s whole, it’s complete, it’s brilliantly written … very accessible, very warm, very vivid … The journey, the quest, is such a marvellous theme. We sink into south India, and it’s so rich and sensuous. I loved the way it used colour and spices.” Angela Bull, prize-winning children’s author
The Journey to Mount Kailash “Together with the author we are amazed, delighted, sometimes infuriated and bewildered by this encounter, and with him we experience both a personal journey and the journey of India from colonial rule to contemporary politics. And the fabric which brings all this together is one steeped in colours, textures and flavours, one that appeals to our body, soul and mind.” – Olga Taxidou, Reader in English Literature, University of Edinburgh				Crab Lunch: crabmeat scrounged from jaggy shells, Grilled with cumin and cardamom. On the foreshore, fishermen lay out their catch On plastic platters: Marlin, snapper, mullet, prawn. Two too-lively crabs Crawl greedily for the prawn pile. The babachee curses with unfathomable fury, Flings them back Where they belong. I bite the brittle claw, its broken edge Tears my tongue, brings blood
The Elephant in the Temple Like a slowly-moving sculpture (One of many in Meenakshi’s temple) The heavy elephant waits. Face Cutified in Shiva white – dashes and swirls – He stands and ponders, While his keeper, Stage manager with proud moustache, Takes coins (or notes) To make the old thing dance. He repeats again What’s been rehearsed, Gently upholding his curvy trunk To be flash-snapped, And breathing hot, moist air Over a pinky cheek … And then – that’s all. The elephant Has performed his part, his keeper’s Done what was required, and Home goes the tourist, Ten rupees lighter, but Chuckling, perhaps.		The Journey to Mount Kailash “I particularly admired the ways in which it draws the reader into a very different culture and exploits the tremendous range of literary forms employed, often virtuosically … For someone who knows next to nothing about India, it was informative, humane, and, often, immediate. Beggars, poverty and yet gods and immanence.” John Topping Head of Performing Arts University of Cumbria
The Journey to Mount Kailash This is a travelogue – a love story, poetry and song, myths, legends, history and politics. Mount Kailash is the Indian Olympus, where the gods dwell. Two people seek renewal, a new destiny, what Indian people call their dharma. They travel through India from Kerala in the far south towards the holy mountain of Kailash in the Himalaya, through the hills, cities, mangrove swamps and deserts of the subcontinent. They encounter people, festivals, myths and history, as they learn about living and performing life. It’s an epic journey, told in a virtuoso variety of poetic forms and styles, reflecting the vibrancy of Indian poetic traditions. As the pair travel, they gradually discover they are re-performing the ancient shadowy myths of Lord Shiva and the goddess Kali, and in a climactic scene in the erotically-carved temples of Khajuraho, their coupling seems to reawaken poetry itself. The journey draws to its end: the way becomes harder, the path steeper, the air thinner. Is their dharma simply the journey itself, or will its end reveal something more?			King Cobra I saw king cobra once, Wheat brown and black, hooded, huge, In the burning heat of southern India. Having some regal business, I suppose, On the far verge of the road, He began to slither Over the scalding tarmac. But, belly burning, he turned – too late – And writhed, maddened, Out of his kingdom. And a bearded lorry man Leapt from his cab, grabbed stones And hurled them. The second Broke the cobra’s back, the fourth Fell full on the skull, Dashed it to death. The lorry driver, Reckless and dainty, Scooped up the loops Of twisting scales, dumped them In the ditch, drove on. And so did we, Commoners in the interfering world.