Free Feeling the Vibes by Annie Dalton

trees.
    In the distance was a complicated-looking building with ornamental domes, reminding me of smaller dilapidated versions of the famous dome at the Taj Mahal.
    But all the people in this India were so white ! I thought in surprise.
    Brice was doubtfully checking the GPS on his phone. “Yup, still India. We’re at an ashram ‘beside the sacred river Ganges’ it says here.”
    I remembered Mr Allbright explaining that an ‘ashram’ was a special spiritual community where people spent their time chanting and meditating etc.
    A young barefoot white woman ran past towing two glum looking kids. The little girls wore grubby saris like their mum. Flowers wilted in their unkempt hair.
    “He’s here!” the woman sang out as she ran. “Guru-ji is home at last!”
    Everyone stopped doing their yoga or whatever and went dashing after her. Despite not being Indian, all the women were wearing sans. The guys all wore Indian style PJs and love beads with their ethnic shirts.
    Brice was still consulting his phone. “Thought so,” he said with a smirk. “It’s the 1960s. The Lurve Revolution.”
    “Cool!” said Reuben. “They had some nice tunes back then.”
    “What happened in the Lurve Revolution apart from nice tunes?” I asked.
    Brice scanned the info on his screen. “Flower Power. Peace not War. Kids dropping out of college ‘to follow their bliss’, whatever the hell that means. Thousands came to India to find spiritual enlightenment, blah blah.”
    Not to diss enlightenment, but what those kids needed was soap, water and a good meal, I thought, watching their blissed-out mother drag them through the heat.
    We counted another seven grubby, long-haired hippie kids running around the grounds, some barely old enough to toddle, but no little bodhisattva .
    “Are you quite sure this is the right place?” I asked Helix doubtfully.
    Positive. Keep looking .
    We followed the hippie girl and her whining kids up steps, along weed-covered walkways, past weird little shelters ( “meditation pods”, according to Brice’s phone) until we arrived at the front of the ashram where a sleek limousine was just pulling up.
    The youngest kid tried to free her hand. “I can’t run any more, Carol,” she whimpered. “My belly really hurts.”
    “You’ll soon feel better now that Guru-ji is back.” Carol had closed her eyes in some private ecstasy. “Can’t you feel his energy?”
    To my surprise I could! A truly sweet vibe radiated from the limo.
    “I suppose some gurus were genuine,” said Brice doubtfully.
    “Could it have been the guru’s vibe that pulled Obi here?” I wondered aloud.
    The driver opened the limo door. The vibe was so intense now that I felt slightly dizzy.
    The chauffeur went to the back of the limo and helped out an old man in dazzling white robes. His flowing hair was jet black, though his tangled beard was now snowy white in places. His dark eyes were twinkly and v. charismatic. He put his hands together in greeting, very small chubby hands, I noticed, with teeny wrists, like a child’s.
    ” Om shanti ,” he told his followers in a surprisingly squeaky voice. “Peace be with you, brothers and sisters. I have brought some very special visitors here to our ashram. But we’ve had a long journey and we need to rest.”
    Two more cars came swooping up the drive. Four long-haired guys with guitars got out. Other long-haired people got out: girlfriends, roadies, hangers on, but nobody looked at them, me included.
    “Tell me I’m dreaming,” I breathed.
    Brice shook his head. “No, it’s really them,” he said almost reverently.
    We all gawped at the four most famous celebs in the history of pop. They looked disappointingly hot and grumpy, except my nan’s fave, who gave everyone the peace sign as he hurried up the steps and into the ashram.
    ” Bodhisattva alert,” said Reuben softly. “Bottom of the steps to the left.”
    Distracted by rock stars, I had missed the serene little boy