Читать книгу Through the Horizons. Part 1. Escape - - Страница 10

The next day, Arthur helped me to get to the building where the Indian students study. First, we went to the guys who had a class. Arthur went into the classroom and asked the professor when there would be a break so that I could talk to the guys about my visa payment question. He granted permission but said we would have to wait for about half an hour, and to avoid waiting in the corridor, we could sit in his office.

We entered a small office opposite the classroom, with a model of the human body in each cabinet and posters detailing the organs of the human body. Overall, it was quite an intriguing read.

As soon as the class ended and the guys were free, we approached them, and I began stating my request.

Guys, I need help with paying for my visa to India. I was told you could assist me.

We are not from India, but from Pakistan.

Oh, I apologize. Have a good day.

Same to you.

Pakistan and India have had a long-standing armed conflict between them, but it is mostly on the political arena. Outside their countries, Pakistanis and Indians interact with each other normally. Even in India, I have heard from Indians that Pakistanis are good people, and these wars mostly benefit politicians.

After that, Arthur and I headed towards the Indian hostel, but before we reached the hallway, we bumped into a guy who was already in his final year, and Arthur was certain he was from India. So we approached him and introduced ourselves. His name is Jim. He was slender, of average height, wearing a suit and shoes. You couldn't immediately tell he was a student; he looked more like a young professor.

I'm planning to go to India, and I need help to pay for the visa.

Yes, of course, I can help.

Arthur hurried off to his classes when he realized we had found the right person. Jim and I tried a couple of times to pay for the visa using his card, but unfortunately, it didn't work. After that, he told me not to worry and invited me to go with him. Leaving the building, we headed to the hostel where his compatriots lived. The slight drizzle outside didn't seem to want to stop.

At the entrance of the Indian hostel, we were greeted not only by a 55-year-old Slavic-looking female guard but also by a multitude of mixed scents and aromas of spices. The guard was so surprised to see a white person in the hostel accompanied by an Indian that she bombarded us with numerous questions: who, where, why, and what for? While answering her barrage of questions, I also faced a flurry of inquiries from passing Indians who stopped to ask my name, where I was from, and what I was doing there. I was fortunate to have Jim with me. He did his best to help me fend off these questioning people while simultaneously calling up all the guys and asking if they or their relatives had an AXEL bank card.

In the span of an hour, we attempted to make the payment more than a dozen times, but all our efforts were in vain. I never found out the reason, but it seemed that I didn't need a 5-year visa to India after all.

I thanked everyone who had participated and apologized to Jim for taking up so much of his time, and he apologized in return for not being able to help me. I saw how much he wanted to assist me, gathering more and more of his fellow countrymen to my cause, even approaching people who were just passing by, and they all tried their best to help me. It was very heartwarming, and it seemed that such gestures could only happen in India.

After bidding farewell, I headed back to the apartment to collect my belongings and say goodbye to the guys. I walked through half the city to "Sportmaster" to check the prices of backpacks, being confident that they would have them in stock. However, just like in Uralsk, the shelves with backpacks were practically empty, and the one-hundred-liter backpack didn't suit me. Although all my things would fit in such a backpack, and it would be easier to move around with one sturdy backpack instead of two smaller ones.

While strolling through the shopping center, I searched for transportation to Zhitikara and thanks to Instagram, I learned that my friend and former colleague Maxim was currently in Aktobe. We used to work together at the "Pino" restaurant in Moscow near Patriarshiye Prudy. I met up with Maxim at the food court in the shopping center. We exchanged stories about our recent days and how we crossed the borders.

Maxim managed to leave the country only on his second attempt because he wasn't allowed to exit due to a small debt. He had to return to the city to settle that debt before heading back towards the Kazakhstan border. I couldn't even imagine the emotions he must have experienced. His further plan was to fly to Saudi Arabia for work and then go to Brazil for a while.

For me, it was simple: first, reach Zhitikara, and then decide where my desire would take me in India. After we said our goodbyes, I went to the nearest bus stop to inquire about the bus schedule. But, just like in Uralsk, there were no buses, and no one could give me a proper answer about the possibility of taking a bus. Carrying my two backpacks, I returned to the shopping center and continued posting in Telegram that I was looking for a ride to Zhitikara or Kostanay.

I was already considering reaching out to the guys I stayed with and asking them about accommodation for another night, but a miracle happened, and at half-past five in the evening, I received a long-awaited message from the driver.

Hello, I have a car going to Zhitikara.

Good day, how much?

20,000 tenge, leaving right now.

20 is not for me… Maximum is willing to pay 15.

Okay, let's go.

Alright.

Where are you?

I'm at Keruen City Mall.

I'll be there in 15 minutes.

Alright, I'm waiting.

The driver arrived after half an hour, and I had started to think that he wouldn't come. I quickly went downstairs, and we set off for Zhitikara. It turned out he was a taxi driver, and he was transporting a client who also needed to go to Zhitikara, so he didn't mind taking a fellow traveler.

We departed from Aktobe at half-past six in the evening, embarking on a 600 km journey. I mapped out the route to Zhitikara and saw that it would take us 10 hours, but the driver was convinced that we would arrive in 6, maximum 7 hours. I informed Andrei and Masha that I had gotten into the car and, based on the driver's assurances, would reach Zhitikara by midnight.

I couldn't shake off the thought of how slim the chance was to find a car that would take me directly to the city I needed, which was off the beaten path and inaccessible by transit. Zhitikara was 80 km away from the main road.

More than half of the journey was accompanied by rain, and time was nearing midnight while the road still stretched ahead. At three o'clock in the morning, we finally approached Zhitikara, and it started snowing. By the way, it was only September 30th! Eventually, I was dropped off right at the entrance only by 4 o'clock in the morning.

Andrei hadn't really slept during this time and was waiting for me, for which I'm truly grateful. It turned out that apart from me, another guest from Russia had arrived that night. He was already asleep, so our introduction was postponed until morning. Andrei prepared a mattress for me on the floor in the same room where the stranger was sleeping. So, I quickly freshened up and collapsed into sleep after an incredibly long journey.