THE SAROVAR
“Fred, you wouldn’t stand out round here if you put on a turban.”
“Yes, yes, okay.”
“And combed that beaver of a beard.”
The four companions were sitting beside the Sarovar, the holy pool from which Amritsar derived its name. They rested silently for a while, watching the steady stream of Sikh pilgrims pass across the narrow bridge into the Hari Mandir, the Golden Temple at the pool’s centre.
The sun had set and the temple, illuminated by hundreds of bulbs, seemed to float effortlessly in the centre of the square basin. Around them, pilgrims completed their rounds, families and friends walking together, conversing quietly among themselves. Others sat in contemplation, lost in their own spiritual oblivion. Tall guards with orange turbans, blue coats and long kirpans or spea
