I made a mistake that I should not have done but I did.  As a result, I ended up with some hardships like police interrogations, and solo trekking in Tundra, but finally, rewarded, with a once in a lifetime experience, soaking in a bathtub in a secluded backyard under the arctic white sky with a fully naked blond but sorry – still শুক্তনি without ঘী – no romance or sex at all!   জটায়ু would have titled the story “লাপ্পীনরান্টায় লারে লাপ্পা”

I took a train from Warsaw, Poland to Moscow; had reserved a berth and delightfully found a Haitian medical student next to me, returning to Moscow from home.

They speak Haitian Creole at the home but study in French. And this guy also spoke textbook English easily;  it was their third language in school.  He spoke Russian as well after four years in Moscow. 

I was happily chatting with him.  He was telling me about the Moscow student life, hospital scenarios, about the baby doc. the ruthless Haitian dictator etc. My destination was Moscow where I would join a tour group of international students scheduled to travel for three weeks throughout the Soviet Union.  Others were travelling together and took an Aeroflot flight from London but I was in East Europe and chose the train route.

So far so good!  We shared my foot-long smoked polish sausage with his whole duck roast gulped down with Zubr (Polish beer) bought from the same market in the Warsaw East Station.   My problem started in Vilnius, now in Lithuania, when we entered the Soviet border.

The border check patrol started checking in the running train.  They checked the Haitian’s passport and Moscow University student card and did not worry about him.  But they were after me.  The guards spoke in sign language and took me to an empty cabin.  A middle-aged lady with 4XL size, probably 38D cup size, bobbed blond hair, and dark red lipstick in a Khaki uniform walked in. 

Looking at me, she started in Spanish but switched to English after a glance at my passport.  She was not fluent but perfectly grammatical.  Later I realised that she spoke deliberately slowly so that I could follow her accents.  She said, are you carrying any contraband?  Coke (Cocainএর চলিত)?, Hash? (a short form of hashish – a variety of গাঁজা) I said, No.  Are you sure? Yes.

We still have to search for you.  I kept calm.

Her first order was, ‘take off your clothes’.  I took off my jacket, shirt, underarm passport pouch, গলার হার, shoes, shocks, belt and the pant.  I was still with my গেন্জী and জাঙ্গিয়া । I looked at her and she motioned with her eyes to take these off.  I stood stark naked before the lady who motioned with her hand to turn around. I showed my backside and then the front again.  She threw me a blanket and I wrap it around myself and sat in the corner.  

Then they started searching my backpack, seams of the clothes, passport pouch everything.  They quickly found out my specially sewn pockets in my brief – yes, জাঙ্গিয়ার আবার বুক পকেট! – took out the dollars, counted it, took notes and carefully put them back. 

They checked my necklace – actually a dog tag, a steel plate having my name, Indian address etc etched on it that I wore for identification.  In case of a casualty, ma has to finally know that her only son would never return!  A polaroid appeared and they took photos of it.  The lady checked the guards’ dollar counts with the declaration that I made which matched well.   

Pencil torches arrived and they closely checked my camera, shaving kit, my prized armadillo brand boots etc.  Their special interest was in my specially ordered sleeping bag filled with Canadian eiger down that rolls down into the size of a loaf. They inspected it with a powerful torch.  They measured my multiple-use Swiss army knife for blade size which was less than two and half inches as per standard international travel norms. I had some travel guides; the cover pages were photographed.

The guards looked at the lady who nodded.  They produced a comb and went through my hair quickly.  Everything was reported in a form.   They took at least twenty minutes to go through my belongings to find that I am clean.  Then the lady ordered, dress up and left the room.

In this mayhem, even these professionals missed one important thing and I also did not notice it at that time but recalled it later.  In my belt, which had a ‘so called secret’ money pouch, I had another fifty dollars in small notes that was not mentioned in my declarations by error. Probably, the belt was under my blanket during the search and they missed it.  I was relieved that it was not discovered.  That was actually a mistake I later realized.

The two guards waited like statues till I dress up, carefully rolled the sleeping bag  and put everything arranged into my backpack. They escorded me back to the medical student and left without a word or even a nod.  Rest of the ride was uneventfull.  The Haitian explained the grave importance of her first question. If I would have confessed that I am carrying contrabands then I would have been sentenced only three years of prison.  If I denied but later found with the contraband I would have got fifteen years of hard labour in the gulag – in Siberian tundra.   

Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn’s Gulag Archipelago – Siberian forced labour camp was a sensation in the west when translated in 1974.  I read it more than once. He summed up the Russian political system in a famous quote _Unlimited power in the hands of limited people always leads to cruelty_ .  A shivering passed through my spine when the Haitian utttered the word Gulag.

Taking a time out of this story!  If you follow the western press there is a hot story now about Britteney Griner, olympic medalist and basket ball star who was sentenced for nine years in Gulag about a year ago for possessing less than one gram of cannabis oil in her luggage.  She would be now swtiched with the prisoner Victor Bout, nicknamed the _merchamt of death_ serving prison sentences for supplying illegal arms to anyone who could pay. He has already completed 14 years of his 25 years prison.     

Going back to my story;  when we arrived in Moscow, the Haitian was hospitable enough to drop me to the hotel of my tour group and refused to take any rouble for the taxi fare.  Next three weeks of touring was a great experience but I am not talking about that now.

After three weeks, my travel mates flew back from Leningrad, now St. Petersburg but I took the train to Finland, a four hours journey where this adventure begins. As soon as the train started the border patrol appeared. I was naive enough not to expect that they would also check while leaving the country.

I was supposed to keep safe all the dollar exchange receipts that I made. The officer again asked in their trained deliberately slow English for the exchange receipts first and the stamped entry declarations.  The official rouble-dollar exchange was only 1:1 but the Moscow street black market rate was about 1:12.  So, they want to tally the dollar accounts.   

Now the officer asked a dreaded query in that slow and calm English.  Have you broken any law in the soviet union during the tour? Now, I understand the gravity of this innocent question. That Haitian’s face, Solzhenitsyn and the  Gulag Archipelago flashed through my brain. If I deny it but they later discovered the $50, Gulag in Siberia is waiting for me.  If I confess, I don’t know how many years I would still spend in a Russian prison. I was knive and thought I am safe.  I should have simply given the money as tips during the travel.  But it was too late now.  A cold shivering passed through my spine. The officer was intently watching me. 

I said one problem I found.  I had $50 in my money belt which by error I failed to report in the entry declaration.  I spoke a few more words and he remained quiet. I thought I have convinced him.  When I looked at him with a questioning glance, he demolished my arguments easily with that slow and calm English.  He said, how do I assure myself that you didn’t have more dollars in the money belt?  I went silent.  He took away my passport.  He said please don’t change your seat I would come back to you.  He left with my passport and I was drowned in despair.

He came back three hours later when the train entered in the station and said please come with me with your pack.  I followed him.  We stepped on the platform and he took me to another young officer in the station who politely asked me to a seat.  The first officer left.  There was tea brewing in a samovar in the corner. He motioned with his hand to take the tea which I dutifully obeyed. I found some khleb (Russian black bread) on a plate next to it and took one. He watched but didn’t say anything.

I returned to the seat, took a bite of the bread with a hot sip and felt good.  But with the second sip, I heard the whistle and the train moved out of the platform.  I didn’t want to but Solzhenitsyn’s writings returned to my mind. The officer was typing some papers in a manual typewriter that no one in the west uses anymore.  He finished up and then went to a corner and I saw an ancient fax machine that somehow was working. He finished up his work neatly, came to me and asked me to follow in that trained slow English. 

He took me to another room at the end of the platform.  We reached the end of the platform; he motioned with his hand to enter a room.  I opened the door and entered a large room and saw a couple of Indian-style lockups with iron bars in a corner.  At that moment, the whole of Gulag Archipelago stories flashed passed my mind at light speed.  I walked straight into one of the lockups. 

He said no, no. I turned around.  He came close and revealed my situation for the first time.

We have not arrested but detained you. I have faxed your case to Moscow. The authority would decide now. It might take some time.   This room is empty and would be comfortable for you.  He went to a corner collected a couple of blankets from a dresser and threw these on the sofa.  He said you can walk on the platform but please do not leave the station. 

I smiled.  Where shall I go in this tundra?  You have at least offered me tea and a sofa with blankets.  I saw a faint trace of a smile for the first time on his face.  He left but returned immediately.  He pointed out to a door with a Russian sign, this is the toilet.  He correctly judged that I cannot read Cyrillic script and won’t find the toilet there.  He said we get lunch at thirteen hours.  I have ordered one for you and left.  I felt that beyond his khaki uniform he has a soft mind and is thinking about me. 

I walked back and forth on the long platform.  There were only a couple of uniformed railwaymen on the platform.  Other people are inside their offices.  There is only one dirt road parallel to the train track and nothing else. I returned to my sofa before one o’clock. A uniform railwayman appeared with a box in a backpack.  He produced a packed soup and meat with a dumpling dish with a hunk of khleb. I saw beer bottles inside his pack but he gave me mineral water with gas.  It tastes awful but is better than beer in my case.   I reasoned that a detainee is not entitled to any kind of alcohol.  Suddenly I felt very hungry at the aroma of the hot food and remembered a saying  দাঁতের লজ্জা নেই ।

After a hearty lunch, I went to slumber and just before it I realised with horror that after 10 years of Gulag I will forget all engineering calculations.  I decided that I must become fluent in Russian in the next ten years and would open an import-export business between Moscow and Kolkata. I would sell tea and become rich.  I felt happy and fell asleep.

The sleep was not peaceful but full of dreams and nightmares.  I repeatedly dreamt of the book Birds of India by Salim Ali.  In the book, I was checking an image of an Indian blue jay, that we call নীলকন্ঠ পাখী। The name is a big misnomer.  The bird is bright blue all over but the throat and underside are yellowish-grey. I remembered our routine in childhood on বিজয়া দশমী morning.  We, street urchins, used to gather in the courtyard on শোভাবাজার রাজবাড়ী। The পাখীওলা came with a নীলকন্ঠ পাখী। At later years, I found they managed with a শালিখ painted blue.  The babu came down at ten in the morning and released the bird.  The exhausted bird somehow flew from the courtyard supposedly to Kailash to inform ma’s return.  Even in sleep, I knew why I was seeing this nightmare.  I was like the wounded নীলকন্ঠ, the blue jay now and wanted to fly away from this cage.  

I felt a nudging on my shoulder and opened my eyes.  The officer was smiling broadly this time.  He said Moscow decided not to press any charges but ordered me to see that you leave the soviet border immediately. We had to do some arrangements.  The station in charge is called Lappeenranta, the Finnish town on the other side of the border railway telephone.  They have made arrangements; they just called.  I didn’t wake you up till things were fixed because you should rest before some walk.  Come to my office and he left.

I went to his room.  The samovar was still steaming. I didn’t even ask but poured some tea.   He said, do you have a water bottle?  I nodded and fished out my aluminium flask.  He ordered, filling it up from that pitcher.  I did the same.  Things were still not clear.

He never said but I later learnt in Finland that my visa was expiring at 12 midnight.  I knew that of course.   Putting me in the next day’s train even if I pay the fare would cause them more paperwork for visa delay and more clearances.  So they wanted to stamp my passport within time and kick me out of their border before midnight.

The officer said I would drop you at our border.  There is a 4KM no man’s land where we do not enter without informing them.  You would walk this distance following the train line.  My patrol won’t interfere when you are walking.  The Lappeenranta station chief assured that a Finnish volunteer is getting ready.  He would wait for you at their border and ferry you to Villmanstrand, the nearest village.  Now pack up.  I sipped the last drop of the tea and walked out of his room.  It was now 3.30 PM but there was an advantage.  The sun would not go down till 3 AM in the summer.  I could walk in daylight.

Russian jeeps are called Yaz.  It looked like the second world war Jeep model but they are supposed to be very hardy.  I threw my backpack in the rear and climbed in the front seat.  He roared out of the station immediately.  It was a bumpy ride on that dirt road following the train track. 

He was relaxed now.  I was talking about my travel through countries.  He said how he completed his hard military training.  He was inducted to border patrol because he knew German already.  He then learnt English, Finish and some Swedish.  He gets time to the university for language training. 

He knew Delhi is the capital of India. He also knew Gandhi and Indira Gandhi are not from the same family.  He knew Russians helped India in their battle with Pakistan.  He even knew that a new country Bangladesh was thus born.  By the time, we reached the border we were friends. Border means two posts across the road.  We walked up to that.  Suddenly, he said wait.  Went back to the car and brought a brown paper bag.  He said this is a sandwich if you are hungry on the walk. 

I was also ready.  I took out my Swiss army knife and put it in his palm. I said a parting gift from a friend.  Western luxury goods were in immense demand in Russia at that time.  He hold the knife for a second but then shook his head and pushed it back to my palm again.  No, Mr Guha.  I am on duty and in uniform.  Cannot take anything from you.  I said even if it was a willing present from a friend. He shook his head.

Then, suddenly I was startled.  He put his hand on my neck, drew me close and gave me a fully closed lip-to-lip full contact kiss for a second and then stood back.  Go Mr Guha!  Go!  You have a long walk. 

Thank God!  Luckily, I knew the Slavic custom of full lip-to-lip kissing between close friends.  He didn’t accept the Swiss army knife because of his uniform but accepted me as a friend.  He didn’t want to offend me by rejecting the gift.  That kiss was his way of saying it.  This is a pure heart guy.  I waved to him and started walking the twin posts and became the নীলকন্ঠ পাখী।   I heard his engine start but did not look back. 

I started walking.  It was absolutely plane land.  The dirt path, next to the rail was levelled and dry without an undulation.  I had a seven-kilo backpack and a one-kilo side bag.  The gears were good.  The backpack was body hugging with a wide belt passing most of the load to the waist relieving the shoulder.  The hiking boot was good with arched support for comfort.   I put on a heavy stoking against the cold.  The temperature would be about five degrees centigrade which was good for walking.  It was an arctic afternoon.  No rain but everything was white and faint from the fog.  One cannot see the difference between the sky and the land.  Navigation could be very difficult on such a trek.  But I have the rail line a meter away.  I have to walk only four kilometres.  I told myself, that all I have to do was to walk carefully watching every step to avoid a slip and an ankle sprain. I did just that and turned into a blue jay.

I was thinking about ma and home and many such things.  It was after all a lonely walk.  All of a sudden, I realized something and thanked my stars that I had an Indian passport.  It gave me so many ill treatments like in the Greek border.  But it gave me this life-giving prize of saving me from the Gulag.   Had I owned a US passport it would not have been so easy. I would become a pawn in international politics.  They would have pressed the charge, twenty years of Gulag and then exchange with a Russian spy serving in US jail.  Mother India saved me from all that.  Insult in a place like the Greek border was a small price compared to the life sentence in Siberia.  Jai Hind.  

I didn’t see anything on the walk except dense fog.  But I was walking next to the train track which was always visible.  After about one and a half hours, I saw lights flashing.  I looked closely through the fog and saw a pair of car headlights.  I had a jubilant feeling.  I am free and someone unknown has taken so much trouble and is waiting here to save me.  I almost ran towards the car.  A tall man, all Finns are tall anyway, climbed out gave me a strong handshake and said Hi, Guha, I am Aksel, welcome to Finland.  I recalled that Finns are fluent in English. 

I put my backpack in the rear seat and climbed in next to him.  He immediately made a three-point turn and sped up his Toyota 4-wheel drive on a road, smooth this time. I saw reflectors in a bend and knew I am back to comfortable west again.  Aksel explained that he is a volunteer of a disaster management group that provides support in any accident.  He said it is his job to come forward in such incidents.  Aksel pointed to a flask in the glass holder and said have some coffee.  I just finished mine.  I took a sip of light brown coffee and enjoyed the smell.  During the casual discussions, I said, “No one enters the no man’s land.”.  Aksel smiled; he said, “That is the official position.  We mostly follow it.  The border is heavily guarded.  Russians have snipers posted all the time and have infrared tracers to track moving life.

Aksel continued, they have dissidents.  In winter everything was dark for months but the movement was easy and fast in skis.  It would hardly take fifteen minutes to cross the no man’s land in skis.  Anyone could ski up to Lappeenranta station and board a train with a $100 ticket that includes all the ferry charges and appears the next day at the US Embassy in Copenhagen, Denmark and asks for asylum.  Their patrol will enter and shoot without any information to us.   I understood with horror the gravity of the statement when the officer said, “My patrol won’t interfere when you are walking”.   I also realised why the officer repeatedly told me to stay on the shoulder of the train track.  I thought it was the protection against getting lost in the arctic tundra.  But there were more.  To their intelligence, I could still be an American spy trying to check out their border protocols.  Only the train track corridor was kept free for me.  Any deviation would have led to a shooting squad or thirty years in Gulag.   That cold shivering passed thru my spine again.       

Akcel works for the Finnish railway and is now posted in villmanstrand, a small border village.   When the call came to the station chief that a stranded Indian having a valid Scandinavian visa would be unofficially expelled from the Soviet Union tonight, he contacted the Finnish immigration in Lappeenranta.  They said since he has a valid visa there is no requirement to arrest him.  So, they don’t need to be involved.  The disaster management group was requested to handle it and Aksel who, himself was calling immigration for the station chief happily came forward.   We reached villmanstrand station in about forty-five minutes and half the population was waiting in the concourse as moral support.  To them, it was a rescue operation from the jaws and paws of the Russian bear.  They congratulated Aksel and me and dispersed.

I now started thinking about the night stay.  Akcel somehow read my mind.  He said, “I have twin boys now in the summer camp.  We have space to let you sleep.  I was thinking about taking you to my home and dropping you at Lappeenranta station tomorrow where immigration would stamp your visa and you are set free”.  This is actually a very rare offer in the west.  Obviously, I agreed right away.  He took me to his home in ten minutes.  And there the adventure begins. 

His wife, a tall blond pony-tailed woman who later became my naked angel just like the European masters’ painting, for the night, greeted me at the doorsteps with a strong handshake.    

I faintly remember that at a very late night, she in her birthday suit was insisting that I get into the bathtub by holding her shoulder and helping me further to float my naked body, then lying next to me, rubbing my chest and asking softly, are you, OK dear?  But wait!  There is absolutely no romance or sex into it.  If you wonder, recall, what Hamlet once said, “There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio than are dreamt in your philosophy”.  

But these would happen late at night.  When she greeted me on the stairs, it was only about 8 O’clock in the evening with sunshine coming through the fog on her porch. She was wearing a pair of Levi’s and a body-hugging yellow woollen sweater.  I noticed her lean waist, small breasts and full buttocks and wondered how they keep this sort of body even after childbirth.  It turned out that she was once a pole vault champion but now working as a sports administrator in the local school district.  She gave me a brilliant smile and a welcoming kiss but I was ready and safely passed the routine.

In the continent, but not in the States they often kiss for welcome or farewell.  It is a sign that she is taking you informally as a friend.  But it has a choreographed routine.  Firstly, the female must initiate it.  Suddenly, you would see her face descending on yours. You have to make a split-second decision if you would turn to your left or right cheek depending on the trajectory of her lips landing on you.  She would lightly brush her closed lips on your cheek and you would do the same.   Immediately she would repeat it on the other cheek and you also do the same.  The whole thing does not last more than two seconds.  If you fumble, you would end up in a lips-to-lips touch and that’s a no-no.  Or even worse, you would have a nose-to-nose touch that would be disgusting for her.   In a situation like that, I always remain alert if a lady is planting a kiss and passed this time.     

She said you must be very hungry after the long walk.  She took us to the dinner table and served coffee and put things in the oven for reheating.  I noticed that microwave ovens which has become standard in the US kitchen at that time did not yet enter rural Finland.    She asked if I would like a beer.   I was hesitant, mainly because I don’t drink and my alcohol resistance is low.  She took it otherwise and placed a stemmed glass on the table and filled it with Riesling, a German sparkling wine which was worse than beers for alcohol intolerance.   Akcel poured some stiff drink.  Turned on the TV and took out soup and a shepherd’s pie-like dish which is ground meat served on mashed potato.  He picked up a plate and said try some reindeer meat.  I am a meat and fish lover.  Reindeer are raised for meat in Scandinavia but I didn’t have it before. She also took out some cold salmon fillets from the fridge and said these are freshly netted salmons from the Teno river and never frozen.  Salmon was also my favourite and its test was superb.   I ate hungrily.   When I finished, I cleaned up my plate and put it in the dishwasher which I noticed earlier.  Akcel said, “like to have a sauna”?  I nodded.  She took me to the end of the corridor, pointed out a door and returned to the hall.     

I opened the door to a cubby hole where they had towel racks.  I took all my clothes off and put them in one of the cloth bags they neatly arranged.  Then I realised that my swimming trunk is inside the backpack.  I have to now walk back through the hall.  I was tired and lazy to put on all my dresses.  I used only public saunas before where I always went naked which was the standard.  These were always of the same sex.  Only the Arabs and the guys from the subcontinent go there with swimming trunks.  So, I entered the sauna naked, threw some water from a large tub on the hot stones to create some steam and comfortably sat there.   The temperature was hardly sixty-five degrees centigrade.  I was enjoying it greatly and relishing the fact that I became a নীলকন্ঠ পাখী with all the help from these unknown people.

To my horror, the door opened and she entered the sauna only with a loin cloth but uncovered breasts and some birch leaves in one hand.  I naively assumed that sauna is like a toilet and used one at a time but it is actually like a den where family members sit together.  But being naked did match their social expectation.  At the time, my first reaction was how to control my dick. Getting hard in this situation would be a great loss of face to my generous hosts.  I recalled my long research before the world tour that in rural Finland mixed sauna is still the norm and everybody goes there fully naked.  There is even a custom of the whole family going to the sauna on Christmas eve.  They don’t mind seeing each other naked.  She surely put on that loin cloth not to offend me and I was damn right.  She looked at me sitting naked, probably relieved and with a careless flick of her fingers took out the Velcro fastener and tossed it on a peg.  Later in a Helsinki departmental store, I discovered that these loin clothes are for women when in their period for preventing accidental stains.  Before I fix my gaze on the wall, I saw a glimpse of her groin.  It had ample hair but all dark brown whereas the hair on her head was pure blond. 

I was away from the hot rocks.  She crossed and sat naked next to me, nearer the rock.  I could still smell her fragrances.  She said we need some more heat and threw ladles of water on the rock and the temperature started to rise probably to seventy-five degrees centigrade. They had an old-style thermometer on the wall but I couldn’t see anything in the steam and without my glasses.  

The birch leaves were in between us.  I softly asked how we exactly use this.  She said, turn around.  I presented my back and she started to hit me with the birch branch.  Some leaves fell but she didn’t bother.  She asked again, ‘turn around’.  I presented my front.  She hit me again all over the body, shoulder and thighs but was careful not to hit my dick.  She returned me the birch bundles and presented her back.   I tried to do the same but did not have the courage to ask her to turn around.  She raised her hands so that I could hit her underarms, even the side of her tits, and the accessible portions of her thighs.

Aksel opened the door with a huge pitcher, maybe half a gallon of beer and a birch leaf bundle under his arm when I was hitting her thighs but he had no expression on his face. From my pre-tour research, I knew trouble is coming when he emptied half of the pitcher on the hot rocks.  Immediately, the room was full of alcohol steam and a roasted barley aroma.  The flavour is pleasing, but a huge quantity of alcohol in the air was bad for me.  When this alcohol passed through the skin pores which were already dilated from heat and sweat flow the alcohol reached the bloodstream directly bypassing the stomach a quick and high intoxication would take place, as if one is drinking through the whole body.  The room temperature has probably reached close to eighty-five degrees by this time.   She went to Aksel and hit him quite hard with the birch branch.  I saw that Akcel was also hitting on her breasts with the birch branch that I didn’t try.   

Suddenly, I became very sleepy or so I thought and wished to doze off but she noticed everything.  I felt her one hand on my shoulder and the other on my arm.  She softly said come we need fresh air.  She opened a narrow door and guided me out into the backyard.  I was probably staggering on the few steps to reach the ground and leaned on her.  She did support me and I remember she drew my one hand over her shoulder and wrapped me with the other.  She guided me towards a large wooden tub about two feet in depth but at least eight feet in diameter.  I did not feel any cold outside.   I only wanted to sleep even on this ground in the open.  My knees were giving away.  She stood in front of me and wrapped her hands around me.  I faintly remember that her boobs and thighs were pressed on me, I can’t remember about her bush but neither she nor I cared.  I wanted to sleep only.  She was about 4 / 5 inches taller.  I remember, she called Guha, Guha, do you hear me and nudged my chin firmly.  I nodded and opened my eyes.  I saw in the arctic light a pair of intense blue eyes and deep red lips hovering above my face.  She again called Guha; do you hear me say yes?  My lips probably moved silently to say yes.  She said, hang on, we are almost there.  You will be Ok, dear.  She said, hold on to the edge of the tub which I did.  I probably said I couldn’t walk, please let me lie down.  She assured me, you won’t walk anymore, you will lie down with me inside the tub, and I will be with you.  There were a couple of steps outside as well inside to reach the tub.  She went inside and guided me there which was knee-deep with ice-cold water. 

As soon as I stepped in the water my vision as well as my brain started getting clear.   She helped me to sit inside the tub.  The cold water was up to my shoulder.  Everything is crystal clear now.  I saw her still standing watching me intently.  And then it struck me. The birth of my Venus had taken place under the arctic light.     

Her naked wet body, pale white moist skin, dripping water from pink nipples on a pair of 34B size breasts, catlike waist but still with a small belly as a reminiscence of her childbirth with a small golden ring pierced at her flat belly button, absolutely no fat splits even after the childbirth, pure blond hair glistened with steam and the brunette bush in the groin area reflecting lights from water droplets on the hairs like morning dews on grass blades.  This view is imprinted in my brain forever.  My Venus was born in that instant.

She called me twice but I didn’t answer because my mind flew six thousand miles away.  I was in Florence, Italy, precisely speaking, in Uffizi, their art gallery on the first floor before Botticelli’s masterpiece, the Birth of Venus.  I was seeing both one, in real eyes and the other in mind.  The same tall lean figure, teardrop face, burnt orange hair, 34B breast, arms with muscle lines, long firm thighs, and hourglass waist but with a small belly, and flat belly button.  I was cursing Botticelli.  Why didn’t he paint the beauty of the brunette bush like my real Venus?   I could see that better sitting in the water.

I noticed her golden naval ring glistening in the flat belly bottom.  Her hairless smooth belly was snow white and obviously didn’t receive much sun. It had a downward slope just like the col of a snow slope in the Himalayas. The curly hairline started uniformly in a line from about seven inches below the navel.  It reminded me of a bugial, the grass line that starts when the snow ends in the Himalayas.    A pale pink line going vertically downwards from the naval towards the bush looked like a snow leopard’s footprint on the snow.  The brunette-coloured hair became progressively denser to cover her well further down where it was needed.  I could see fine mist-like water droplets glistening in her bugial from my vantage position sitting in the water.  What a creation of nature that Botticelli missed drawing her Venus.  I cursed him again. This flesh and blood Venus standing naked under the arctic sky looked much better to me.     

I didn’t respond to her call twice.  Her face clouded again and she slid down next to me.  She placed one of my wrists on her thigh and hold it for the pulse.  I am fully alert now.  I became worried about getting hard and started counting a hundred backwards. Her other hand found my jugular in the neck and was checking my blood flow.  I realised she was a sportsperson and knew about physiology well.   She lightly rubbed her hand on my chest and asked how do you feel now? Are you Ok? I am fine everything is clear now.  What happened to me?  You were passing out from heat stroke.  The sauna temperature went up more than your tolerance. The total heat content of your body was more than your heart could manage.  The cold water took out the heat and now your heart can manage easily.

I said I am feeling cold.  She said, yes, time to go back.  She stood first and helped me so that I don’t slip.  The sauna door opened and Akcel appeared.  He waited patiently till she and I walked out of the tub.  Then he stepped into the tub. By the time, I reached the sauna door I was shivering from the cold again.  When I entered the warm room, it was better.  But she said stand here near the rock, present your back first.  She threw a ladle of water and the steam hit me again in the back feeling good.  She said, turn around and close your eyes.  She again threw water, the steam hit me in the front I enjoyed it this time.  She ordered as if I am a kid enough for today, you are tired, take large towels, dry yourself and go to bed.  Akcel and I will have another session.

I returned to the room but was too tired to unpack and unroll my sleeping bag.  I then noticed the bed was neatly made ready.  It was earlier covered with a bedspread.  I said thank you aloud dived into the bed and fell asleep.   

It was either the white noise from the TV, sundry noises from the kitchen or the smell of coffee, I was not sure, I woke up.  The sun is ever-present in arctic summer.  They rig special liners in drapes to cut out sunlight.   My room was still pitch dark.  I put on my sweatshirt, and pants opened the door and craned my neck out for surveying the household.  The dining table was flooded with sunlight dazzling my eyes. My Venus was fully dressed in a grey suit but I still saw her as my naked Venus. Aksel had his uniform trouser but with a jumper.  So, he was not still ready.  They were enjoying coffee with the TV on. She placed one leg on Akcel who was messaging her foot.  These are standard western rituals between couples.  I fantasized that she would call me now to do the same to her other foot.  Instead, my Venus gave that dazzling smile.  She announced in a melodious tone.  Good morning, Guha, the coffee is ready. I returned good morning to her and Akcel. I took stock of the situation.  I was late and had to be quick.  I considered whether I should open the window drape fully which would cause heat loss to the room, but then opened it a little to have some lights, fix the bed, threw the bedspread, took my toothbrush and hit the toilet for morning ablutions.    

I returned quickly but my Venus was gone.  My mood dipped that I won’t see her ever.  I poured some coffee and put a pair of bread slices in the toaster.  Akcel was quite sensitive, he correctly guessed that I was trying to finish fast.  He said we would leave after an hour.   I was relieved and poured my second cup of coffee.   Ah, she returned to the hall from her bedroom, this time with a grey overcoat on and a medium-heeled ankle-high zipped boot with the ponytail hair like last evening.  I noticed she did her face makeup. blue eyeliner, light mascara, light pink lipstick to match her skin, a little rouse on a light foundation on the cheekbone, and a pair of pearls on the ears.  I smelled her fragrance.  She looked gorgeous but I compared her wet face last night and found that better.  She kissed Akcel carefully not to ruin her lipstick and waved at me.  I walked with her to the entrance.  And then, something unusual happened.

She put her handbag on a stool and raised her arms to embrace me.  That is not unusual, another western ritual. When women embrace it is simple, their boobs could touch, no issue.  But, between males to females, there are rituals.  Based on her height and boob size you have to decide how far away you would plant your feet and incline downwards from your waist to place your chin on her shoulder making absolutely sure that you won’t touch her bust in the procedure but if you know her well you could also touch your chick very lightly to hers.  But be careful not to ruin her makeup or tangle your hair if she had hanging earrings. Beware to save your dress not to tangle with her broach!  You may lightly pat her back without touching the bra strap. The ritual would last for two seconds but even, a brush with her tits would show you as a perverted savage

But this time it was different and the embrace lasted for a long 30 seconds which was remarkable.  She was taller and had longer arms with smaller tits.  She adjusted the distance and inclined from her waist to plant her chin on my shoulder but effortlessly touched my chick with hers.  I took a deep breath lung-full of her perfume, closed my eyes and imagined her wet and naked like last night.  I fantasised if she could change her stance and press me to hold tight with her boobs and thighs like last night.  That didn’t happen but something did occur.  She murmured to my ear, Guha!  I imagined that the second sentence would be please stay one more night to sleep with me.  That didn’t happen either.  She whispered I would like to pray for your safe journey on this overland tour.  It generally meant she would light up a candle in the next church visit remembering me.

I murmured, yes Livia, please do that for me.  I need your prayer.  You saved me from a disaster last night and instinctively pressed my cheek harder on her.  She returned the pressure equally and probably started weeping.  ‘I prayed to God this morning for my sin.  I would go to church today.  We should have been careful.  I thought should I ask God to tell her to repent with a lip-smacking passionate kiss?  I was sure she had the lipstick in her handbag and could fix it while driving.  But God doesn’t listen to such requests.    

She continued ‘you are an innocent fellow’.  I said in my mind.  ‘My Venus, please let me sleep in your bed once to take away my innocence.’ but remained quiet.  I was ready to break the embrace but she didn’t and held me like that.  Then I realised she is whispering a hymn in a melodious song in a language that I have never heard.  I realised she is praying to God for my safe travel.  When it ended, she placed her two palms on my cheeks and looked at me from a foot apart.  I saw her eyes full of tears after the prayer but her eyeliner and mascara were still intact.  I had seen these unique powers of western ladies to retain their makeup.  

When our eyes met, she gave that brilliant smile and pouted her lips. For a second, I thought God told her to give me that kiss but it never came.  Instead, she blew three times on my forehead.  I realised she was a devotee of the Russian Orthodox Church and that the melodious hymn was in ancient Greek.  They like the Muslims, blow on the disciples to give blessings. 

Suddenly, she was in a hurry, broke the embrace, collected her handbag and climbed into her car and started the engine.  I waved. She saw through the looking glass and waved back and I never saw my Venus in reality again.                 

I returned to the kitchen and found Akcel finished his last cup of coffee.  I was glad that I returned in time and picked up the dishes for cleaning.  You don’t really wash it, just clean it and place it in the dishwasher.  Akcel wanted to do it but I said let me have a chance I haven’t done these for months.  He smiled.

We started on time.  It was about an hour’s drive.  He delayed because by the time we would reach Lappeenranta the immigration office would open and I would get the entry stamp.  In about ten minutes, we passed a Russian Orthodox Church.  I looked at it, not just for architectural interest but because my Venus might come here this evening for a confession.  As I said before, Akcel was a very sensitive person and could possibly read my mind as well.  He said we are members here.  Livia is very devoted.  In winter, it was all dark and snow everywhere but she would ski down here Sunday morning and clean the snow from the entrance path for the few devotees who might come.   I said she said she might go to church this evening.   

Akcel was silent for a few moments.   Then suddenly started talking.  Livia was very angry with me last night.  I forced her to bed but she wept all night.  In the morning, she prayed for an hour and returned to her mood.  I then understood that the foot massage at the breakfast table in the morning was actually a making-up affair after a couple’s quarrel. 

I said, I was passing out from the heat, she said.  Akcel was silent for a moment and then said I should tell you the facts.  He continued, sauna in general is very safe.  We in the north are having it since the Viking times and before. Even then, there are about two dozen sauna deaths each year in Finland alone. It mostly occurs from overheating and alcohol abuse in Sauna.

We in the countryside are used to high temperatures in the sauna.  She already raised it to about seventy-five degrees before I entered.  For a newcomer, this should be the maximum.  She did not raise it more considering your presence.   

I wanted to entertain you and did what we normally do when guests and friends come home.  I poured beer into the rock.  The room temperature went to more than eighty degrees centigrade.  The skin temperature was then about forty-degree centigrade.   Your pulse rate should increase by thirty per cent and have a rate of about ninety per minute.  It means the heart has to pump at the double rate that it normally does.  It is like heavy exercise.

In the meantime, the alcohol from the beer percolates through the skin to the bloodstream.  Alcohol dilates the blood vessel causing a pressure drop. But the heart still has to pump in more because of the high body temperature and then accidents happen.       

Do you recall the last night?  I shook my head.  Not really!  Akcel said that when she was helping you to walk towards the tub, she felt the pulse count from your neck.  She had training in sports medicine.  She estimated it above 160 which was a risky zone.   She became very scared.  When you soaked yourself in the tub the pulse fell to 90.  She is ashamed that we put your life in danger with our careless behaviour.

I said, tell her that you picked me up on your own from a far more dangerous no man’s land just because someone is in trouble and gave me a homestay with excellent hospitality.  This incident was unintentional and did not go further because of her sharp eye and quick wit to take me out of the sauna.  I would remain grateful to both of you.  I thought himself passing out was really lucky because I saw the birth of my Venus under the arctic night.

We soon reached Lappeenranta.  Got my passport stamped.  Had our farewell coffee with Akcel in a bar.  He gave me a strong handshake and a pat on the shoulder to say goodbye.   Boarded the train and thought about these priceless memories that one may get from overland tours.

After Lappeenranta, I went to Helsinki and many other places across the world.  My Venus experience went behind many other new pages and slowly became dormant. Twenty years later in about 2000, I as an ordinary tourist visited Italy again.  I finished the tourist musts like Piazza St Marko in Venice, the Colosseum in Rome and the Duomo in Florence in a whirlwind conducted tour. 

Then, I stepped into the Uffizi. While walking in the crowded corridor I came across Botticelli’s Birth of Venus again. Our guide Liza was trying to say things but I stood against a wall and flew back in space and time to a desolate backyard near the Soviet border twenty years ago.  My wet and nude Venus appeared before me under an arctic white night.  The memories surfaced from below like the lava of the nearby Vesuvius.   I could see everything crystal clear including the snow leopard’s footprint towards the bugial. 

Then I thought about the experience for the rest of the day and since then.  I learnt a number of things.  Firstly, nudity and sex are close but two different things that my twenty-seven years old Indian brain and libido were unable to grasp at Lappeenranta.  

Secondly, we did not understand each other at all.  I looked at her wet nude body as an Apsara or Venus.   She looked at me as an Indian blue jay – নীলকন্ঠ – just saved from the paws and jaws of the Russian bear.  She had to cry all night to put a stranger in mortal danger from her carelessness she thought and had to confess in the church. When I, in an inebriated state, was hankering for the touch of her tits and bush, but she was racing to save my life from heart failure when my pulse was above 160.  

Even people in the west had so many cultural differences that they don’t understand each other.  If I tell an American lady from the Midwest that I saw a woman enter a sauna topless when a nude stranger was sitting and then threw away her loincloth, she would think the girl was a whore whereas she in fact was a devout Christian visiting church every Sunday.

But above all, such overland tours gave an opportunity to see the world and its people in full glory that would never be available to a conducted tour like the way I saw Italy again in 2000.