The Seeker by Karan Bajaj Read Free Book Online Page A

glittering in the fading light of the evening sun. Max inhaled sharply at his first full view of the mountains ahead.
    “Is that where Gangotri is?” he asked.
    The man laughed. “Yes, Gangotri is at the bottom of that mountain,” he said. “That’s why all roads are closed beyond here.”
    The road ahead was covered in snow as were the withered trees on either side. The Ganges whispering below them suddenly fell silent, throttled by the heavy chunks of ice floating in its waters. Did the yogis hike up from this point? If they could figure out a way, couldn’t he? He ran marathons in less than three hours, he hiked steep mountains, his diet was predominantly salads and fruits, he’d never been fitter, healthier, more prepared.
    “There must be a way, perhaps on foot,” said Max.
    The man shook his head. “Not until March or April.” He took a turn and stopped ahead of a cluster of huts. “Bhatwari village,” he said pointing to the huts. “Ask around there. Someone will know when the road opens again. Perhaps you can even stay in the village for a few months. Who knows, you may even become a guru yourself? This place does that to people.”
    Max shook his hands. “Thank you for the ride,” he said. He took out his backpack from the jeep and came back to the driver’s window. “Can I pay you?”
    The man folded his hands and lowered his head in a mock bow. “No, no, great guruji. Just bless my family so they are absolved of my sins.”
    Max laughed. “Please let me. I know how hard it was to get here.”
    The man waved his hands. “I was coming this way anyway. My family lives in Pilot Baba’s ashram. I told you they are crazy.”
    He turned around and left.
    Max trudged through the packed ice to the village, the chill cutting through his bones despite his heavy overcoat.
    A group of men and women huddled around a fire in front of a small, open-air roadside restaurant. Next to it, a bare hut sold cigarettes and biscuits. Opposite it, there were more wooden houses with tin roofs. The village ended there.
    Max knocked at the door of a house with a peeling sign that said ‘Bright Hotel.’
    The tall, lean proprietor’s eyes widened at his request for accommodation. He showed Max a dark, musty room which had obviously not seen visitors in months. There was no water or electricity in the freezing room but the owner made up for it with thick piles of blankets and two buckets of hot water. Max’s mood lifted. He had a bucket shower, snuggled into the blankets and slept a little less restlessly now that he could at least see his destination one week after leaving New York City.

7
    Early the next morning, Max walked to the open-air restaurant with his backpack. He sat on a long wooden bench in front of the cooking area, huddled close to the warm stove, and watched the cook make Indian bread. The sun rose between the white, angular peaks of the mountains. Ruddy faces appeared on the streets outside, greeting each other, smiling in their thick, colorful clothes. The air filled with the fragrance of bread and milky tea. Max’s spirits lifted. The lone taxi owner in the village had refused to drive him further up, but at least Max had made it to the Himalayas.
    “Where are you from?”
    Max turned around. Two Indian boys, early twenties, all cheerful, impish grins and messy hair, sat at the table next to him.
    “New York,” said Max.
    “Awesome,” said the taller, more confident looking one in perfect English. “I’m Omkara. I’m going to Cincinnati in three months.”
    “Cincinnati is a dump. It’s nothing like New York,” said the other boy, short and squat with a half-Oriental, half-Indian face. “I’m Shiva, by the way.”
    “I’m Max,” he said. “You are going to study? University of Cincinnati?”
    Omkara nodded. “Fucking yeah. To study chemistry. I’m breaking bad. The shit I cook up in Cinci is going to be the bomb,” he said. He paused. “You’ve seen
Breaking Bad
, the TV show,