The Seeker Read Online Free PDF Page B

right?” he said.
    “No, no,” said the man, shaking his professorial face so hard that Max worried his glasses would fall off the train. “What I mean is roads are all blocked. Big storms. Forget getting to Uttarkashi even, definitely not further up.”
    If that were the case, coming to the Himalayas in December had indeed been a waste of time. From the train station in Haridwar, Max intended to go up to Uttarkashi, a seven-hour journey by road, then take a bus to Gangotri, the origin of the Ganges river, another six hours north, followed by a ten-mile trek up the mountains to Bhojbasa near the Ganges’ source glacier where a lone guesthouse served holy men living in the Himalayan caves. The Brazilian doctor had last been seen in a cave near the guesthouse.
    Max hadn’t accounted for the roads being blocked but he had planned well for the trek to the guesthouse. Within a week of quitting his job, he had said goodbye to Sophia, taken care of his apartment and finances, gotten an Indian visa, and flown to New Delhi via London so he could reach the Himalayas before the winter peaked in early January. In his backpack, he had his best cold-weather hiking gear: woolen base layers, insulated down pants, two thick sweaters, one synthetic jacket, one hard shell jacket with a hood, two pairs of gloves and hats, four pairs of woolen socks, and multiple hand and toe warmers, enough to survive in much lower temperatures than the -10 degree Fahrenheit expected in the upper Himalayas. And somehow, he didn’t feel cold here in Northern India despite his compass gauge hovering just above zero in the train’s open doorway. Of course, this had less to do with his resilience and more to do with the heat generated by a few hundred people packed in a train compartment meant for fifty. On a mission to strip his life off the softness and comfort he’d been spoilt by back home, Max had chosen the cheapest compartment in the train. He’d been lucky to get a spot by the doorway. People were sitting hunched on suitcases, lying on luggage racks, even squatting atop the wash basin outside the bathroom, anywhere they could find an inch of space. The return journey wouldn’t be pleasant if the roads were indeed closed.
    Max’s companion must have sensed he was throwing a wet blanket over his travel plans.
    “If God wants, you will find a way.”
    “Amen,” said Max.
    “Christian?” asked the man.
    Max smiled. You’d have to know someone for months before you asked that question back home. “I grew up as one,” he said. “Now I don’t know who I am. Perhaps that’s why I came to India.”
    “Good, good,” said the man. “If you want to find
bahut kuch kar sakte ho
here . . .
idhar
. . . you must . . .”
    Max seized the moment. “Can you teach me some Hindi? I have a guidebook but I don’t think I have the pronunciations right.”
    The man’s face lit up. “You must know Hindi in India. Absolutely must. No problem, I can teach you important words quick.”
    And just like that, while the train stuttered and stopped in the thick winter fog, Max got an impromptu lesson in Hindi pronunciation. Outside the train, India beyond the gleaming metropolis revealed itself. Half-naked kids huddling around small fires, people entering tiny mud huts with gaping holes, deformed beggars shivering on dirt roads, starving, wasting cows languishing next to the train tracks—suffering everywhere in the land that promised salvation from it.
    “
Dhanyawaad
. I can’t thank you enough,” said Max as the train reached Haridwar station six hours later than its expected arrival time.
    “No problem. Train took so much time. You have become Premchand,” said the man. “You know Munshi Premchand? World-famous Hindi poet?”
    Max laughed. His heart warmed. They shook hands.
    “Be careful to go up in Himalayas. Winter weather very very dangerous,” said the man.
    Max nodded, touched by his kindness. He had planned to make his way up to Uttarkashi that