The Seeker by Karan Bajaj Page A

continued unabated. Groups of people came and left but Anand didn’t move. This was so much worse than being lost in the mountains. At least he could do something there. Here, he was helpless. He breathed slowly and stared at the statues, wishing he was sitting in front of his computer in New York instead. His fingers itched to write a killer Array formula that cracked open rows of Excel data, to set up a VLOOKUP that found missing variables in a large database, something, anything that spit out an answer when asked a question. Why was the path to truth so obscure, so clouded?
    Anand nudged him. “Are you ready to go?”
    Max hid his relief. “Whenever you are. I’m fine,” he said.
    The dimples again. “You are enjoying it?”
    “Yes.”
    “Okay then, just one last song,” said Anand.
    They listened to three more songs before heading outside.
    Anand smiled his big smile on their walk back. His shoulders swung. He put his baseball cap back on.
    “The male singer is a trustee of the temple so they have to let him and his wife sing whenever they want,” said Anand. “He is a local businessman. The people who came to listen all want some favor or the other from him.”
    “Did you want a favor as well?” said Max.
    Anand paused. “I guess you could say that,” he smiled.
    “Did you think they were good?” said Max.
    Anand laughed. The creases in his face almost touched his eyes.
    “They were good for my purpose,” he said.
    “To express love for the divine?” he said.
    “I don’t think God would be able to sit through that for four hours,” said Anand.
    Max stared at him in disbelief. “So why were we there?”
    Anand lowered his eyes. “My sincere apologies. Just a whimsical little test to check your patience,” he said. “Your eyes were very restless when you came.”
    “Why does that matter?” said Max.
    They reached the house just then.
    The strikingly attractive woman from the pictures was sitting in the living room, reading a magazine.
    Anand made the introductions. Leela’s face had an easy, comfortable smile and Max warmed to her despite his irritation with Anand.
    “Max is looking for the Brazilian doctor. Remember him?” smiled Anand.
    “How can I not? You’d leave me in a flash if you see him again,” said Leela.
    “Now Max wants to be his disciple,” said Anand.
    “What is it with you men and always looking to shirk responsibility?” she said. “All three of your boys are out playing cricket instead of studying now.”
    “You have a minute?” Anand asked her.
    They excused themselves and left the room. Max heard them talking in the other room. A door opened and closed. Anand came back with a piece of yellow paper in his hand.
    “Here,” he said, handing it to Max.
    Max looked at an address.
    “His name is Ramakrishna. A great Sage. He is the man you seek,” said Anand.
    Max’s spirits lifted. “Is that the doctor’s spiritual name?”
    “No, I told you, I don’t know where the doctor is. No one has seen him for years. I don’t even know if he is alive or not,” said Anand. He hesitated. “Besides, I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but you are not ready for him yet. You have passion, you have energy, but you are a wild elephant right now. Your mind isn’t tame enough to walk the glorious path.”
    Max’s face flushed. Was his incompetence so obvious? He looked down at the paper.
    “Where is he?” said Max.
    “A long way from here in South India,” said Anand. “I have written directions on the back. Take a train from Haridwar to Madurai in Tamil Nadu. It should take fifty, maybe sixty hours. From there, a twelve-hour bus ride to a small town called Pavur. After that, a ten-kilometer hike to a village without a name, then another thirty kilometers or so through the fields to his home. There won’t be any rickshaws or taxis in the village, but you can find something, perhaps a tractor. If you can’t find a tractor, follow the mud trail from the village