The Seeker by Karan Bajaj Page A

suffering and death.
    “It sounds awesome,” said Omkara, who seemed to have heard every word Max had said despite looking completely absorbed with the motorcycle tire.
    “What does?” said Max.
    Omkara walked over to them. “Your life in New York,” he said. He sat down next to Shiva on the boulder. “How did your father die?”
    Max was learning not to be surprised when people casually asked him deeply personal questions in India.
    “He worked in a garment factory in the Bronx. His lungs collapsed,” said Max. He paused, thinking of the one time he had accompanied his father to the hot, dark warehouse in Kingsbridge where he worked. The windows were painted black, the doors shut tight. His father, taller than anyone around, was moving boxes, sweating and coughing yet joking with short, dark men stooped over machine stations. “I was five years old so I don’t remember much. My mother said he was a good man. He didn’t drink much and was good with numbers.”
    “You did well to go to Harvard,” said Shiva. “Your mother must have been proud.”
    Max’s eyes watered suddenly. His mother had made Sophia and him practice their English in front of the mirror every night so they wouldn’t pick up her heavy accent. She herself had learned to speak English fluently over the years but never learned to write in it. Each month at Harvard, he’d receive an envelope with a smudged ten-dollar bill from her. He had never refused her money even though his tuition was covered by financial aid and his expenses by his busing and dishwashing job at the dining hall. She had wanted to keep feeling useful to him. Max took a giant sip of tea from the thermos cup to stop his voice from cracking.
    “I still don’t get it though. What are you really looking for?” asked Shiva.
    Max hesitated. “Spiritual enlightenment, I guess.”
    “What does that mean?”
    “I don’t know. I’ve just started reading books like
The Yoga Sutras of Patanjali
,” said Max. “It says there is just one energy in the universe. Everything, everyone are just forms of it. When you get enlightened, you see that oneness everywhere, in everything. You realize that a human body, any body for that matter, is just a temporary vessel for that energy to express itself so the body’s birth or death is inconsequential.”
    “But what’s the point of knowing all this?” said Shiva.
    “Have you seen anyone die?” said Max.
    “My grandfather,” said Shiva.
    “Did you see him take his last breath?”
    Shiva shook his head.
    “When I was five, the kids in my building locked a girl up in a car one night. I saw her blue face pressing against the car’s window the next day,” said Max. “A couple of days later, my father died in front of me. I’ve never forgotten either one. It’s strange to see someone die. One moment, they are breathing and moving, next moment their bodies are heavy and solid, like stone. Their spirit is gone. It feels random, not like any kind of master plan. So the idea that you can reach some kind of a psychological whole with a permanent energy even if your body withers away gives more meaning to life though I’m not sure I buy it quite yet.”
    Max rubbed his cold, stiff neck and put his balaclava back on.
    “You are on the right track,” said Shiva unexpectedly.
    Omkara walked over to his motorcycle. “You are a fool to come here chasing these yogis,” he said. “They are all frauds.”
    “Don’t say that. Are you crazy? Take that back or you will be cursed, fucker,” said Shiva.
    Omkara kicked his motorcycle to a start and mounted it. Roaring forward, he raised his middle finger. He swerved dangerously. For one heart-stopping moment, Max thought he’d careen off the cliff but Omkara put his hand down and balanced himself easily. The yogis’ curses didn’t seem to have hit their target. Omkara raised his middle finger again.
    “This is what I think of your yogis,” he shouted, zooming ahead.
    Max and Shiva got up