Free The Yoga of Max's Discontent by Karan Bajaj

Max. “They will lap me up. I’ll be in their laps. Oh, yeah, in their laps, in their laps, in their laps,” he sang.
    Max laughed.
    â€œYou are disgusting, man,” said Shiva. He turned to Max. “You sure you can manage? Want one of us to come with you?”
    Max shook his head. “I’m a solid hiker. I’ll be okay.”
    â€œIt’s an easy trail. Just keep going northwest for four hours or so and you’ll reach Bhojbasa. Fourteen kilometers max. Steep but wide. You’ll feel the path under your feet soon. There won’t be anyone on the trail, of course, but there is a guesthouse in Bhojbasa that’s open all year. If anyone knows about this Brazilian dude, the guy who runs it would.”
    Max nodded. He had read about the guesthouse online. He planned to sleep there for a few nights until he could track down the Brazilian doctor. No one knew the doctor’s real name, but he went by the immodest name of Ishvara, Sanskrit for a supreme being, and he seemed to be well known among the yogis meditating in the caves near the guesthouse.
    Omkara dismounted from his motorcycle. “Take this cell phone, dude,” he said, pulling a smartphone out of the jacket. “It doesn’t work here, but maybe it works up there. These things are strange sometimes. If you get stuck, call Shiva’s number. It’s stored under his name.”
    Surprise tears welled up in Max’s eyes. If he learned nothing else in India, he’d learn how to open his heart more. “Seriously, I’m okay,” he said. “You got me here in great time. It is barely noon. I should be there well before sunset.”
    Omkara hesitated, then put his phone back. Shiva asked him if he wanted to borrow his thick motorcycle gloves for the hike.
    â€œAnd how will you go down?” said Max.
    Shiva patted the back of his motorcycle. “Without a giant huddled behind me, I don’t need to grip the handles so hard.”
    Max laughed. “I’m good. I have enough gloves for three people,” he said.
    They shook hands.
    â€œLook us up when you come down,” said Omkara. “It’s theonly engineering college in Rishikesh and everyone knows us there. We run the place.”
    Max waved good-bye, wanting to store their kind faces in his memory.
    â€œBe crazy, be safe, Mad Max.”

8.
    M ax’s stiffness vanished as soon as he began hiking. He was glad he had kept running through the haze of work and hospital visits over the last three years. His lungs seemed to adapt well to the fourteen-thousand-foot elevation and he breathed easily in the thin air. There was no sign of a man-made trail, but it was hard to get lost. On one side of the thick blanket of snow was a cliff with shriveled trees and large boulders; on the other, a steep fall to the frozen Ganges. There was nowhere to go but straight up. He walked along the packed snow, slipping into a comfortable rhythm, looking ahead, not below, keeping his neck and back straight and his shoulders loose, just as his track coach at Trinity had taught him years ago.
    About a mile in, he came across two uprooted trees on hispath. Max scrambled over them, using the snow-covered branches for support. Just a few steps farther, he ran into a boulder, then a few more, followed by more uprooted trees, all seemingly the effects of a recent snowstorm. He looked up. Not a wisp of cloud covered the afternoon sun. The sunlight reached him well before the valley below, keeping him comfortably warm. Luck was shining bright on him that day. Max crawled over the rocks and trees, keeping a close eye on the frozen river hundreds of feet below. One false step and he’d hurtle headfirst into it. But destiny was on his side today. If he hadn’t left the hotel in Rishikesh, he wouldn’t have caught the morning bus to Uttarkashi and, later, got a ride right up to the trailhead. He’d be in the Bhojbasa guesthouse by four, if