Shambhala Read Online Free

them.
    “Paul, where are you!?” he yells out. “Yo-o-o-o-o-o! Dude, where are you?” he continues screaming, frantically, as the sun lowers almost out of sight.
    Nicholas knows it will be dark in about an hour and that if they don’t start to head back now it will be a dangerous hike back down the mountain. His heart races up into his throat as he puts on his clothes and shoes. Assuming the worst, he wonders if he should run back down and hurry back into town to find help.
    “Paul!” he yells out again, in one, last, desperate attempt.
    The sun is now behind the hills, and the faint light of dusk slowly begins to fade. Nervously hustling down the rocky path, anxious to get to the road, his right foot snags the side of a rock, throwing him into a fall. His left leg catches him, springing him back into balance as he keeps speeding down the trail.
    Finally reaching the opening of the trail, he jets out onto the street. Short of breath and trembling from nervous excitement, he begins to run toward the village. The muffled sound of a vehicle grows louder, from behind him. He swiftly spins around and runs to the center of the dusky, dark road, anxiously flailing his hands to flag the vehicle down as what seems to be a small motorbike comes to a slow stop at the side of the road.
    “Hello!” the young driver calls out in an Indian accent as Nicholas runs toward him, panting.
    Nicholas blurts out a sentence that seems like one word, “PleaseIneedhelp myfriendislostinthewoods!”
    “Your friend is in the woods?” the young Indian driver tries to confirm, not fully understanding him.
    “Yes, lost in the woods, I can’t find him. I need to get the police or, I need some help!”
    “Oh, this is very dangerous! Please to get on the back and I will take you to the police,” the young boy says, patting the seat behind him on the small motorbike.
    Getting on the back of the bike, Nicholas feels it speed off, passing blaring headlights of cars in the now dark, winding road. As they rush through the twists and turns, Nicholas’s mind races with fear for his beloved friend. His mind creates all kinds of scenarios of what has happened. How will he tell his family back in New York? How devastated will he be if Paul is dead? Catching his fear-driven mind, he swallows past the rock in his throat and takes a deep breath as he trembles, holding onto the young boy who precariously weaves in and out of cars.
    Taking a few more deep breaths, he begins to think positively, “He is probably looking for me and on his way back right now, he must have taken a wrong turn on his way down the other side of the hill.” These thoughts are feeble attempts to cover up the great fear that consumes his body and mind.
    Finally reaching the outside of the town, which is lit up and busy, they swerve in and out of meandering cows, jeeps, mopeds, pedestrians, and dogs. The carnival of traffic grows thicker as Nicholas’s patience wanes thinner. He often drops his foot to the ground to counter the near falls on this crazy ride for help. Flying past a small shop, the driver pulls to the side of the road, where Nicholas can make out a small, painted sign that reads, Police , translated under Hindi writing.
    Hopping off the motorbike, they rush toward the small, blue, concrete building. A single officer sits in his dark-tan Rishikesh Police uniform. He stares at a wall as an ashtray still smokes from his lazy attempt to put out his last cigarette. Crashing through the door in a huff, they startle the officer to his feet.
    “Hello, please I think my friend is lost in the jungle, we got separated, I need help please!”Nicholas’ words come out in rapid fire as the officer does his best to understand.
    The motorbike driver, a young Indian boy about seventeen years of age, exchanges some words in Hindi to Officer Anil Singh.
    “Oh, this is not good,” the officer replies, looking over at Nicholas.
    “Oh, thanks for that confirmation, I wasn’t sure,”