Shambhala Read Online Free Page A

Nicholas sarcastically fires back.
    Officer Singh picks up the small, black phone that sits on his desk, and dialing, turns toward the wall in seeming secrecy. After exchanging some words in Hindi over the phone, he places the phone back onto the receiver and says calmly, “Please sir, have a seat and please to be waiting, more officers are on the way to help.”
    Nicholas takes a deep breath. Feeling light headed and nauseous from all the excitement, he decides to take the officer up on the offer. Pulling a small, white pouch from his breast pocket, the officer pulls out a bidi , an Indian cigarette rolled in brown, dried betel leaves, and offers it to Nicholas.
    “So much for quitting,” he says as he takes the bidi from the officer, who simultaneously hands him a pack of wooden matches. The three men sit for a moment in silence and smoke.
    “Where are you from?” the motorbike driver asks, breaking the silence.
    “United States, U.S.A.” Nicholas mumbles distractedly.
    “Oh, U.S.A. number one!” he says with a smile.
    “America!” the officer confirms.
    The calmness of both men is unsettling to Nicholas, who wants to go quickly to find his friend.
    “So, how long until the other officers arrive?”
    “Yes other officers coming,” the officer says sitting back down in his black chair, which squeaks into a slight recline.
    “No, how long until they come, how much time?”
    “Soon, they coming, and we find your friend,” the officer says athoritatively.
    The officer’s calm demeanor somehow comforts Nicholas as he draws in the last bit of hot smoke from his bidi , finding that what had quelled his nausea at the onset seems to now make it worse. He crushes it into the round, wooden graveyard of an ashtray that sits on the officer’s desk.
    “You have girlfriend?” the officer asks, as the motorbike driver leans in to hear the answer.
    “No, no girlfriend.”
    “Wife?”
    “No wife,” Nicholas politely answers, noting the absurdity of the questions— given the circumstances.
    “So, how is this gonna go down? Flashlights, dogs, what?”
    “Officers coming,” the officer answers, not fully understanding the question.
    Nicholas stares at a clock as it ticks away on the wall. It reads 7:15. He grasps his head, sinking his fingers deep into his scalp and lowering his eyes toward the floor. He closes them, trying to sooth his frantic mind. Fidgety and unsettled, he quickly pops to his feet and notices the motorbike driver pulling a pack of Gold Flake cigarettes from his pocket.
    “May I have one?” Nicholas asks, thinking it may calm his nerves and help shake the harsh taste of bidis from his mouth.
    Handing him a cigarette and a small box of wooden matches with a cartoon man on it, he extends some comfort, “Don’t worry, sir, we find your friend.”
    Nicholas smiles as the flare of a match ignites the cigarette.
    “Name?” the motorbike driver asks.
    “Nicholas, and you?”
    “Simple name, Ragesh,” he says standing proud.
    Nicholas takes in a long drag of cigarette. That old, familiar burn of smoke fills his lungs, rushing his head with nicotine. He realizes that having that first smoke had been a bad idea, having quit over a year ago.
    The door opens, and as a flood of smoke pours out, two other officers rush in, speaking Hindi to Officer Singh. One officer, who seems to be the one in charge, turns to Nicholas and walks toward him.
    “Your lost you friend in the jungle?” he asks, seeming concerned.
    “Yes, yes, about three or four hours ago.”
    After turning back to the others to speak a few more words of Hindi, he again turns back to Nicholas. “Where is guesthouse you friend staying?”
    “We’re sharing a room at Nishant Guest House, up over the hill.”
    “Maybe we check first there,” the officer suggests.
    Thinking it’s a good idea, and realizing he should have thought of it in the first place, Nicholas follows along as all usher out of the station. Piling into a small, cream