It was half past five in the evening by the time we reached Kedarnath. It had not yet started to get dark, and the mountain tops were all shining bright. It is impossible to describe what one feels on reaching a flat plateau after climbing uphill for several hours on a steep and narrow road. The feeling uppermost in my mind was a mixture of disbelief, reassurance and joy. With this came a sense of calm, peace and humility. Perhaps it was those peaks which towered over everything else that made one feel so humble. Perhaps it was this feeling that evoked religious ardour, a reverence for the Creator. A large number of people were sitting, standing, or lying on the rocky ground, overcome with emotion, unable to say or do anything except shout, ‘Jai Kedar!’ The famous temple stood surrounded on three sides by heavy snow. We walked through the crowd to find ourselves somewhere to stay. There was a hotel here called Hotel Himlok, but it was already full, as was the Birla guest house. Finally, we went to a Kali Kamliwali dharamshala. They gave us mattresses, blankets and razais, at a very nominal charge. By the time we finished booking a room, it was past six o’clock and the temple had closed. It would open only at eight the next morning, we were told. So we went off to find what we needed the most: a hot cup of tea. There was a stall not far from our dharamshala. The streets of Kedar reminded me of the streets of Benaras. Most of the roadside shops were selling incense, flowers and Vermillion. They would shut down in November, and until April, the town would remain totally deserted. I had expected Lalmohan Babu to want to rest after our difficult journey. But he said he had never felt more invigorated in his life. ‘There is new life in every vein in my body,’ he said. ‘Tapesh, such is the magic of Kedar.’ Three steaming cups of tea were placed before us. The tea had been brewed with cinnamon. I could smell it as I raised a cup to my lips. ‘Did you find Upadhyaya?’ asked a voice. It was Pavandeo Singh, standing a few feet away. In his hand he still held his camera. The equipment for recording sound was strapped to his belt. ‘No, we came only about half an hour ago,’ Feluda told him. ‘I got here at two-thirty and made some enquiries. As far as I can make out, he has become a full- fledged sanyasi. I think he even dresses like one. So you can imagine how difficult it’s going to be to single out one sanyasi amongst so many. Besides, he is very likely to have changed his name. At least, no one I asked seemed to know anyone called Upadhyaya.’ ‘Well, we must keep trying, mustn’t we?’ Feluda said. Pavandeo nodded and left. He was still a mystery to me. We finished our tea and got up to leave. Another familiar voice spoke unexpectedly.

‘Ah, so you’ve arrived finally. Wasn’t it worth the effort?’ It turned out to be Makhanlal Majumdar, the man we had met on the train. ‘Oh yes, most certainly,’ Feluda smiled. ‘I think we’re still in a daze. This is so incredible.’ ‘I am so glad you came. Did you finish your work in Haridwar?’ ‘No, which is why we’re here. You see, we’re looking for someone who used to live in Haridwar. When we went there, we were told he’d gone to Rudraprayag. So we followed him there, but by then he had left for Kedarnath.’ ‘Who are you trying to find?’ ‘A man called Bhavani Upadhyaya.’ Mr Majumdar’s eyes nearly popped out. ‘Bhavani? You came looking for Bhavani, and you didn’t tell me!’ ‘Why, do you happen to know him?’ ‘Know him? My dear young man, I have known him for seven years, ever since he cured my ulcer with just one pill. I met him shortly before he left Haridwar. I noticed a change in him. He seemed very detached. He said he wanted to go to Rudraprayag. I told him Rudraprayag was not the same any more, what with buses and tourists and everything. If he wanted peace and quiet, he should go to Kedarnath. Still, he went to Rudraprayag first, perhaps to give it a try. But now he is here.’ ‘Where can we find him?’ ‘Not in the main town. He now lives in a cave. Have you heard of Chorabalital? It’s now called Gandhi Sarovar, I believe.’ ‘Yes, yes.’ ‘The river Mandakini begins her journey from Chorabalital. You have to go behind this place, and make your way through rocks and snow for about three miles. There is no proper road. Then you will see a lake. That is the Sarovar. Bhavani lives in a cave near that lake. His surname has disappeared completely. People now know him as Bhavani Baba. He lives in complete seclusion. No one lives anywhere near him. If you are really keen, you may try finding his cave tomorrow morning.’ ‘Have you met him?’ ‘No, not this time. But some of the local people told me about him. Just occasionally, he comes here for food. Actually, fruit and vegetables are all he needs to keep going for days.’ ‘Thank you very much indeed, Mr Majumdar. You’ve done us an enormous favour. But do you think anyone here might know of his past?’ ‘Yes, there’s every possibility of that. After all, he hasn’t given up practising altogether. I heard he has cured a local child of polio. But, very soon, I think he’ll stop seeing patients, and become a total recluse.’ ‘One last question. Can you tell me which part of the country he comes from?’ ‘To be honest, I never asked him. He always spoke to me in very good Hindi, without traces of a regional accent. Anyway, good luck!’ Mr Majumdar left. Lalmohan Babu had left