The Manhattan Lawyer

Peter sits at the banks of the Ganga contemplating the crisis he has been faced with.

Chapter 1 - Crisis in Manhattan

On the 12th floor of Brownfield Heights in the financial district of Lower Manhattan, a lively celebration was underway. The hallway was filled with loud laughter and overlapping chatter coming from the conference room, which overlooked the Manhattan skyline. The attorneys were celebrating their 11th consecutive win over the past three months, toasting with champagne after successfully cracking high-profile cases wide open and turning them in their favor. That day’s victory had been the divorce settlement of a prominent Hollywood actor’s wife, who had taken him to the cleaners and secured more than $100 million in alimony.

Matchowski & Burns had been in the legal business for over two decades, earning a strong reputation in civil disputes. They were a team of highly skilled attorneys with decades of experience. The firm had handled numerous high-profile cases, some with billions of dollars at stake.

Peter Matchowski was undoubtedly one of the most successful attorneys in Manhattan, particularly in contract, property, family, and intellectual property rights disputes. With over three decades in the legal profession, he knew the tricks of the trade but had always been regarded as one of the most ethical operators in the business.

Unlike many lawyers, Peter remained even-tempered, level-headed, and nonchalant, handling all his cases with the utmost sympathetic concern for all parties involved. This demeanour was well known to judges, who held him in high regard and treated him with great respect during hearings.

Peter had founded the firm with his friend John about 20 years ago, and together, they had built a strong reputation. John had since retired and moved to Florida, while Peter, now in his late fifties, had become more selective in choosing clients. By then, he was overseeing a team of about a dozen attorneys at various levels who managed the firm’s caseload.

It was about 6 p.m., and the celebration was still in full swing, but Peter decided to leave the party and head home. Described by many as a handsome man, he was about 6'2", exuding a classic and distinguished presence. He had a strong, chiselled jawline and high cheekbones, with his hair neatly combed back, revealing a well-defined forehead and a slightly receding hairline. After years of grinding through his career, he now preferred to unwind and spend time at home with Laura, his wife and college sweetheart.

Peter grabbed his coat from the closet and walked down the hallway toward the elevator.  As he stepped inside, an overwhelming wave of sadness and hopelessness suddenly washed over him. This feeling had been haunting him for months, but he had dismissed it as work-related stress. Today, however, it had intensified, tightening around him like a vice.

Loosening his tie, Peter waited for the elevator to reach the lobby. As he stepped out, he struggled to walk, his body weighed down by the crushing emotion. He grabbed a glass of water from a nearby table and sank into a lounge chair, drenched in sweat. His mind raced—could this be a heart attack? He checked for symptoms, but after a few minutes, his body felt fine. The heaviness in his chest, however, lingered. Still unsettled, he made his way to his car and asked his driver to take him home.

As the car drove through the Upper West Side of Manhattan and reached his apartment building, Peter felt fine again but remained bewildered by what had just happened. He had been ignoring this lingering sense of sadness, hopelessness, and an inexplicable feeling of doom for quite some time, but after that day’s overwhelming episode, he could no longer push it aside.

It had felt like an anxiety attack, yet he had nothing to be anxious about. He was highly successful, with a beautiful family—a stunning wife he adored and a beloved daughter studying fine arts in Paris. He owned a gorgeous apartment in the Upper West Side and was in excellent shape for someone in their late fifties.

"This doesn’t make sense," he thought to himself as he stepped into his apartment.

As he walked into the kitchen, Peter leaned over and kissed Laura on the neck, greeted—as always—by her warm smile. Laura was a classic American blonde, embodying elegance and sophistication. She carried herself with poise and grace and had an irresistibly charming smile. Her personality radiated warmth and affection, and her sociable nature had made her beloved by everyone in her circle.

Peter decided not to mention the anxiety attack and quietly fixed himself a scotch before heading to the dinner table. As they enjoyed their meal, Laura excitedly talked about the art exhibit she had visited that afternoon.

"Pete, I just can’t get into this contemporary art—all these abstract expressionist pieces and whatnot." remarked Laura

“Yeah, maybe we’re just too old-school for this postmodern nonsense. Coming from an Impressionist background, it’s tough to make sense of it,” Peter replied.

“Totally. We’re definitely old-school. But honestly, I just don’t see any real beauty in these new forms. Am I missing something?” wondered Laura.

“Nah, you’re not, sweetheart. You’ve always had a sharp eye for what’s beautiful.” reassured PeterTop of Form

After dinner, Peter usually spent some time in his library, and lately, he had been quite interested in reading about books on philosophy. He had picked up several books on the topic and was reading one related to meditation. As he sat in his favorite rocking chair, which overlooked a scenic view of Central Park, he read intently about enlightenment and self-realization. The book explained that by following a sequence of spiritual practices, one could achieve ultimate peace and happiness, often described as self-realization or enlightenment. It also discussed India and its various schools of philosophy that offered guidance on attaining lasting peace and happiness.

He read a passage that mentioned, "Enlightenment is the end of all mental suffering and is a state of lasting and irreversible peace." At this point, Peter was almost leaning forward as he read about the subject. He then moved over to his desktop computer to find out more about India. As he conducted an online search, he came across a place called Rishikesh, which was considered the spiritual capital of India and home to several ashrams and courses that promised spiritual growth and enlightenment.

"I gotta go to India and give this a shot," Peter thought as he pushed his reading glasses up onto his head.

The next morning, Peter discussed it with Laura over breakfast but chose to keep the issue of his anxiety attacks to himself.

"Laura, you good with me taking a trip to India? I've been reading up on it, and I'm pretty excited to check it out," he asked.

"Oh…." Laura paused, thinking it over. This wasn’t the first time Peter had set off on his own. A few years ago, he had gone backpacking in Burma for nearly a month but had returned refreshed and recharged.

"India, Pete? What suddenly got you so interested in India?" inquired Laura

"I've been delving into India's philosophical traditions, and they've been on my mind a lot lately. It's truly fascinating, and I’d love to deepen my understanding. It seems like an incredibly enriching place," Peter said.

"Oh, that’s interesting, Pete. When do you plan on going?" asked Laura

"I’m looking to head out the week after next and spend at least a month in India," Peter replied.

Laura agreed, deciding to fly to Paris and spend time with their daughter, Barbara, while Pete was away. In fact, she had been wanting to visit Paris for a year, and this seemed like the perfect opportunity to take that trip.

"Well, that works out perfectly for both of us, doesn’t it?" Peter said with a smirk, clearly satisfied with how things had fallen into place.

Peter arrived at his office and called his assistant, feeling excited about his upcoming trip to India.

"Stacy, I need you to book me a flight to New Delhi for the earliest available date after you take care of my visa. Also, reserve a suite at the best hotel in New Delhi for two nights and arrange a cab to Rishikesh. I want all the details on my desk by the end of the day. Got it?" instructed Peter.

"Sure, boss," Stacy nodded, contemplating all the work that needed to be done. She was a sharp operator and a go-getter, having been with Peter since his early days in law practice. She had a short, wavy platinum blonde hair styled neatly, framing her face. Her features were well-defined, with bright, expressive eyes and a wide, cheerful smile that conveys warmth and confidence. By the next day, the tickets were booked, and all the necessary documents were neatly placed on Peter’s desk.

Chapter 2 - Trip to India

In the business class section of Pan Am Airlines, Peter sat back, sipping his scotch and reading a book about Rishikesh—the spiritual capital of the world. For the past few days, he had been experiencing persistent bouts of sadness and feelings of emptiness, growing increasingly frustrated with his inability to cope with his mental state.

A few months earlier, he had lost his mother to cancer. Witnessing her struggle with the disease had forced him to ask himself some fundamental questions. He began questioning the very essence of life, looking beyond its material aspects. For the first time, he was curious about the source of existence itself.

Having been an atheist since his teenage years, Peter had never believed in God. But after his mother’s tragic passing, he found himself reconsidering. Was there a higher power orchestrating the grand drama of life? He longed to understand the very source of his own existence. More importantly, he wanted to know if it was possible to live happily and die with the same peace.

These questions, arising from the depths of his heart, disturbed his peace of mind. He wasn’t looking for intellectual explanations—he needed an existential answer. One that he could truly embrace, one that would bring him the inner peace he desperately sought.

As he sipped his third glass of scotch, Peter slid back into his seat and slept like a baby—probably for the first time in weeks. For once, he was truly relaxed as he travelled across two continents.

It was complete chaos outside New Delhi Airport as Peter arrived in India for the first time. He was supposed to meet his driver near a landmark just outside the airport. The honking of car horns and the mix of unfamiliar scents—like a chaotic potpourri—overwhelmed him. Yet, he felt excited; for a Westerner accustomed to an organized life, this was an adventure.

As soon as he reached the landmark Stacy had mentioned, he was greeted by a gentleman holding a name card that read, 'Peter from New York.' Peter pointed at the gentleman, who responded with a warm smile.

"Namaste, Sir," said the driver in typical Indian accent and waved his hand, directing Peter to follow him to his car. He asked Peter for his luggage and led him toward the parking lot. As they reached the car, the driver loaded the luggage and opened the door for Peter.

Peter was quite fascinated by the car, which he later came to know as the Ambassador. It was neatly maintained and had white upholstery that was freshly washed and extremely clean. Peter was impressed. As he entered the car, he could smell jasmine and noticed flowers placed near a couple of small frames that had idols of Hindu gods on the dashboard.

"Welcome to India, Sir," the driver greeted Peter with a smile. "Your booking is in Oberoi, Sir," he added.

"Yes," replied Peter. "What's your name?" he asked

"My name Shashi, Sir," he replied. "I will be your driver till Rishikesh, Sir. Now we go to Oberoi."

"Yes, please. Nice to meet you, Shashi."

"Thank you, Sir. Nice to meet you too, Sir," Shashi replied and turned the key in the ignition. It took a few tries before the engine finally started.

It was late at night in New Delhi, and the streets were mostly deserted. Peter enjoyed the drive to the hotel, looking around the city like a curious child. As the car moved through the streets of Delhi, he noticed people gathered at a rickshaw stand, engaged in conversation—perhaps discussing politics, he thought.

When the car stopped at a traffic signal, his eyes fell on a street vendor selling coffee from his bicycle. The vendor had a steel tank, likely filled with milk, which he poured into a small steel cup, added coffee powder and sugar, and then skillfully poured the mixture back and forth between the steel tumbler and the "dabarah." Peter found the whole process quite fascinating.

As the car entered the hotel compound, Shashi asked Peter,

"Sir, we leave for Rishikesh day after tomorrow, no?"

"Yes, Shashi. How about you come here by 7 AM so we can leave early in the morning?"

"Yes, Sir. I will wait for you near the parking lot at 7 AM. Good night, Sir."

"Good night, Shashi."

On Saturday morning, around 7:15 a.m., Peter had been waiting for Shashi to leave for Rishikesh. Shashi was already 15 minutes late, which made Peter anxious and increasingly agitated. He asked the security guard if he had seen a white Ambassador car, and the guard went ahead to inquire. About 10 minutes later, Peter saw a white Ambassador enter the hotel driveway and stop near him.

As soon as Peter got into the car, he became agitated, his face almost turning red, and he yelled at Shashi.

"Shashi, I've been waiting here for 25 minutes! Where the hell have you been?" snapped Peter.

Shashi felt deeply sorry and empathetic as he responded,

"Sir, I arrived at 6:30 a.m. and was waiting in the driveway," he said. "The security guard told me to wait outside and said he would call me when you came out."

At that moment, Peter realized his mistake and was almost surprised at how angry he had gotten over such a petty issue. He had been feeling consistently anxious and depressed throughout his stay at the Oberoi, and being jet-lagged didn’t help. For two consecutive nights, he had barely slept.

After about half an hour of silence, Peter began to feel guilty and wanted to start a conversation with Shashi.

"Shashi, where do you live?" he asked.

"Sir, I stay in Dehradun," replied Shashi, glancing at Peter through the rearview mirror. He was a man in his mid-thirties, about 5'5" tall, somewhat stocky, with a brownish complexion and a round, slightly baby-like face. His demeanor was exceptionally calm, and he always had a gentle smile when speaking with Peter.

"Who’s in your family?" Peter continued his questioning.

"Sir, I live here with my wife and daughter, while my parents stay in my village in South India. I visit them once a year." said Shashi

"Do you make enough to support your family?" Peter asked curiously.

"Yes, sir," Shashi stated with a contented smile. "God has given us enough; He takes care of us."

Peter was surprised; he hadn’t expected this answer from Shashi. He had assumed Shashi would complain about the lack of opportunities in India. After all, he was just a driver working in a developing country. But the contentment in Shashi’s voice was striking, even unsettling, to Peter.

Peter stopped asking questions, and both of them remained silent for a long time. The drive to Rishikesh was long, and Peter wanted Shashi to stay focused, as the road was narrow and filled with potholes. He chose not to disturb Shashi, allowing him to drive in peace. Relaxing in his seat, Peter soon drifted off to sleep.

As the car entered Haridwar, the sun was beginning to set. Peter had been awake for a while, making small talk with Shashi. Looking out the window, he was mesmerized by the sight of the Ganga. The river was majestic, with a greenish-blue hue, wide and fast-flowing, its sound just as powerful as its appearance. It was unlike any river Peter had ever seen in his lifetime. Spellbound by its grandeur and sacred aura, he felt truly happy for the first time in weeks.

The weather was perfect—slightly chilly with a hint of rain. The town was alive with saffron-clad sannyasins walking barefoot toward the river, likely to take a holy dip before sunset.

After about an hour, Peter arrived at his cottage in Rishikesh, nestled right by the sacred river, which appeared even wider yet calmer and more serene here. It was the perfect setting for his spiritual journey. As he checked into his cottage, he asked Shashi to retire for the day.

After the long 10-hour drive, Peter had grown quite fond of Shashi. He appreciated his excellent driving, his quiet demeanor, and the fact that he only spoke when spoken to. He found him to be authentic, calm, and a man of few words—qualities Peter had come to admire.

"I should probably invite him to dinner tomorrow," Peter thought, considering that he had hired Shashi’s services for the entire month.

During their journey, he had learned that Shashi had been working with the travel agency Peter used to rent the car for nearly a decade. He earned about ₹2,500 a month, driving tourists across the Himalayas on long trips, often spending days away from his family. His daughter, Shanti, was in primary school and excelled in Mathematics and Physics. She dreamed of becoming a scientist when she grew up.

Shashi, on the other hand, was not well-educated but was deeply spiritual. He had a Guru (spiritual teacher) whom he revered and frequently visited to pay his respects.

As the sun set, Peter sat in the garden adjoining his cottage, near the Ganga. Sipping his tea in silence, he watched the river flow—just as it had for thousands of years. The sound of the water had a profoundly calming effect on his mind, and for the first time in weeks, he felt certain that he would sleep well that night.

Chapter 3 : The Anxiety Attack

The next day, Peter visited one of the ashrams he had shortlisted for enrolling in a yoga and meditation program. It was a traditional, old ashram that required him to stay there for an entire week.

The course followed a strict regimen that Peter had to adhere to, including waking up at 5 a.m., chanting mantras, practicing Hatha yoga postures, eating simple vegetarian meals, and engaging in Karma Yoga, which involved selfless service activities.

Evenings were structured as well, beginning with another yoga session, followed by pranayama (breathing exercises) and a bhajan (devotional song dedicated to God). A light, simple meal was served before the bhajan.

After registering for the course, Peter went sightseeing around Rishikesh, accompanied by Shashi and the car.

"Shashi, I’d like you to join me for dinner tonight," Peter said.

"That is very kind of you, sir, but it may not be proper," Shashi said hesitantly.

"Ah, nonsense! I want you to come. Be at the cottage by 7 p.m., and we'll have dinner by the river," Peter insisted.

Shashi agreed, and they continued driving.

Peter had a wonderful time exploring Rishikesh. He was fascinated by the ashrams, the people, and the vibrant markets around Laxman Jhula—a bridge that connects both sides of the Ganga. He was surprised to see so many foreigners, many of whom looked like hippies, dressed in traditional Indian clothing and carrying jholas (cloth bags).

Cautiously, he tried some Indian food and found himself enjoying it. In a spontaneous moment, he even invited a complete stranger to join him for lunch at a local dhaba (restarurant).

By evening, he returned to his cottage, feeling excited about spending the next month in Rishikesh.

Peter’s cottage was situated right by the Ganga, a private property owned by a retired colonel from the Indian Army. Built in a classic British style, it featured wooden interiors, several animal trophy heads, and a full tiger skin rug hanging on the wall of the main living room.

Peter’s room was located just behind the living room, with a door that opened directly onto the riverbank.

After taking a shower, he stepped into the garden overlooking the Ganga and spotted Shashi seated at the outdoor dining table. Peter had arranged for tea and refreshments, followed by dinner for both of them.

"So, Shashi, tell me about your Guru," Peter asked with curiosity.

"He is a great man, sir, but also very simple and ordinary. He is a family man and lives in a small town near Dehradun. He works as a school teacher, teaching Maths and Physics to young students," Shashi replied.

"Oh, doesn’t he have any yogic powers or special abilities?" Peter wondered.

Shashi burst out laughing and said, "Actually, sir, his only yogic power is he always peaceful and very kind to everyone he meets." He remarked while sipping his tea.

"Then what’s so special about him that you call him your Guru?" Peter asked.

"Well, maybe I should not use that word," Shashi chuckled. "Actually, he is more like a guide for me. With his guidance, my life has become more simple and peaceful. Not easy, but simple and peaceful."

Peter listened carefully, nodding as he remained silent for a moment.

"How was your ashram visit, sir?" Shashi asked after a brief pause.

"It sounds really interesting, Shashi. It's a full week of yoga and meditation, along with simple food—sattvic, as they call it here. Honestly, I’m pretty excited about it, but I’m not sure if I’ll make it through the whole week. Still, it’s worth a shot.

I’ve been struggling with a lot of anxiety lately, and that’s actually why I came to India—hoping to learn something that can help me manage it," Peter said.

"I am sure you will get what you have come to India for, sir. This ashram teaching yoga for many decades now. Many customers of mine stayed there and spoke very highly of it. They say path to God is through yoga," Shashi said with encouragement as dinner was being served.

They both ate quietly under the starry night, with full moon shining above and the Ganga flowing beside them, its loud roar filling the silence.

Peter spent the next few days at the yoga ashram, following their strenuous yet surprisingly enjoyable schedule. The ashram itself was extremely modest, with only basic amenities, but it was perfectly in sync with nature. The eco-friendly rooms were surrounded by tall trees, and the Ganga flowed peacefully beside the campus.

Each morning, Peter woke up to the chirping of birds just before sunrise and participated enthusiastically in all the activities. The day began in a large auditorium with morning prayers, followed by Hatha Yoga sessions led by a senior yogi. Despite his age, the yogi demonstrated the asanas with remarkable precision. Peter followed every instruction diligently, practicing yoga postures, attending meditation sessions, and even taking part in Karma Yoga, which involved selfless service around the ashram.

The meals were simple, purely vegetarian, and while Peter occasionally craved meat, he embraced the experience of eating clean and light food. The ashram teachers explained that with continuous practice, he would be able to go deeper into meditation and eventually discover his true nature—the ultimate goal of yoga.

By the end of his stay, Peter felt a deep sense of peace and rejuvenation, as though he had found a newfound clarity within himself.

After spending a week at the ashram, Peter returned to the cottage. After a couple of days of rest, he decided to visit the hill station of Mussoorie for a few days, as someone at the ashram had highly recommended it. Mussoorie, a picturesque town just a couple of hours' drive from Rishikesh, offers breathtaking views of the mighty Himalayas, with their snow-capped peaks.

Peter called Shashi and asked him to come by the next morning. During his stay at the ashram, he hadn't been able to speak to Laura for an entire week. Now back at the cottage, he finally got the chance to call her and was relieved to hear that she was having a wonderful time in Paris with Barbara.

When Laura asked about his experience at the ashram, Peter replied...

"Honey, it was an incredible experience for me. I'm not sure if I'll be able to keep up with the yoga practices I learned once I'm back—you know I'm more of a man of action—but it definitely helped reset my body and mind to a kind of balance. It’s amazing how deeply the yogis have explored the human body and mind, and there’s so much about India that the West still doesn’t know."

The next morning, Peter woke up early and went for a jog up the hills. The town was quiet, almost empty, with the sun yet to rise. The birds, however, were already up, singing their sweet, melancholic tunes. The steep incline made the run challenging, but Peter thoroughly enjoyed it—he had missed his morning jog over the past few weeks. He ran for nearly an hour, and as the first rays of sunlight broke through the horizon, he decided to head to the banks of the Ganga for a cup of chai.

As he reached a small chai shop and placed his order, his mind drifted to the last days he had spent with his mother—the pain and suffering she had endured. The thoughts crept in like a storm, and suddenly, he felt the familiar grip of a panic attack. This time, however, it felt deeper, stemming from an overwhelming fear of death. His heart pounded violently, his body broke into a cold sweat, and he started trembling. A sickening wave of dizziness washed over him, accompanied by an intense tingling in his stomach.

Desperate to steady himself, he looked around for a place to sit. But he was too close to the riverbank, and the ground felt unsteady beneath him. Somehow, he managed to reach a large rock, where he collapsed onto his side. Within moments, his vision blurred, and everything went dark.

When he regained consciousness, a small group of local men stood around him, speaking in hushed tones, trying to figure out how to help. Dazed, Peter glanced at his watch—it was nearly 8 AM. He had been unconscious for almost an hour.

"Where are you staying, sir?" asked a local man, who appeared to be an auto-rickshaw driver.

Peter gave him his address, and the auto-rickshaw driver kindly offered to take him back to his cottage, which Peter gratefully accepted. At this point, he was deeply unsettled by the sudden turn of events—he had never realized his fear of death was so overwhelming that it could cause him to lose consciousness. Upon reaching the cottage, Peter thanked the driver and handed him a generous tip.

Chapter 4 : Initiation into Peace

By 10 a.m., Peter was ready and waiting for Shashi to arrive so they could leave for Mussoorie. He was eager to put the morning’s unsettling incident behind him and focus on the journey ahead—a few days of rest in the serene Himalayan hills. Expecting Shashi to arrive on time, Peter grew impatient as the minutes ticked by. At 10:20, just as frustration was setting in, a knock sounded at the door. When he opened it, there stood Shashi—his hair unkempt, his clothes slightly disheveled, yet wearing his usual warm smile.

“I am sorry I’m late, Sir,” Shashi remarked, looking apologetic.

"Oh God, Shashi. What the hell happened?" Peter asked, sounding concerned.

"Nothing major, sir. There was just a minor incident on the way to the cottage," Shashi replied with complete composure.

Upon inquiry, Shashi explained that he had an encounter on the road while coming to the cottage. A group of reckless drivers was following closely behind him, urging him to speed up as they were in a hurry. However, since it was a mountainous terrain, Shashi remained unfazed and maintained a steady speed. The narrow road prevented them from overtaking, so they persistently honked, pressuring him to exceed the speed limit.

After several kilometers of unsuccessful attempts, they finally managed to overtake him, forcing him to stop. What started as verbal abuse quickly escalated into a minor physical assault.

"One of the men in that car seemed drunk, sir, and he attempted to physically assault me. They were all from the city, likely from a wealthy family," Shashi recounted. "I figured it was best to stay quiet and let the tide pass."

"You look a little roughed up, Shashi. Hope you're okay," Peter asked.

"Yes, sir, I am totally fine. Luckily, some of their friends came in between and stopped the fight halfway," Shashi said, pausing for a moment. "Sir, if you allow, I will use your washroom to freshen up, then we can leave."

While Peter directed him to the washroom, he couldn't help but be amazed at how tranquil Shashi remained after his rather unpleasant encounter with the city rowdies.

When Shashi returned, looking as neat and tidy as always, Peter asked him.

"Aren't you angry, Shashi, that those thugs roughed you up when you did nothing wrong?"

"Yes, sir, I did see the anger rise in me. But the moment I realized that what happened was meant to happen and that it was God's will, I felt completely at peace. Moreover, when those rogues saw that I wasn’t reacting to their insults, they lost interest and left me alone. So, in the end, no harm was done, and all is well," Shashi replied smiling as usual.

"Hmm... that's a really interesting perspective, Shashi," Peter said. "I noticed you said you saw the anger rise in you instead of saying you got angry.

"Shall we, sir?" Shashi asked, gesturing toward the door, signalling Peter to begin their trip to Mussoorie. Peter felt it was best to not pursue the conversation further.

The ride to Mussoorie in the classic Ambassador was quite bumpy, as the car navigated narrow, winding roads, some of which were unpaved. Though Shashi was an expert driver, he had to skillfully maneuver sharp turns and hairpin bends, honking at steep curves to signal his approach to oncoming vehicles. Leaving behind the peaceful ashrams of Rishikesh, they drove through dense forests of sal and deodar trees, occasionally passing small hamlets where children waved enthusiastically, and cows lazily wandered onto the roads.

Peter thoroughly enjoyed the ride, as the crisp mountain air and pleasant weather reminded him of springtime in New York. They took a brief stop at a roadside tea stall for a steaming cup of chai and some Parle-G biscuits before continuing their ascent. The journey wound through terraced fields carved into the hillsides, with the fresh mountain air carrying the scents of pine and wildflowers. After nearly four to five hours of driving, they finally arrived at their cottage in Landour, nestled in the upper reaches of Mussoorie.

Peter was quite impressed with his British-style cottage in Landour. Perched atop the mountain, it offered breathtaking 360-degree panoramic views of the snow-capped Himalayan ranges. The property was expansive, featuring three bedrooms, a massive living room with a fireplace, and a charming outdoor seating area. The entire structure was built from stone, with rustic pine wood interiors that exuded warmth, complemented by a cozy, cottage-style open kitchen. Enchanted by the serene setting, Peter decided to unwind there for a week before contemplating his next plans.

Peter was thoroughly enjoying his stay in Landour, a charming little hamlet nestled among towering deodar trees, far removed from the hustle and bustle of city life. The weather was delightful, with misty mornings and foggy evenings adding to its serene charm. Each morning, after savoring a hearty English breakfast, he would set out for a walk, often insisting that Shashi accompany him, as he had grown to hold him in high regard. Wandering through Landour’s narrow, mist-covered roads was a magical experience, with the town’s natural beauty, tranquil atmosphere, and breathtaking views making every stroll unforgettable.

On one such walks, Shashi was accompanying Peter silently when Peter asked him

"Shashi, I've been meaning to ask you—how did you stay so calm after that run-in with those rowdies? I mean, I was really surprised to see that it didn’t seem to affect you at all,"

Shashi stayed silent for a while, then replied

"Sir, maybe because now I don't resist what happens, I just let it be. That is what my Guru taught me. It has made me more peaceful."

"But how can you just let things happen, especially when they go wrong? Like, for example, you were about to get beaten up for no fault of your own," Peter pressed on.

"Well, sir, if it was in my destiny to get beaten up at that moment, then it would have happened for sure. Nothing in this world can happen unless it is God's will," replied Shashi.

"But how could you just let yourself get beaten up when you did nothing wrong?" Peter asked.

"It's not that I wouldn't have done anything, Sir. I would have tried whatever I could to protect myself. But once this understanding comes that if it is God's will for me to get beaten up that day, then it will happen, I don't get agitated by the situation. In fact, I become more alert and take whatever action is needed with full awareness," Shashi explained.

"You see, many times we don’t accept what is happening and try to fight it. This only makes us restless, and when the mind is restless, it cannot stay alert. Also, we lose our peace, not just at that moment but for many hours or even days, thinking about it again and again. My Guru taught me this, Sir, and it has helped me stay much calmer and more peaceful than before," Shashi said.

"So, what you're saying is that we should fully accept whatever happens, whether it's good or bad?" Peter asked.

"Yes, because my Guru says that when we resist the present situation, we create our own suffering. But if we accept it, we can avoid that suffering," Shashi replied.

Peter walked in silence, lost in thought, as they made their way through the mist-laden path. Before long, they arrived at St. Paul's Church, an old structure built in 1839 by the British during their rule over India. The church loomed in the distance, its form half-lost in the thick morning fog, appearing like something out of a dream—silent, solemn, eternal. The air was damp and carried the scent of fresh rain, mingled with the fragrance of earth and pine. Peter paused, feeling an inexplicable pull toward the quiet sanctuary. Without a word, he stepped inside, seeking a moment of solitude, while Shashi, his steady companion, continued on his way toward the cottage, disappearing slowly into the mist.

Peter remained quiet for the next couple of days, seemingly lost in the beauty of this serene and picturesque part of India. Three days had passed since his arrival, and each day followed a peaceful rhythm—long walks in the crisp morning and quiet evening air, hours spent alone, gazing at the snow-capped Himalayan peaks while sipping his coffee. For meals, he usually opted for the local cuisine—a comforting bowl of soup, mildly spiced vegetables, traditional bread, and rice.

That evening, after dinner, he found himself in yet another conversation with Shashi. They sat in the lawn, which opened up to a breath-taking view of the mountains. The air was particularly chilly, so Peter had asked the caretaker to set up a bonfire, its warm glow casting flickering shadows as they settled into their discussion.

"I've been thinking about what you said on our walk, Shashi… No doubt, accepting things as they are brings peace of mind. But if something makes you uncomfortable, isn’t it natural to wanna change it?" Peter asked.

Sipping his coffee, Shashi thought over Peter's question. After a brief silence, he replied, “My Guru always says, do whatever you can to change the situation, but remember that the results of your actions are not in your hands. So, if even after your efforts the situation remains the same, then you must accept it.”

“So, what you’re saying is we should do what we think is right in the moment to try and change the situation, but with the understanding that it might not work out. And in the end, we just have to accept it as God’s will,” Peter said.

"Acceptance of a situation comes from understanding that everything happens by God's will. Even if there is pain or grief, you won’t suffer more if you accept it. My Guru always says that accepting things as God's will brings peace." said Shashi.

Peter pondered over his conversations with Shashi, realizing they offered him a completely different perspective—one that starkly contrasted with his lifelong belief in taking control and constantly striving to improve his circumstances. Losing his mother to cancer had left him feeling helpless, making him face, for the first time, the harsh truth that some situations were beyond his power to change.

Chapter 5: The Sudden Departure

The next morning, Peter decided to have breakfast at a well-known café, famous for its cakes and pastries. It had been a long time since he had been away from New York, and he missed the aroma of freshly ground coffee beans and warm bread straight from the oven. The café had a charming colonial elegance, with cozy vibes, comfortable seating, and breathtaking views of the Himalayas through its large windows. The air was filled with the scent of freshly baked bread, pastries, and desserts, making Peter feel right at home. He was delighted to finally enjoy his usual espresso with a slice of carrot cake.

As he browsed through the books on a nearby shelf, he picked up one and settled into a cozy rocking chair, sipping his coffee. The book, titled Mystical Experiences in India, recounted the spiritual journeys of a seeker in the country. As he turned the pages, he was suddenly greeted by another gentleman, who too appeared to be a foreigner.

"That's an interesting book you've got there," he remarked to Peter, his tone casual yet friendly, careful not to seem too intrusive.

Peter looked up and saw an elderly gentleman, likely in his mid-seventies, with a full head of silver hair and a neatly trimmed beard. His posture was slightly stooped, yet his face radiated warmth and cheerfulness. Dressed in a checked shirt and a jacket, he leaned lightly on a walking stick for support.

"Oh, I was just curious about the book and picked it up," Peter said, glancing at the gentleman. Feeling it would be rude not to, he gestured toward the empty seat across from him. "Why don’t you join me for a coffee, sir? If you’re up for it."

"Vell, I do not vant to be intruding on your quiet time here," said the gentleman.

"Ah, not at all. Just flipping through some pages. Have a seat. Name’s Peter, by the way."

"Ah, nice to meet you, Peter. Only if you insist," the visitor said with a warm smile as he pulled back the chair and sat across from Peter. "You know, is good to have company once in while. And yes, coffee would be great." Saying this, he gave a quick glance at the waiter, signaling for his usual.

After a brief pause, the visitor continued,"I am Dmitri... vell, basically from St. Petersburg in Russia, but I have been living in Mussorie for more than ten years now. I am vriter, you see... and I find India most fascinating place to live. I vrite fiction... and this place, it gives me quiet and peace to... how you say... sink into my brain and churn out ideas vaiting to come out."

“Oh, that’s really interesting,” Peter said, genuinely surprised. He could hardly believe that someone from Russia would choose to live in these remote Indian hills, pursuing a profession that seemed rather unusual to him.

“You mentioned this book was interesting—any particular reason why?” Peter asked.

"I had been drawn to India... always, right from my teenage years. You see, as teenager, I vas very... disturbed. You can probably call it... borderline depression. I vas looking for answers to life. India... it appealed to me. I had visited India many times... stayed in different ashrams, met many gurus. I vas looking for... lasting peace, you see."

"I see," Peter said, listening intently.

"None of places I go, they give me answers I am looking for. Maybe I am too restless, too impatient, da? Never giving time for practice to grow. I do not wait long enough, so always this restlessness inside. But then, I meet someone, and he tells me—follow heart. And I see, my heart, it wants to write. In writing, I find much fulfillment. I see beauty in it. And when I finish book, I feel... like God, He use me for His purpose. The book you pick up—it is mine," Dmitri said with small chuckle.

"Oh, wow, that’s real fascinating, Dmitri! In that case, I dunno if I can just buy it—maybe you could sign it for me too?" Peter asked

"Vell, vere are you staying, Peter? I vill have copy signed and send to you before end of day, in that case," replied Dmitri with a warm smile.

"That's really kind of you, thanks a lot—I really appreciate it," Peter replied. "So, what made you stay in Mussoorie for so long, Dmitri? Don't you miss Russia?"

"It seemed to me like perfect place for my writing, you see. I am quite old now, and Russia—too cold for me. Before, I would go back once a year in summer, but now, I stay in India most of year," Dmitri replied. His voice carried strong Russian tone, deep and commanding, with rolling r’s that made every word sound weighty.

"Your book about mystical experiences—did you have any yourself?" Peter asked, leaning in with curiosity.

"Hah... that is discussion we have over round of drinks sometime, yes?" Dmitri chuckled, his deep voice rolling with his thick Russian accent. "But I tell you this—I have met many yogis, many tantriks, and they tell me stories... the most absurd, the wildest experiences you can ever imagine. You should read my book, then you know what I mean," he said with a knowing smile.

Peter thoroughly enjoyed his conversation with the Russian writer, and they spent a long time discussing mysticism, American politics, and Russian literature. Dmitri was quite the character, often speaking with dramatic flair and exaggeration. As lunchtime approached, the two bid each other farewell, with Dmitri promising to send Peter a signed copy of his book.

By the time Peter left the café, he saw Shashi walking towards him. He paused for a moment, allowing Shashi to reach him.

“Sir, we have to go back to your cottage in Rishikesh. Someone I know just came from there and passed a message. Your secretary, Stacy, called—she said it’s urgent and you need to be there for an important phone call.” announced Shashi

“Oh man, that’s strange. Stacy wouldn’t call unless it was something really important. You think we can head out now, Shashi?” asked Peter.

"Sure, sir. If we leave now, we can reach before sunset," replied Shashi.

Peter hurried back to his cottage and quickly packed his belongings. Within an hour, they were on their way to Rishikesh.

"It's a shame we gotta cut the trip short, but hey, we had a great time here, Shashi," said Peter.

"Yes, sir, that is true. We did have a good time," replied Shashi.

After a brief pause, Peter asked Shashi a question that had been weighing on his mind.

"What would your Guru say about a situation where someone harms you? Should you just stay quiet and accept it as God's will?" asked Peter.

"He would say that if it's meant to happen, it will, no matter what—because God's will is behind everything. If you accept it, you'll find peace; if you don’t, you'll only bring yourself more suffering. But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try to protect yourself," he added.

"I get what you're saying, Shashi," Peter said, nodding. After that, he stayed quiet for the rest of the ride.

Peter arrived at his cottage just before sunset, as planned. After a refreshing shower, he settled by the river with a cup of tea. As he sipped his chai, a servant approached him and informed him that he had a call. It was Stacy on the other end.

"Hey Stacy, what's going on? What's so urgent?" Peter asked.

"Sir, you need to get back here as soon as possible. Leo's talking about selling off his shares, and he's got John on board with it. If that happens, we would be in trouble."

Leo was the son of John, Peter’s partner at the law firm. John had grown old and had not been actively involved in the firm for over a decade. Meanwhile, Leo, a ruthless opportunist, had taken full control of his father’s business, including his share of the profits. The law firm was valued at over $10 million by reasonable estimates, with John and Leo holding a majority stake.

"What the hell are you talking about, Stacy? Leo knows the deal—we gotta get all our clients’ approval before making any equity sale." said Peter, who was a bit taken aback by the news. He was more worried about his reputation and his clients, and he started sweating a bit as he processed the news. He and Stacy had a long conversation, and she had already booked a flight for him to New York for the next day. Peter decided to wait until he arrived in New York before determining his next course of action. His entire practice was in jeopardy, but he knew Leo too well to take the situation lightly.

Chapter 6 : Peace....Delivered?

The next morning, Peter left early for New Delhi and arrived in time to board his flight to New York. Shashi had come to see him off, and Peter thanked him for his time. He had grown quite fond of Shashi and felt certain that he would return to India sooner rather than later.

Exactly a week later, in the conference room of Matchowski & Burns, about ten men in professional attire sat discussing the acquisition. The largest law firm in New York had launched a hostile takeover attempt, and Leo was in cahoots with them. There was little Peter could do to stop it.

"You guys know you're lowballing the firm, right?" Peter called them out in front of the entire management team of the buying company.

"I don’t reckon so, Peter. You’re puttin’ too much weight on your intangible assets. We see this as a fair deal, and Leo’s already on board. We’d like to buy your shares too, but we ain’t offerin’ you a dime more than what we gave Leo," their negotiator drawled.

Peter remained silent. He saw Leo from across the table, who had a rugged appearance—his deep-set eyes carrying an intense, piercing gaze, framed by heavy brows. He knew Leo had struck a shady under-the-table deal with the acquiring firm, deliberately undervaluing their company. The offer primarily accounted for tangible assets, leaving Peter with little compensation for the firm’s true worth. Now, he was faced with two choices—fight the deal and remain on the new company’s board with no real control or walk away with the offered sum.

“Give me a day, guys. I’ll have my answer for you tomorrow,” Peter said before quietly walking out of the boardroom. As he left the meeting, Peter wasn’t agitated or angry—neither at Leo nor at the situation. It was clear he had been played and shortchanged by the new buyers for at least a few million dollars. Yet, surprisingly, he felt an unexpected sense of peace—deeper than anything he had ever experienced before. He had let the situation unfold without resistance.

At home, Peter sat down with Laura to talk through everything that had happened. As he recounted the details, he expected to feel frustration or regret, but instead, he found himself strangely calm. He had done all he could, and now, for the first time in his life, he wasn’t consumed by the need to fight what was already decided.

“Oh, come on, Peter. Why don’t you talk to John about it?” Laura suggested.

“Well, it’s tricky, hon. He’s old now, and I don’t wanna put that kind of stress on him. John’s a straight shooter—he’d probably shut this whole thing down, but Leo would just hound him nonstop. Besides, the shares are already in his name,” Peter said with a sigh. “For once, I just wanna let things play out. Yeah, we might lose a couple million, but we’ve got enough, don’t we, sweetheart?”

“Yeah, yeah, forget what I said, honey. Do what feels right to you, and I’ll always stand by your decision,” Laura said, kissing Peter on the forehead before heading inside. She was an elegant woman and had always been a great friend to Peter, supporting him in all his major decisions. In fact, deep down, she was somewhat happy about the deal because she thought Peter would finally get to spend more time with her. That night, Peter slept like a baby.

The next morning, Peter had made up his mind. He would sign the papers, sell his shares to the new management, and walk away without a fight. There was no point in staying with a firm that didn’t play it straight. He reached for his coat, ready to step out, when the sharp ring of the telephone cut through the silence.

He hesitated for a moment before picking up.

“This is Peter.”

A familiar voice came through the line.

“Peter, it’s Joe Parker.”

Peter’s grip on the receiver tightened. Joe Parker—his old rival. The man who ran one of the biggest law firms in Manhattan, ten times the size of his own. If Parker was calling, it had to be something big.

“What’s up, Joe?” Peter asked, keeping his tone neutral.

“Well, word on the street is your firm’s being swallowed up by the sharks,” Joe said, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"You heard right, Joe. Leo's looking to make a quick buck. He’s selling off his shares, but he’s selling them short. Not sure what his angle is, but the whole thing smells fishy," Peter said, filling Joe in.

Though they weren’t exactly friends, there was a deep mutual respect between them. They had started practicing law around the same time and had gone head-to-head in plenty of courtroom battles. But no matter how fierce the competition, they always played fair.

"So, what’re you gonna do, partner?" asked Joe, his voice laced with concern.

“Well, I ain’t gonna fight it. Ain’t worth wastin’ my time on these shady folks. So, I’m just gonna sign the papers,” Peter said.

"Let me tell ya what I’m gonna do, Peter” said Joe “and if you’re smart, you’ll follow my lead. Tell Brady from their management team that ol’ Joe here is interested in your shares. Let ‘em know I put six million dollars on the table for ‘em."

"What? What the hell you gonna do with my shares? You’d be stuck in a minority position in the new firm," Peter said, caught off guard.

"Be that as it may. Now you listen to me. Tell Brady I offered you six million. He ain’t gonna let me buy your shares—I'm too big for his liking, and he knows damn well I can be a tough shooter when push comes to shove. Even if he plays along, I’ll buy your shares—but I highly doubt he will."

"Why you doin’ this, Joe?" asked Peter.

"’Cause I respect ya, Peter, and I ain't gonna let a low-down snake like Brady take advantage of this situation. I’ll handle him if he thinks he can close this deal without your shares. And if it comes to that, I’ll buy ‘em myself. Believe me, I got the backing for it. Now go on and tell him that."

Peter was pleasantly surprised by how things were unfolding. Having known Joe for over three decades, he was confident that when Joe gave his word, he meant it.

Peter stepped into the boardroom, where a dozen pairs of eyes were fixed on him in silent anticipation. Leo and Brady sat side by side, their expressions unreadable. Without a word, Peter strode to his seat directly across from Brady. He eased into the chair, rolled up his sleeves with deliberate precision, crossed his arms, and locked eyes with the man across the table, his gaze steady and unflinching.

"So, what's it gonna be, Peter? You gonna fight this takeover, or are you gonna sign the papers and walk away a rich man with three million dollars?" asked Brady.

"Well, Brady, I'm gonna walk away with six million dollars," Peter said, looking dead serious as he locked eyes with him

"No way I'm paying you six million for your minority shares. We already own the majority—why the hell would I?" Brady replied with a smirk. Brady was short, well-dressed, and had a round face, framed by a closely cropped beard and a receding hairline. Unlike those whose features carried the weight of experience, his bore the unmistakable signs of age—softened by time rather than sharpened by hardship.

"You won’t, ’cause I ain’t sellin’ my shares to you, Brady," Peter said, still locking eyes with him.

"I’m sellin’ ’em to Joe—he already offered me six million. Just came to let you know. You guys gotta deal with Joe now, ’cause by the end of the day, I’m signin’ those papers," Peter added, his tone unwavering.

Just as the words left Peter’s lips, he watched, almost in slow motion, as Brady’s complexion drained of color, his face a ghostly mask of disbelief. Meanwhile, Leo, visibly rattled, fumbled for his words, his voice quivering as he attempted to address Peter.

"Wha... What do you m-mean, Joe offered you six million? He can't— I d-don't think he h-had any interest in this firm," Leo stammered, his voice trembling, his words coming out in fractured gasps as if each syllable fought to escape.

"Well, it seems he does, and he’s made the offer. So, best of luck with your takeover, Brady. You’ll have to deal with Joe from here on out," Peter said coolly, his gaze unwavering, as he delivered the final blow with a calmness that seemed to chill the air around them.

Brady knew Peter would not lie. He also knew Joe Parker, and he understood that this deal would get complicated if Joe came in.

"Hold on a second, Peter. Let me talk this over with Leo, and I'll get back to you."

Saying this, Brady gestured for Leo to follow him, and they retreated into the adjacent room, separated from the boardroom by a glass wall. Peter, his eyes never straying from the scene, watched as the two men engaged in what was unmistakably a heated exchange. Every so often, they would cast a glance toward him, as if to reassure themselves of his presence. Leo, visibly on edge, seemed to be the unwilling participant in a delicate negotiation, while Brady appeared more assertive, driving a harder bargain. The tension between them was palpable—Leo’s discomfort was clear, and it was evident that Brady was steering the conversation in his favor. When they finally re-entered the room, the contrast was striking: Brady wore the unmistakable look of triumph, while Leo, his shoulders slumped, carried the weight of defeat, as though a piece of his resolve had been shattered in the course of their conversation.

"Look, Peter, maybe we didn’t value your intangible assets fairly, so, in light of the new situation we find ourselves in," Brady said, his gaze shifting to Leo for a brief moment, "we’d like to revise our offer to you."

"Okay, what is it, Brady?" Peter asked, his voice steady

"We would match Joe’s offer of six million dollars," Brady announced, a hint of excitement in his voice, his eyes lingering on Peter, as if he were waiting for some sort of reaction.

"Why would I accept six million from you when I already have the same offer from an old friend of mine?" Peter replied, his composure unshaken, his tone measured but unmistakably firm.

Brady, somehow expecting this outcome, felt a wave of agitation creep over him. Despite it, he forced himself to stay composed, taking a brief pause before responding to Peter, his voice slowing, taking on a tone that was almost pleading. "Peter, listen... we both know how this works. Let's find a way to make this right."

"Look, Peter. Here’s what I’m offering, and this is the final word on it," Brady said, his voice softening as his gaze briefly met Leo’s. "I’m prepared to offer you 6.5 million dollars for your shares, and I’m only doing this because we’ve invested a considerable amount of time into this deal. So, I ask you, please, accept it."

Peter looked at Brady, then shifted his gaze to Leo. His eyes dropped to the table, and for a moment, he seemed lost in thought. After a brief pause, he looked up, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips.

"Okay, Brady. I accept your offer," Peter replied, then glanced at Leo with a subtle smile. He knew that, likely, Leo would have to compensate Brady from his own share—the deal Leo had probably negotiated. But for Peter, it was simple: he just wanted the deal done and to get out of there. He was content, knowing he’d gotten his fair share.

Peter had been in the boardroom for a couple of hours, going over all the papers for the transfer of shares and signing them. By lunchtime, after concluding the formalities, he stepped out of Brownfield Heights and walked a few blocks to enter his favorite Italian pizzeria, his regular lunch spot.

"Mario, I'm gonna use your phone if you don’t mind," he said, giving Mario a quick look.

"Sure, Pete! You don’t have to ask me. Go ahead!" yelled Mario, his voice booming, as if he always spoke through a megaphone.

Peter dialed Joe’s number, and after a few rings, Joe picked up the call.

"Pete, what's the news?" Joe recognized him right away and cut to the chase, his Texas drawl thick in his words.

"It’s done, Joe. Brady offered me 6.5 million, and I took it," Peter announced.

"Oh. Wow. Great... Congratulations... Ha-ha. It sure feels good to slap Brady in the face every now and then," Joe said, his voice full of excitement.

"Well... he wasn’t too happy, hahahaha, I’ll tell ya that," Peter replied. After a brief pause, he continued, "I gotta thank you, Joe, for this. I was ready to take what was offered, but you got me an extra 3.5 million, and that’s a lotta dough, Joe."

"Well... a gentleman like you deserves what’s comin’ to him," Joe said, his tone softening. "I know we’ve been on opposite sides of many courtroom battles, but I’ve always respected you, Pete... always a straight shooter."

Peter was emotional; he never expected this to happen today. He respected Joe too, but it made him happy to know that, throughout his life, he had worked towards earning the same respect among his peers. He paused and finally said,

"Well, thanks a lot, Joe. Hope to run into you at the golf course sometime," his voice carrying a tone of underlying gratitude.

"You bet you will," saying this, Joe hung up the phone.

That night, Laura and Pete invited their favourite couple for dinner—the Heffernans. They were celebrating Pete’s success in selling his company for what ultimately turned out to be a handsome amount.

"I can’t imagine what you must have gone through, Pete, seeing your old colleague tryin' to rip you off like that. I mean, for heaven’s sake, be fair to the ones you’ve worked with your whole life," Jack said.

"Well, to be honest, Jack, I was completely at ease. I wasn’t anxious or sad—maybe a tad disappointed, but neither angry nor frustrated with Leo. And that’s actually what I’m more pleased about, you see. I just left everything to the will of God, and that made the whole ordeal so much easier to tackle."

"Well, I am so happy for you, honey," Laura said, raising a toast.

"Actually, that reminds me of something," Peter said, excusing himself as he headed into the bedroom. He sat at his writing desk, opened the drawer, and took out his checkbook. He wrote a check for "One hundred thousand dollars," signed it, and then called Stacy.

"Stacy, remind me to send an envelope to a dear friend of mine in India. His name is Shashi," Peter said.

Saying this, he hung up the phone.