9
Prema woke early after her first night in Varanasi and left her guesthouse to meet Timothy at the chai stall. She had gone back and forth about whether to contact him when she arrived, but late in the afternoon she sent a text telling him she was there. After a couple of hours she got a text back; a picture of the chai stall, the place he sat every morning. "Assi Ghat," the text said. "You can't miss it." She met the early morning with its clang of metal roll-up doors as men threw water into the street and swept the dust and trash away from the front of their shops. The air was cool and fresh. She reached the steps to the river at the ghat with the sun barely above the earth. Assi Ghat was one of the last ghats—sections of steps leading from the river—before the city tapered away. The g
