4.4

The young sadhus on top of the mountain had obviously fired up their cheelums and a haze of hashish descended like wicked mist down the mountain, fully enveloping the P.M. in its sweet pungency as he sat quietly on the rock beside the old sadhu.

He felt surprisingly good. Perhaps it was the old man’s gentle, soothing presence, or was it simply the fact that he hadn’t been out of the city for such a long time – whatever their precise make-up, the constellation of influences vibrating through him at this moment had a calming effect on his mood, enabling him to sit back and see a little more clearly the deep conflict in his mind.

He’d been full of doubt, full of concern, full of fear of the worst possible consequence. In the months since they’d begun their experiment with Max he’d never really given the sadhus a chance. He’d been virtually willing them to fail.

Was it time for a more positive approach?

Should he try to genuinely embrace them – just for one day?

Could you?

Could you just put your natural cynicism aside…

Just for one day.

4.5

As the Hummer edged its way slowly through the teeming masses, Marlon gradually settled down – but he couldn’t quite leave it there –

“You know what I think about your sadhus?”

Singh didn’t answer.

“They are just another pack of losers. Why would you renounce the world unless you were an abject failure?”

If he had been hoping for some kind of debate, he got none.

“Who cares about their pathetic little meetings? Nobody – that’s who! Nobody in this whole damn world could care less! That stupid mountain is the one place left that the world press have absolutely no interest in. And for good reason – as I say – who cares?”

The Hummer rolled along toward the centre of Mumbai with Marlon and Singh – who Julia had expected to embrace like old friends – brooding like restless volcanoes.