About himself, about life, about the concept of renunciation –

“About sadhus,” he said, uncertainly.

The crowd’s attention immediately sharpened – people closed in – no one was going to miss this.

“You know about sadhus?”

“They interest me. I’d like to meet one.”

“Hey Max – do you want to be sadhu?” someone called.

Max was shocked.

“I’d just like to meet one,” he said defensively.

He felt uncertain – like a boy stumbling into a man’s world.

“Why only meeting – why not being?”

The question came from a young man – polished – immaculate.

“Being a sadhu?” Max asked.

Was this a serious suggestion?

A chill of paranoia accompanied the thought of actually doing it.

“Why not?”

“Good one,” Max said with a laugh.

But the interrogator was not that easily dismissed.

“Why coming all this way and only looking?”

He is serious!

They all are!

They think you’ve come over here to actually do it!

“Come on guys,” he said. “You always need to look first… before you do anything. It’s just common sense. Really, I don’t know the first thing about sadhus yet. I’d just like to meet one and…”

“Hey Maxyman! Becoming sadhu not like buying car!”

“No test drive!”

Max laughed with the crowd.

“Seriously,” he said to the wall of curiosity as the laughter died. “We all know there is a big problem with becoming a sadhu.

“You know it and I know it. Everybody who knows anything about sadhus knows it…”

Squeezed against the boundary line of life by this unknown assortment of dark, enquiring eyes, Max played the card he kept closest to his chest – the card that interested him the most.

“A sadhu must renounce the world.”

A murmur of surprise rippled through the group.

“You know that?”

“Mate…” Max said with a laugh. “Everyone knows that.”

“And frankly,” he added. “I don’t think I could ever do that. I love it all too much.”