The man hurried away.

Mate – what’s happening?

That was an invitation from a sadhu!

Of course, he should have jumped at the opportunity. But those few minutes with Shard had completely overwhelmed him. And frankly, he wasn’t prepared to take another big hit. Already flattened by his failure to understand Shard, one thing he didn’t need right now was to go and lose his mind on drugs!

But mate – that was a sadhu!

What is the problem?

Are the boys on the slab right about you?

Are you just… frightened?

Frightened of the unknown?

Frightened even… of yourself?

The man returned –

“Sadhu says it doesn’t matter. He says come anyway.”

It seemed to Max he had little choice.

13.4

As Max left the restaurant the sadhu stepped out of a shadow. He looked surprisingly young Max thought, for someone who’d already renounced the world.

He greeted Max with a tentative, uncertain smile.

“Come,” he said, and started walking briskly.

Max followed uncertainly as they wound their way through the darkened streets, picking their way around the sleeping bundles. Eventually the sound of drums lured them into a narrow alley and as they approached the group of musicians Max’s attention was drawn to the sadhu beating out the rhythm on a tabla.

Mate…

Check… him… out.

Dressed in a bright orange lunghi, illuminated by the light of the fire, the sadhu’s powerful presence dominated the group. He was a living work of art – the white paint recklessly slashed across his face and body, a clear statement without the vanity of a tattoo.

On seeing Max his strong, handsome face erupted into a dazzling smile of welcome.