Do it.

Do it.

The tourists may have reeled back from him in shock and horror, but not the locals who connived in his madness, silently encouraging him to further outrage.

Do it.

Do it.

By now Max could feel the unborn sadhu within scrambling to force his way out. He could feel the moment of renunciation brewing, almost a certainty.

Do it.

Do it.

But did he really want to do it?

Was he really sure it was a good idea.

Was he really that desperate?

Just… have a look at yourself – you hypocrite.

You’re a pretender, a charlatan – a phony!

Wandering around your little tourist trap, masquerading as a sadhu.

Mate… you are a disgrace!

You’re not only making a fool of yourself but a fool of the sadhu tradition. You walk the walk but… you don’t have the heart to do it.

Mate, you are gutless.

But the truth was the truth. No matter how much he made himself look like a sadhu, no matter how much he wanted to experience the true feeling of being a sadhu, he could not bring himself to simply do it.

In order to renounce the world Max had to feel that it was definitely the right thing to do. And at this point of time, he didn’t.

What was missing was the heart for it, the spirit for it – the rush.

Sure, there was some impetus pushing him into it but he didn’t have the desperate energy needed to take that one gigantic leap of faith.

That’s what was lacking – faith.

Do it.

Do it.

But there was something else niggling at him – a paranoid undertone. Why had the old man chosen him?

Why had the sadhu chosen him?

Of all people – why him?

Do it.

Do it.

Max didn’t like to think of himself as anybody’s pawn. The old man had sucked him in, for sure. But pulling Kirsten’s name out of the hat was probably just a trick. And the sadhu, really, he had nothing much to say at all! “Only love matters” – that was just a line in a pop song!