17.9

Finally Max stopped and, suspended in a pool of silence, stood waiting for the driving force to reassert itself.

Mate… come on… there must be more in you than this!

But nothing stirred in him – no sign, no hope, nothing. He just stood there like an old battery dumped in the street, getting flatter and flatter by the second – drained by the awful realization that he’d been mad to think renunciation would be the quick flash he’d so eagerly imagined it to be.

The rush was over.

Now he had to face the consequences.

Max – the failed sadhu – lay out one of the lunghis on the bitumen, covered himself with the other, and gazed up at the stars. But even their sparkling dance failed to provide any solace.

Defeated, he rolled over and closed his eyes to sleep.

Keep going.

It began softly –

Keep going.

It urged –

KEEP GOING.

It was a deep, resonant voice – strong… powerful… undeniable.

KEEP GOING.

A voice he could not possibly ignore.