Book III : The Heart of the Hearth

Chapter 1 The quality of terrorism is strained



“The last six months are the worst,” said Neela.

Mike did not move. He sat perfectly still on the bench, across from Neela, in the garden. He wore the saffron robes of the sadhu.

“The first one and half years has not been exactly easy,” he replied.

“The dance of Lord Siva takes a full two years,” Neela re-emphasized the point, as if to encourage Mike to stay till the finish. “Towards the end of the dance, the Lord realizes that, while he has contributed to the life of every living being on earth, he has not created anything for himself. His rage that arose was enough to burn everything that he had accomplished.”

Mike looked away at the mountains in the distance. He spent the first one years, simply translating the metaphors that Neela used to refer to something that is simply quite physical in the world. It appeared from time to time that Neela created his own interpretations of some of the events of the legends. As Mike looked up the text sources, he realized that he had to relate to these stories as they pertained to western perspectives. He had to relate to Neela's perspectives separately.

Siva, he realized was engaged both as noun and pronoun. It was as much an individual being as it was the universe.

“It is about love,” Neela said stoically. “When you came here I was not sure what I was to learn from you, but you my friend taught me what love is.”

The chef, a Muslim lady in her early forties, medium height and plump, pulled the ends of her sari to cover her head, as she brought tea and cakes for them. It never ceased to satisfy her curiosity about a Hindu and his cousin, managing a hotel together in Muslim majority Srinagar. There were daily acts of terrorism by Muslim separatists. The Indian army was out in force on the streets.

What she saw of them was the fact that the Hindu would sit in front of the internet, while the cousin would walk the streets of Srinagar, begging for alms.

Mike himself had thought it the worst possible investment to buy into a fifty percent ownership of the hotel. But the Seals always taught him to do things as if that would be the last thing he would do. It was also Mike's idea, as a security measure, to represent himself as Neela's cousin from Nanda Puram. It avoided problems.

Hostage taking was not an issue in Kashmir, but Mike couldn't help feel conspicuous about being a former Navy Seal in a land that had indirect links to people he had done battles with. He had led his hair grow and kept a beard.

It had taken him a year to realize why he was doing what he was doing. It occurred to him that societies were fighting battles everywhere because they couldn't live as a society. He had to beat that in himself.

The chef spoke to Neela briefly.

“She says she has to go to Pakistan for a month. Her sister is getting married,” he translated to Mike.

Mike replied in Russian.

“Not a problem,” he muttered, then turning to her, he said in Urdu, “ Have a safe journey, mother.”

“Achah,” she replied,” you two boys are like my two sons. I'm very unhappy to leave you all like this in the tourists season.” She smiled broadly between red cheeks, showing an even row of teeth that was red with betel nut consumption.

Mike had grown accustomed to the frequent palliatives he had been encountering. It was the custom.

“I'll get her some saris for her sister,” Neela said to Mike.

Mike nodded, grateful for the easy way that Neela brought himself to manage his passions in all situations. There certainly was a bit of the Neela-Kozinsky in their relationship but Neela seemed to have it under control with the pain of ex-communication and exile.

The chef returned to the kitchen. They sipped on their tea.

There was a large number of American tourists staying at the hotel but Mike did not give up on the self imposed cover on his identity. It felt strange to him to hear conversations in American accented English, while ignoring any association with the character. It sometimes felt like a suffocation of his own impulses and acted as a drive to help him control and refine other aspects of his personality. He felt the same way when he learnt Urdu.

He wasn't rushing to the rescue of Americans anymore. It helped him to realize that they might well be capable of taking care of themselves. It diminished the edge on some of his training. In turn, he redirected his energies to a greater socially sensitive perspective. He brought in another five computers to help the kids stay in touch with home.

On the nights when he sat alone in the garden, under the dewy Kashmiri moon, he recalled the straightforwardness of his training. He endeavored to bring the common sense of that experience to the social training he was receiving. It wasn't very far apart.

He had started to get Neela's attention on social mannerisms. He found that, passions carried with them a veiled character of blood ties. At other times, passions applied themselves to an avoidance of blood letting. But what Neela was not doing until then, was to also bring reason and training to the passions.

When Mike had cut down to size a quarrelsome group from Armenia, Neela saw how strength and courage, common sense and passions combined to make, good sense.

“How would a Siva solve his problem?” Mike asked.

“He has to tell the people he has helped that he is not a god, that he has needs.....that he needs to take care of himself.....all these without turning over everything that they have come to believe about him.”

“Then they were wrong,” Mike replied.

“We cultivate love with trust and without conditions....later we come to substitute parts of it with some attention to our own needs.”

Mike stayed silent in thought. Then he replied,

“So we learn to substitute for it, delicately?” he asked.

“With great intuition,” Neela replied,” by not engaging the whole group. We start with one person, whose complaints in the group are isolated and ignored. Then we wait for him to heal. Then we start with the second person, whose complaints sound familiar to others but is countered by the one who has healed on the issues. And it continues to the next......” Neela spoke between helpings of the cakes on the table.

Mike stared at him momentarily.

“That's very clever,” said Mike in a spasm of surprise.

“That's the way I got along with people in the shoe factory,” said Neela, “ and became the supervisor within one year.”


Chapter 2   A dried pumpkin basin


Mike walked. It seems that that's all he had been doing the past year.

There was however a curios sensation that built up in his body from the daily walking. It created a pace, with which a man may measure the speed of one's thoughts. It allowed for the observation of the thought and it encouraged the individual to bring a little of himself in the expression of it.

Mike missed that. Yes, he had messed up on his social outlook, but he thought he had compensated for it by shaving another two seconds with his reload on the ruger automatic. Less clutter.

But here he was, walking on roads without pavement, past rickety wooden shacks that looked like tinder for burning, thinking of dreams and the gall it takes to achieve them.

A young boy of about twelve waved at Mike from outside his doorstep and smiled. Mike waved back.

The culture in the place favored the notion that to feed a mendicant was to please god and assured them a place in heaven. In some houses, they offered food, uncooked rice and always with a smile, as if they were pleased to be able to serve a man in search for knowledge.

He left the road and walked up to a makeshift bench under a cherry tree. Next to it, a barber had set up practice and was busy snipping away at a customer who dozed on the rattan chair. He nodded at Mike. Mike nodded back. They always nod at the appearance of a holy man.

Mike took out a book he had been reading on zen Buddhism and parted the page at the bookmark. As he adjusted his seat, he was reminded of how Neela trained him to sit. He sat without moving for twenty minutes the first day, then slowly increased it to an hour over the course of two weeks.

“Learning to sit,” he whispered under his breath, as he came to focus on the line in the page that he had left off. He reassured himself with a quick touch to his back to confirm that the commando dagger was there, then leaned back and continued.




Neela carried the blue plastic basket and walked the length of about two kilometers to the market. In this section of the city where the hotel was, the shop houses were of plastered brick. Some grocery shops, coffee shops, restaurants and the occasional hair saloon loomed over the road with random bicycles, motorcycles and the infrequent car.

He didn't like Srinagar very much. His complaint carried him back to the way the houses in his village set themselves into the landscape with the feeling that each brick, stone and roof was precisely where it should be in relation to the rock cropping, the boulders, trees and the distant mountains. It was a feeling that someone lived there.

Still Neela figured, it was better than New Delhi. In Muslim Kashmir, he wasn't fighting a social majority of Hindus, whose carefully crafted skills at learning the art of their practices, appeared foreboding to Neela and his improvised learning skills that relied on daily living, but no method.

In Mike, Neela came to encounter an honesty unlike anything he had seen before. Mike didn't make a choice to be honest. He simply spoke his mind.

Neela, in the Asian experience found the articulation of Mike's communication, a wonder in the art of expression. Mike articulation of his experiences engaged three parts of himself that he had labeled as mother, father and child. In communicating himself with Neela, he took the role of father, while Neela came to take the role of child. The world in their experience was experienced as mother.

Mike led the initiative on issues, from an apparent source in his system that had organized itself as the innamorata. It earned its right to lead by being inventive, enthusiastic and of equal consideration in all issues. It was a role set to command where it was.

He shared the experience with Neela, each taking the opportunity to play each role in a way to optimize the issues they were discussing. It was dynamic, open minded and bold. Neela had felt invigorated.

At the market, Neela bought steak. Mike had mentioned at dinner that steak requires strong digestive activity and that it acts in turn on the mind as a powerful drive. Neela had taken up the advice and found himself growing stronger, both in mind and in his physical responsiveness to activity.

It was Neela's greatest commitment to the path of understanding that he had taken. It brought to him the practice of reason to religious practice, in the way that one individual would make the decision as regards himself and his beliefs.




Mike put his book in the bag he carried, swung it over his shoulder and began the rounds from house to house. He carried a dried pumpkin basin with him as the means to receive the alms.

He knocked on the first door. A lady opened it. He spoke the words “Namaste, may Siva bless you and your family.” Then he extended the basin.

She went back into the house and returned with a can filled to the brim with rice. She tipped the can into his basin.

Mike thanked her and continued to the next house, and then to the next.

It had occurred to him that this was not an attempt at survival. It was a training in real life to
bring into social application, one's intelligence in promoting social cohesion. It was a play, that made certain vague references at control and professional self regulation.

Neela had been right about the last six months. Mike was starting to feel a mounting resentment at attempts to continue to remake himself for a cause. Something in the nature of a narcissistic self will stood in his way. It stroked his fires.

He wondered about traveling to the end of the line to meet the wizard. It appeared that all manner of new possibilities awaited him.


Chapter 3 The glacier



“Its the basic premise in Hindu writings,” Neela said. “ For almost 5,000 years, the Indian response to all inquiries regarding the truth of what we are, consisted in the expression of this one line " that the self starts with knowing itself and then due to its fondness for having fun, it creates a pretense that it has forgotten who it is and thereafter undertakes the creation of the universe, to rediscover itself again. This goes on in perpetual circles in eternity.”

“It's the words that you are using,” Mike responded softly. “Each word has a specific meaning and it leads to the cultivation of a specific perception which we thereafter subscribe to.”

The cold wind bit into their faces. It blew with an intent to awake in the person, something long forgotten. It blew persistently.

They were camped on a high cliff that abruptly ended just beyond the tree line. In front of their camp, beyond the abyss, the mountain rose again and in deep snow climbed the rest of the way to the peak several miles away. The ground they camped on was rock granite. They had pitched two tents and had a fire going to warm up their food.

In the comfort of their woolen clothing and windbreakers, they considered carefully, the issues they were engaged in.

Neela was using a stick to poke into the fire.

Mike was about nine years old that year, when his father had driven him into McDonald's, that wintry December morning, for a big mac.

“But how will I know how to drive?” Mike had asked his father.

“You will have to go to driving school. Then you'll learn,” his father had said.

“Is that what you did?” asked Mike.

“Yes,” the father had replied.

“So the school knows how to drive?” he asked again, after a while.

“The driving instructor......,” his father corrected him, “ he knows how to drive and he will teach you.”

“So I must listen to what he tells me?” the boy continued.

“Yes,” the father had replied.

Mike had turned to the toy gun that he held in his hand. He aimed it at the car ahead of them on the street. A frown had suddenly appeared on his face.

“But how will I know that he is telling me the truth?” he asked.

“Because he knows how to drive....,” his father had considered briefly, “ that is why......what he is telling you would be true.”

“So if I listened to him and did all that he asked me to.....I will know how to drive?” Mike had sought confirmation.

“Yes,” his father had replied.

Through the windscreen they could see the McDonald's outlet by the side of the road.

“Is what everybody says true?” the boy had asked.

“You mean about everything?” the father had responded.

Mike had nodded tentatively.

The father signaled to turn into the right lane ahead of McDonald's, for the turn he would be making. He seemed to be considering the question carefully.

He took a moment to think of the icon of the Madonna in his study. His mind was briefly distracted. He then made his choice. The boy is growing, he had considered. ' Grow first, trim later,' the thought formed in his mind.

“Nobody has a reason to deliberately lie to another,” he replied, just as he made the turn into McDonald's.

“You mean that all people are good?” Mike had asked.

“They will not lie without a reason,” his father responded.

“So everybody is honest?” he asked.

“Everybody is good inside,” his father offered, “ you can believe anything that anybody says until it becomes proven in your experience that it is false.”

They had ordered their meal to go and carried their paper bags to the children's playground next to the outlet. As they sat on a bench and took out their food packets, the girl at the counter came over to the father with his wallet in her hand, which she extended to him.

“You left it behind,” she said.

His father had thanked her and with a slight frown had pushed it into his back pocket. Then with a sudden after thought, turned to Mike.

“Did you see that?” he asked.

Mike had found himself smiling with a happiness that floated and waved with the leaves on the trees all around them.

“Yeah,” he had said, with a growing affirmation of satisfaction.

They bit into their big macs. The taste is never consistent, however, a big mac is a big mac, it is us who are sometimes changed in the way we respond.

“Call me Gangothri?” Neela asked.

“What?” said Mike as he turned to look at Neela.

“My name....can you call me Gangothri from now on? It is what my father named me and I think it shows my personality better.”

“Yeah....Gangothri.... “ Mike confirmed, with a strange new light in his eyes.

“It is strange, I know..... ,” Gangothri said, “ one moment this thing you know is Neela and then suddenly it has changed to …..Gangothri.... , but I am the same person.”

“Yeah....okay,” Mike had drawled.


Chapter 4   Agariste


“Dr. Mohan?”

He turned around to see a tall blond, dressed in shirt sleeves and corduroy jeans with buckle and boots. She stood there, with a hesitant smile on her face.

“Yes?” he inquired.

“Hi,” she said, “it's Shelley Cameron. I was with you for two weeks on the Algonquin dissertation in Delaware.”

Charles remembered.

“Certainly,” he replied, “ how are you?”

“I'm fine,” she replied, “ can we talk somewhere? It’s kind of important.”

It occurred to Charles that it wasn't a chance encounter, but he waited for her to state her business. They walked over to a cafe at the end of a row of shops. She walked with ease, placing each foot firmly one in front of the other, with her back held straight. Her voice carried something unusual to Charles's experience but he couldn't place it.

“You realize Ms. Cameron....”

“Shelley...” she said expectantly.

Charles started again.

“You realize Shelley, that it was you who got us started on the thesis about the Scythians and after all the effort we went through for the sponsors and starting the dig, you backed out and left.”

She smiled a dazzling cheeks-and-teeth and said with the most curios shake of her head,

“I can't explain it.”

They had taken a seat at the cafe table and ordered some coffee.

“I was into something very strange, doctor,” she confided openly, “and I didn't know it. It was only after I joined the McClellan group.....,” she produced a card, “did I realize, what was going on with me.”

The card named her and indicated her position as research analyst in the McClellan group in Switzerland.

“Ever since I was a child, I was in, what is called an  'index communication' with someone, we refer to as an ' Almeg factor,'......Alpha Omega,..... in the human experience. I was just a child and was playing around with the experience, like an invisible friend, and eventually grew up to be completely convoluted and confused in my life.”

She spoke with an unusual familiarity. Suddenly Charles realized what it was. She was representing herself to him like a male friend......it felt as if she was him.....and vice-versa.

She continued.

“My masters’ thesis was on ' lucid dreaming,' and in a strange way, I found my way back to being myself again.”

And then as if she had forgotten something, she quickly added,

“I'm sorry, doctor, I really ought to be telling you that this meeting is not accidental....McClellan has been following your career with UNESCO with a great deal of interest and they are keen to speak to you about teaming up on areas of common interests.”

Charles considered asking her to drop the 'doctor' label but decided against it. He was however curios about McClellan.

The bright, Californian sunshine brought a welcome relief to Charles. He was starting to feel a little 'Jekyll and Hyde' in his sensations.

“What does McClellan do?” he asked.

“Research on the human psyche.”

He appeared thoughtful for a while, then asked,

“Paranormal....paranoia....?” he spoke in the nature of a question.

Something seemed to have set her off and she waved at him, as she took a sip of the coffee to calm herself.

“I can't speak of the paranormal project....” she hesitated, then said, “ there...have been accidents. But we are keen to follow up on your research with the archetypes.”

“I'm not with UNESCO anymore,” he said, “ I work in a government funded project for the mentally challenged, here in Los Angeles.”

“We're aware of that doctor,” she answered. She reached into her bag and brought out a manila envelope. “The President of McClellan extends an invitation to you to visit us for a meeting, anytime.” She handed the envelope to him.

Charles took the envelope from her and proceeded to open it. Shelley seemed to be in a pitched breath over something. She continued to sip from the cup.

There was a letter and a bunch of brochures on McClellan. The letter was signed by a Theodore Caine, President.

“You must have had an interesting time dealing with Almeg,” he said, changing the subject completely.

She warmed to the personal interest.

“It hasn't been easy....” she said, in mock dialogue, “it's a continuing process.....I have to always work at it.”

“What do you do in McClellan?”

“Well, the index communication is categorized according to several levels. Children do it, unconsciously, like a game of some kind. But the communication also takes place at adult level and it is consistent with an orderly sense of organization. We call it the ' Agariste factor' that's after the mother of Pericles, the Greek general.”

“It's a revival of the Parthenon,” Charles suggested.

“Only in a limited way,” she replied. “We ran into a lot of problems in adhering to former practices. It coincided with a memory base in individuals and caused a parallel experience. We are reformulating it in some areas and renaming them. We used your research on the archetypes to do that.”

Charles told her he'll need time to think it over. He promised her a call within the month.

Chapter 5 An absence of error


Most people, can, in the course of a lifetime, identify the one point in their life, that came to define all else. That one point may be in many different forms.

It has come to be fashionable these days, for a man to point to the day he met his wife, as the one that changed all else. The wife, no doubt, is grateful for the experience. However, in the course of their lives, where the realization of this fact grows to be a durable and permanent part of their experience, something very curios happens. It is the day when one person, in the relationship, commits an act of 'grand theft life', of the other person.

When we realize that the other, truly loves us more, we let fall our defenses and permit ourselves to be carried away on the arms of the savant. This we do by offering our tangible body to the inspired life of the other. Thereafter, the die is cast.

Julius Caeser took Rome. Othello married Desdemona. David plotted and brought Sheba into possession. The God of the most high took the life of Christ. The Hwang Po river captured China. Gangothri gave the joys of his life, to preserve a principle and in doing so, it preserved him, in the long run. In falling all the way to the bottom, the man thereafter, can only move up.

In Mike's experience, the childhood Neela-Kozinsky relationship, had evolved into the savant Mike-Gangothri and was thereafter threatening to become the true love of Pan-Herakles. Each represents a point in the life of the universe that defines all else. Where it had been necessary for the universe to raise three such points to define the all, it must be considered that there are three universes in god's creation.

Mike had sold his interest in the hotel, packed a few things and left. Gangothri sat in the garden, drinking coffee, while listening to the reports of the wedding in the Sindh in Pakistan, as told by the chef.

He had taken the midnight train from Srinagar to the Pamirs. From there, he planned to travel to the Massandra Palace in the Crimea. He had been there only one time before, while in the Navy. He had unfinished business.




Charles was in love. For a man who had lived with the angels, all his life, this was experienced as unusual in his being.

“We had an understanding,” it said. “A savant learns and thereafter must come to recreate the experience as knowledge of thyself. Otherwise you cannot claim your life's achievements, in this lifetime, as yours.”

“What's going to happen?” he asked.

“That depends on you, son,” it replied.

He was sitting in the balcony of his apartment, overlooking the bay of Santa Monica. He had been going over the contents of the envelope that Shelley had given him. But his mind was not on McClellan.

It was with Shelley.

Charles had understood only too well Shelley's description of the Almeg. It is what the English language calls the innamorata. However, in his case, it did not confuse him. It had on the contrary, led him to a life of understanding of himself and the world. It was his dearest friend.

In Shelley, his dearest friend had at last appeared before him, in person. A part of him referred to the experience as the culmination of his life. Another part denied it and referred to the will of Shelley as the true innamorata experience. In the third universe of his reasoning, he realized that it was his wife, from whom he had become separated over the last eight years.

He realized that there was no amount of money that McClellan could have paid him to walk away from all these. He had to come to intuit what the mahimorata of the universe wanted of him.

He had mixed a cocktail of rum, yogurt, lime and salt. He drank from the tall glass. It helped him stay even tempered.

He remembered an expression from his childhood days that always summed up all his difficulties.

“The Lord moves in mysterious ways,” he whispered rhetorically.




Gangothri sat quietly in the back of the boat as it floated down the Ganges. The river flowed through a virtual history of India from the early Kushan kingdom where the Buddha came to rest, through to Indraprasatha, the burning match of the Mahabaratha and finally met the sea at Kolkata, the birthplace of the Great Kali and the life of Siva.

He was thinking about the chef's fondness for palliatives. When she realized that Mike had left, she had come to a whole lot of conclusions. This brought her to substitute for Gangothri, the loss of his friend Kozinsky and then Mike.

When she brought the coffee to him on the third night of Mike's departure, she had lingered for just five seconds more than usual. Gangothri had made eye contact with it.

They had spent the whole night making love, over and over again. Just before dawn, they had come to a new intimation about their desires. He had taken her from the back in a gesture that resembled expressing one's passions in reverse. It promised in his mind the greatest expression of intelligence he had ever known.

It healed all his divisions, he saw clearly the destiny that became the hallmark of his life, he was over it all. In his endearment to grab and hold it to himself, in a life that has been long parched, he had strangulated her and killed her on the bed.

The banks of the Ganges reflected it all.

God drove Adam from the garden of Eden. Herakles killed his wife and his social nature. Cain killed Abel. The Kauravas burnt the Pandavas in the house of lac.

In the words of Gilbert O'Sullivan, ' they had all loved, not wisely, but too well.'

This was the beginning of the third universe for Gangothri. To live again, he must first die.


Chapter 6 The nool


“My lord, why has thou deserted us?” Ekim asked.

“We have not deserted thee,” Etsiraga answered. “We are engaged in intensifying the experience of creation. The journey to perfection is too long. We have to recharge our resolve.”

A soft blue light emanated from the voice of Etsiraga and it permeated the universe. It traveled far and like the rays of the sun, on earth, it came to touch on everything.

“It is I, don't you know?” Etsiraga said.

Selrahc came over to where Ekim stood.

“It is the law of the Nool, sire,” he reminded him.

Irhtognag joined them in the center. Together the three of them looked up at the stars in the bluish black sky.

Ekim appeared diminished when the white light they had depended upon vanished and came to be substituted by the blue, but he fought to stay alert.

“I am the sun to come,” declared Etsiraga. “I join you in the fire of life to recreate our presence. A new universe, new life, new joys of what we are.”

“How will we know of thee?” Irhtognag asked.

“I will find you,” Etsiraga replied. “Think always of who we are.”

Away from the center and in the opposite direction as Atsiraga, Chiron the great master awoke to the day of stars. He spotted Crux next to him.

“My Lord,” he began,” why does thou impose on yourself this will?”

“It is my father,” Crux replied. “He is the Koob. We are but a reverse expression of his passions. We have the power to be but it is the will of man that creates. Our joy is in serving such a cause.”

They were joined by Eridanus, the great river.

Together they turned to look at Bootes, the plough. Bootes waved from his position to indicate that he will be commencing his work soon.




Mike stood at the side entrance to the Massandra in the Crimea. On one side was a statue of the Satyr and on the other side stood the Chimera.

“It is you and your father,” Etsiraga whispered in his ear.

“Stop,” Mike complained and walked over to the low wall overlooking the city. The journey from the Pamirs to the Crimea had worn out Mike completely. He was confused. He missed his long walks. Suddenly the voices had appeared and the Lady Etsiraga, a voice from his passions spoke to him to say that she is now the sun and she can no longer serve him as the Lord of the Universe.

Mike fought the urge to jump over the palace walls and dive into the steep gorge below.

“Mike, my son,” came a voice from behind him.

He turned to face the direction of the voice and faced the Satyr.

“I am your father,” he assured him. “That,” he said in apparent reference to the Chimera, “ is the state of understanding you have about yourself at this time. Thou are the noble Ekim, the Lord of Time. Find out what that means.”

The Chimera spoke. It had a raspy voice that was laced with sobbing and tears. It tried to make up for it by being demure.

“I know what you are thinking,” he said. “You think you are going mad. You think you have become the Son of Sam. But you are here for another purpose. You think you could have prevented all the massacres that was perpetuated by the bastard, Bosennica. Did you think he was a friend, Mike?”

The Chimera yelled the last line and made Mike faint with exhaustion. He sat on the ground and leaned on the wall.

In the Seals training, Mike recalled how he had swam in freezing waters to the boat waiting to pick them up. Once inside and drying off, they were offered a cup of hot chocolate with the condition that they were supposed to wait an hour before they consumed it.

It was a long hour but it taught the Seal one important lesson. If something you expected with all your mind and heart is suddenly not there for you, wait a while and then try a fresh perspective.

He waited. When he had recovered his composure, he changed the rules to suit himself and his understanding.

“The Satyr is the Oedipus Complex. The Chimera is the pagan part of Gangothri,” he declared. It calmed him down. He was engaging the naming convention. It was the will of man.

“That means, you are the fat pig, Gangothri,” the Chimera declared. “He has murdered his mother and has run away. If the law of Etsiraga cannot get to him, they'll nail you to the cross. Will you die for him, friend?” the Chimera yelled again.

Mike found his voice stammering, but he managed to bring it out. He recalled the way the Indian women will hold a can of rice with two fingers, then tip it over expertly, into his basin, without spilling a single grain. She has been trained, is all that he found himself saying about it.

“I...I....am the Ganga.....it is a river.....I am the waters of life.....I give and withhold the rain......,” he stopped, a little puzzled with himself.

“Keep going old boy,” a British accentuated voice, with a military bearing, spoke in him reassuringly, “ we're not out of the woods yet.”

“Do I know you?” Mike askd.

“You know me as Charles,” the voice said. “But you'll get over it. You have to find your own voice.”

Mike raised himself on his feet. He addressed the Chimera.

“I'm trained to fight something I can see,” he called.

“Learn to see me,” the Chimera replied. “You're got half the job done.”

Beside him, the Satyr smiled.



Chapter 7   A god nevertheless


Charles walked over into his study and viewed the shelf with the novels. When faced with difficult issues and choices, it was his practice not to force the issue. It causes a level of responsibility that the individual cannot satisfy in time to come.

Instead, a man who relies on intelligent problem solving must come to appreciate the love of the passions for spontaneity. The passions draw their impulses from enthusiasm. If something is not fun doing, it is probably not worth doing.

On account of this, a thinking individual manages mental blocks by undertaking an activity that is random and unplanned as a way of affirming to the passions that he is committed to the principles of freewill and spontaneity.

He was looking for a guide to his actions regarding Shelley. With such an inquiry, he reached out to the copy of the Aeneid by Virgil. Holding the book in both hands, he turned over a number of pages to arrive at a random page. When he stopped, he realized that it was page 12.

Thereafter, he sat down and read it, with a view to finding something relevant. Page 12 revealed the position of Aeneas as being driven by storms to the coast of Libya. He meets a nymph who inquires as to his whereabouts and intentions.

Aeneas replies as follows,

"Could you with patience hear, or I relate,
O nymph, the tedious annals of our fate!
Thro' such a train of woes if I should run,
The day would sooner than the tale be done!”

Thereafter, he creates an introduction to himself.

“The good Aeneas am I call'd- a name,
While Fortune favor'd, not unknown to fame.
My household gods, companions of my woes,
With pious care I rescued from our foes.”

Charles took a moment to consider the relevance of the passage to his situation. He had retired from the academic circuit and was in some way wind tossed onto a new experience. In meeting Shelley, he was  trying to revive some sense of his personal happiness. It appeared to him that he had allowed Shelley to take over his own sense of curiosity about himself.

He continued reading the page. He needed to have a guide on how he was to respond to McClellan. In the second part, he hears the voice of a parent who advises him thus, the extracts of his speech being,

“Have courage: to the gods permit the rest,

The winds are chang'd, your friends from danger free;

Twelve swans behold in beauteous order move,

Now, all united in a goodly team,

They skim the ground, and seek the quiet stream.

Not otherwise your ships, and ev'ry friend,”

Whether or not such a method is reliable in decision making has not been researched upon. But Charles always subscribed to the fact that our lives are closely guided, with the view to a greater achievement over time. Such are the instruments of nature that man has come to call the fates.

He subscribed to the practice completely and for want of a better way, he placed a certain watching brief on the way these came to influence him in his decision making. This is what he came to accomplish in his meeting with his own Satyr and Chimera. It was a compromise on the part of man, to allow for the fates to take a part in our lives.

The decision called him to cool his ardor about Shelley. That she is just a nymph in search of fun. As regards McClellan, it intimated to him that the company is honest and would use his research results with care.

The expression twelve swans intimated to him, the approval of the world. The mother goddesses, both in the east and west, use the symbol of the swan as the world. In Indian literature, this is represented as the philosophy of the Hamsa.




In Massandra, the fates had guided Mike to confront his denials in front of the Satyr. It is a well practiced art on the part of most people to keep private, the intimations of their sexual impulses, that seek glory and vain prestige.

The impact of these has been to call on the role of women, as being responsible for revealing these hidden natures, into an exposure for better management. The technique causes an inordinate amount of fear both on the part of the men and women.

But despite the best efforts of the women, some parts of the experience are impossible to divulge. That is perhaps why the fates brought to us the gay phenomenon in the world, to pry apart other clandestine misgivings and expose our impulses to the light of day.

In the East, this cultivated a rethinking on past dependencies on legends and persuaded the societies to take a straight forward approach to life in the world. In the West, the events have guided the societies to take a closer look at their social natures and identities and to refine that for greater purpose.

Mike wondered about the comment the Chimera made about Gangothri. He realized that it was his own self that brought itself to comment about Gangothri. Did it represent his own bias about eastern paganism and the potential for disaster? Was it simply a representation of his own vanity about himself and the consequent put-down and dismissal of everything else? He had to know for sure.

He called the number in Srinagar. Someone he was not familiar with answered the phone.

“Gangothri please,” he asked.

“Who is this?” the voice had asked.

“A friend,” he had responded.

“Sir, I need to know who it is,” the voice had answered.

He cut off the line. It didn't tell him a great deal about whether the knowledge represented in his intimations were true. However, it did say enough for him to conjecture the possibility that it might be so. That had to be enough.

His mind turned elsewhere. He had to find Adele, the sister of Bosennica, the man who came into notoriety as the butcher of  Kressenica. He had loved her and had at one time thought the world of her.


Chapter 8  Windows to the soul


Mike located the flower shop in a pedestrian mall in the south-western part of Sevastopol in the Crimea. However, he thought it cautious to sit in a cafe across the street and cultivate waiting.

Through the glass, he caught the sight of a lady walking and attending to her work. It stirred some powerful impulses in him, as if the intimation of her vision was starting to tell him what to do. It created a compelling drive for him to rush into the shop and meet her.

He recalled how he had told Charles about the hot chocolate story of the Seals training, that day in the Houston woods.

Charles had responded with,

“The purpose is not to deny the individual. It is to inform him that the reward is as much the training.”

Mike realized that as a Westerner, he had better control in matters of discernment of his logos experience. However, the Easterner was better at discerning the pathos. Both avoided testing the other on their areas of specialty. However, where a person was able to combine both with equanimity, it would be a wonderful experience of the ethos, sufficient to create a rhetorical sense in the gnosis.

After an hour, Mike went up to the shop.

He opened the door and entered. She looked up and smiled, but gave no sign of recognition. Mike walked up to the counter and said,

“How are you Adele?”

She smiled instantly and quickly brought her disposition into line with the situation. It is as if her heart searched and found instantly her relationship to this man from her past. In the meantime she maintained a straight disposition on the issues, as would be normal with someone forgetting something.

Mike realized that he never saw all these before and was grateful for the opportunity to do so today. It was the way with all women. He had come to accept it. It brought to him an understanding of the decorum a man applied to women.

“It's Mike.....Mike Flanders......Kosova.....2002.”

She brought both her hands together to her lips and came over and hugged Mike.

“How've you been?” she asked.

“Just fine,” he replied, feeling pleased with himself. It was the first time, with her, that he didn't feel he ought to have her and possess her as if she was a part of him. Having saved her life and that of her father in Kosova, may have had something to do with that.

“What are you doing in the Crimea?” she asked.

“Came to tie up some loose ends,” he replied. He figured right then that he'll keep up the notion that he was still in the service. It was the only iconic factor that kept the two of them together.

“Can we talk?” he asked. “ Are you free?”

“Yeah, sure,” she responded. “I could take an early lunch.”

She closed the shop and went across the street to the cafe. He inquired about her father and brother, when they had taken their seats.

“They are fine,” she said with a trace of the hurried. “Father is writing his memoirs.....he's trying to patch things.....you are here about Bosennica, aren't you,” she asked instinctively.

“I might,” he said.

“I'm glad it is you and not anyone else,” she said. Her eyes had grown crimson and her manner produced a shiver in her speech.

“I need you to help me understand,” he said. “Can you do that?”

She realized he was not the same Mike she had known before. Something had changed. It was personal.

“Khalid never had a normal upbringing,” she began, “ my mother had passed away when he was born and we were the only two children. He depended on me for everything....I was his mother....sister.....all rolled into one.”

“Would you say then that he cannot get along without you?”

“That's true,” she replied.

“Has he been in contact with you?” he asked.

She realized the obvious nature of the question. She nodded.

“You know something funny?” he asked her. Then continued uninterrupted,” In the Navy we get the best possible training to deal with situations....but everywhere....we depend on people to get our information and intelligence. Now here's the thing. Our readiness is only as good as the understanding we have of the situation.”

He paused to look at her.

“The only way we get the job done is to take the responsibility for what we do. If we ever stopped to ask anyone, we are lost. Where we lead, everyone follows. I just spent two years in India, learning how the social natures, in the world, look up to us to define and lead on the social issues. They take the definitions and live it and come back to us to have it refined. Thereafter, we incorporate that into our social living experience.”

“I wasn't trying to tell you how to do your job,” she responded. She appeared wild eyed and anxious.

Mike paused. He realized then, how a girl he thought was bright and bubbly was simply reflecting on his emotions and managing him completely. It occurred to him that anyone else he was saying these things to, would have stopped him and told him they didn't know what he was talking about, and that they have nothing to do with India.

“I need to send a message to Khalid. Can you do that for me?”

She nodded.

“Tell him I need to see him.”


Chapter 9 The brotherhood


Donnergill street in Belfast, Northern Ireland, is in a quiet housing area. There were two pubs at the beginning of the street. Mike turned the motorcycle into the narrow road and parked it in front of Nate's. It was the arrangement for the meet with the boys from the Fenians.

As he walked into the pub, the door slammed behind him and he was thrown into the dimness of the interior brick walls. Someone waved to him from a corner.

They pointed him to a chair at the table.

“So you are an American?” the big one said, as he sat down.

“Mike Flanders. I'm retired from the Navy,” Mike replied.

“I'm George,” the gray haired one introduced himself. “This is Charlie,” he said, pointing at the big one. “Charlie is going to give you a quick check up, if its all right.”

Charlie got up and patted down Mike and retrieved the commando dagger.

“We'll just keep this for you, a while,” Charlie said.

“Okay, what can we do for you?” George asked.

George appeared like an easy going family man who might as well have been discussing the grocery list.

“I need you to speak to the Bonners. They are covering for a man from Kosova. I need him.”

“Why isn't this coming through official channels?” George asked.

“It's not official. It is personal,” Mike replied.

“He raped your sister or something?” Charlie said in a broad smile approaching guffaw.

“Tell me a story,” George suggested.

The waiter brought Mike's lager and refreshed the drinks for the other two.

“2002, Kressinica, in Kosova. I led my team to rescue an informant and his daughter. They are Croatians. We were ambushed by a Croatian unit that was apparently waiting for us. I lost two members of my team and took a bullet in my hip. We wiped out the Croatian unit and rescued the informant.”

Charlie smiled. Mike turned to look at him. Charlie suddenly became sullen.

“Well....here's the thing....turned out, the son sold out on the father. They must have paid him well. He contacted the Bonners in Paris and paid them to hide him Northern Ireland.”

“You said you were retired,” said George, “ so how did you come by this information?”

“My former unit and the Fenians in Boston,” Mike replied, ensuring that Adele's name is kept out of it.

“Why Northern Ireland?” George asked again.

“Your fight is not with Canterbury. It is with Buckingham. You are the first free men in the world.”

He paused to look at Charlie. Charlie looked at George. George couldn't take his eyes off Mike. Mike continued,

“The Serbs, in a round-about-way represent the royal idea. The Croatians claim to be fighting for god and country..... for the common man. ”

George leaned back on his chair and reached for his beer. Mike took a gulp. A cool quiet had descended on the other patrons in the pub. George told Charlie to go take a leak.

When Charlie left, he dialed a number on his cell.

“It's me,” he said. “I'm speaking to him now,” he said into the phone. There was a moment of silence and then he said, “Okay.”

“I'll be right back,” he said and left.

Mike watched as he crossed the road into Scott's Place, the pub across the road. Charlie returned from the washroom and leaned on the counter. He started to chat with another patron seated there.

Mike finished the lager and ordered another. He was half way through the second when George returned with two men in black leather jackets. They joined him at the table.

They didn't introduce themselves. It was their way of saying that they are the Bonners.

“We seem to be having a little problem,” one of them said.

“They won't give him up,” George said.

“It's a job like any other,” the man said, “ we got paid, we have to keep our word.....you know what it means to be a republican.”

Mike took a moment to consider.

“In that case, can I speak with him?” he asked.

“And in return, you will promise not to bring the entire blooming SAS onto our backs,” he said.

“This has nothing to do with anybody else,” Mike said.

He considered briefly.

“I need to know what you plan to do?.....just talk?” he asked.

Mike was considering several alternatives. It had to be just right.

“I have something for him.... from his father,” he added.

“What is it?”

“Its under the seat of the bike outside,” Mike said.

The other one went out and returned with a grease cloth package in his hands. He put it on the table. They opened it. It was a Luger P08.

“You want to give this to him?” the man repeated.

“Yes,” Mike replied and casually took a gulp from the beer. “It is the hand of the father, before he went mad,” he said stoically.


Chapter 10 Facebook


He looked up and stared blankly at the wall. Then he turned around to look at the two of them standing there. His face had the anxiety of a wild animal that was trapped and feared for its life.

“What is it, honey?” Margaret called.

He raised one finger and pointed at the ceiling.

“It is not unlike autism,” Margaret said.

“That's like being in a dark place?” Charles asked.

“Yes,” Margaret replied, “it is the effect of shock. Until it wears off, they seek a high ground or a person with unquestionable authority to anchor themselves for stability.”

Charles was at ' Little Angels, ' the Center for mentally challenged children in Venice, Los Angeles.

“How is it different from shell shock,” Charles asked again.

“Well, what we have observed of shock may be divided into two separate experiences, but they are in a final sense related to each other. There is the physical in which a certain outcome that was expected, produces an opposite effect. This raises doubts of the individual regarding the validity of physical reality.”

They sat down at one of the small tables, beside the children.

“The second refers to expression and communication. Something that a person thinks and speaks of, is proven to be without basis in reality. This produces doubts about their personal identity.”

“So it causes everything to grind to a halt,” Charles suggested.

“That's it,” Margaret replied. “We think, at this time, that these two conditions are the tools that establish the experience of reality and illusion. And that all symptoms arising from illnesses related to mental health, have these two as the basis.”

“It's Dwaraka,” said Charles.

“Excuse me?” inquired Margaret with raised eyebrows.

“I'm sorry,” Charles apologized, “just something from the Sanskrit experience.”




It amazed Charles that a person can find anybody, he was looking for these days, by simply inquiring into the search engines. On his Facebook account that night, he had an e-mail message from Mike.

The message was addressed to him with a short note. It said a Mike Flanders wanted to speak to him on certain issues and to confirm his identity by return mail. Charles replied in the affirmative, with a comment that the pancakes in Dennys are great.

Mike's reply arrived an hour later.

It said he was back in the country but for security reasons was staying in another city.

It said that he wasn't sure if he ought to inform Charles of the events that he had encountered in the last two years. But certain incidences, he encountered recently has caused such a consternation in him that he just had to get it off his chest.

He referred to the two years in India as having taught him humility. It said it was just enough for him to step down from an impression of his own professional nature and to view the fact that many situations that take place in our daily lives are filled with an exactness resembling trained professionalism.

He mentioned his trip to the Crimea where he had met the Queen Etsiraga, and his father the Satyr. It said, he has come to understand himself better and that a little effort by man each day is received with great aplomb by forces in our lives, who are there to protect and help us grow, even in the darkness of our ignorance about these issues.

He then referred to a loose end he wanted to tie up in Belfast. His companions had thrown a hood over his head and driven him out to an isolated farm on the moors. There he had met again, the brother of the girl he was once madly in love with. It had almost cost him his life in Kosova.

He said he had made a present of a Luger to Bosennica. On reflection, he didn't know why he did that. Perhaps the fates had guided him.

In the conversation that followed in the company of free men, something had pulled the hammer back in Bosennica's head. He must have figured that he had lost the protection of the pack in Northern Ireland. He was handling the Luger and suddenly, shot the three Bonners who were there and held it against me and the Fenians.

It had appeared to Mike that there was no greater animal than the man who stood there that day. He said it reminded him of their conversations about the dreaded Mura of the Indian legends. His home had been divided and he had nothing to call his own anymore. He had to reunite or die trying.

"He said he had always wanted to know how good a Seal is. And with that he said he'll be waiting for me outside. I took an automatic from one of the Fenians and went to look for him."

He confirmed Charles's comment from previously, that all our rage and anger about the world and everything else actually comes down to one man. We have to meet him and get it over with. He had shot the man in the back of the head after placing him face down in the bog about a mile from the house.

On a separate matter, he suggested that Charles try to get in touch with Gangothri. He has left the hotel and nobody knows where he is.

He thanked Charles for hearing him out and ended with the best wishes of the season. In a footnote, he suggested that Charles destroy the message after reading it.

Charles deleted it.



Chapter 11 The banyan tree


Charles arrived in Srinagar two days later.

He figured it wouldn't be too difficult to locate Gangothri. A man with purpose is easier to understand. Gangothri sought to escape from the law. Secondly, he wanted release from his sins. He's had experience orientating himself to new environments. In relation to the territories they were in, it is generally clear where he can achieve both.

He figured that that's how Mike had killed Bosennica. A seal is trained underwater. It is ideal training for night combat. They would have tracked each other over the moor, possibly in a radius of about a mile. Mike would have waited for nightfall. Once the sun set, he would have had the edge over Bosennica. The bog area may have been the only open source of water available to both men out in the weather.

At the hotel, Charles had come to learn of the situation from the housekeeper. Curiously, the Kashmiri police, had later brought in some Russian types in suits, that had made inquiries about Mike. So now, there might well be a manhunt for two people, suspected of the murder.

In addition, the chef's brother from Pakistan had come by to make inquiries.

Charles realized that the Indian Brahmanic traditions would not deal with Gangothri. Blood is not dealt with by the Thevagon elements that support the cause of the Thevan. They would have asked Gangothri to clean up first. This would involve two parts.

First, the Mahimorata factor, comprising elements of world justice, would have thrashed him to bits, removing all relations and ex-communicating him from society. That he may have already done in his teenage years, with some exceptions.

The second is the Innamorata factor, where he'll have to suspend his personal identity. This, as far as Charles knew, Gangothri had not done. This is accomplished in two ways. The growing paranoia and self persecution would force his conscience to succumb to the rule of law and social customs, as pre-requisites for survival. This would weaken his ego completely initially and he has to find a way hold himself in position.

Secondly, he would have to seek the Atharva. A quick check on the internet revealed the most distinguished schools for the Atharva, in Kerala, on the South West coast of India. Charles would have to seek him there. The studies involve herbal remedies, self defense and the Acharium, which deals with feminine studies.

In the meantime, Charles figured he has to come to terms with his own involvement in Gangothri. Certainly, Gangothri had been useful to his UNESCO studies. He would have to give something of equal value in return to him. Perhaps to persuade him to give himself up to the law when he's done.

Charles sent an e-mail to Mike to apprise him of the news he had received at the hotel, in Srinagar.




Gregory O'Connor was not by any means a patient man. However, he had a knack for getting along with people. He lived with a history of the land in Boston and a fine history it has been. He loved the English like they were his own children. In the original experience of the brotherhood of the Celt, the way their ancestors had come to the British Isles together, it was with the promise of an idea.

The idea was a simple one, that man is capable of determining his own future if he brought his heart to bear with his relations. The English went on to take a severity of control over issues in their relations but they brought civilization to the whole world. To say for instance that the sun never set on the British empire was as much to say that the sun never set on the Celt brotherhood.

There were constant excesses, whether it was in Ireland, Scotland or Wales, but the English boys needed a little something under their belts, if they were to rule the world. Suffice to say, such a feat of a one world idea has never been duplicated by anyone else.

He saw his role as the Justice of the Peace in matters that were not otherwise guided with a clear decorum. It certainly is the man who makes things possible and certainly, one size doesn't fit all.

With the Americans in the equation, it has been a little tricky. The current generation still views Adolf Hitler as the ghost behind the works in Europe and elsewhere. Here was the man who brought real politik to things he did, with a forcefulness that has not abated in its influence to life in these societies. It would be nice however, if it stopped somewhere and everybody could start all over.

He looked at Mike without speaking. Then asked,

“You're retired?”

“About three years ago,” Mike replied.

“I heard that you were an Indian swamy for a while, is that true?”

“For about two years,” Mike replied, “its to cultivate a social attitude.”

Gregory expressed surprise. His large eyes protruded from their sockets with a glassy stare that resembled the look of concern a mother gives to her child.

“They teach those things now?” he asked.

“It overcomes what a man has to do to create an achievement in his career, these days. Refines him in his older years.”

“That's the thing about the Americans isn't it? They'll try anything, “ he said and lit up a cigarette.

Mike waited. It appeared natural to allow Gregory the ' one eye view ' of the situation.

“You know what a Banyan tree is?” he asked through puffs of smoke from his mouth and strained eyes.

“There's one in front of every Indian temple,” Mike answered.

Gregory raised his eyebrows, pursed his lips and nodded in mock appreciation.

“It's three men coming together in a team to cultivate the possibilities for life's survival. Elsewhere they view it as a triangle,” he drew with his fingers,” to make a mountain. The Bonners are saying you chopped down their tree. Do you understand what that means?”

“It was a set of circumstances that rolled into a sudden and unexpected outcome,” Mike replied.

“Unexpected?” Gregory repeated. Then turning his face he said,” he gives a madman a Luger. That's like asking the man what it feels like to hold your prick in your hand. That man has his hand around the trunk of a Banyan tree. You know what that means? That's the prick of three men!”

Mike found that amusing, but made no comment.

“Now you ask your Indian guru what that means the next time you see him,” he said with unblinking eyes. “In the meantime I have to clean up this mess and you can bet your bottom dollar that I will be coming back to you.”

Mike rose to leave.

“You know where to find me,” he said as he left.

Behind him, Gregory rose from the table.

“A purple heart who became a Swamy,” he said, shaking his head. “Whatever will they do next?”



Chapter 12 Urvasi


“My people trace our ancestry to the age of the Vedas,” said Krishna Nambiar. “Our source is in the Atharva Veda, one of the books that recorded the experiences of the early Indic experience.”

He paused to look at Charles, his dark, dewy eyes reflected a vision he held within that seemed both troubled and seductive of the physical environment that it engaged.

“In recent years our lives have been as varied as male prostitutes, who have tried to bring comfort to man and as Kings, who have tried to guide and rule man in his own quest for self knowledge. The art of the Atharva is to bring comfort to the mind of man while he is learning.”

Charles motioned to speak. He took a slight breath, turned his eyes to the man and drew on his attention to what he wanted to say.

“It appears like a process in which you are both teaching and learning,” he commented, then stopped.

Nambiar viewed with prospect what Charles had said. He knew Charles's background as an academic. But he found Charles's manner forthright and it puzzled him. Here was a man, he thought, who brought the play of life to a point of great excitation, an excitation so great that he was capable of whisking away his innamorata on the horse of pursuit and yet did not respond to the love represented in the experience of the innamorata.

Such a man, he figured is a former lover of the innamorata, who now wishes to substitute for the love experience with rationality. Charles's comment was therefore without clear meaning to him. He answered it another way.

“Knowledge consists in knowing and not knowing. You cannot learn something new without at the same time, bringing yourself to the acceptance of the proposition that you, in some way, don't know.”

The sound of a motorcycle pulled up nearby and disturbed their reverie of thought. His two sons came over to the compound of the house where Charles was sitting on a bench with Krishna watching the students practice stick fighting in the field beyond.

It was in some ways typical Malayalam hospitality in this part of Kerala. When Charles had dropped by to inquire whether they had taken on Gangothri as student, the master, Krishna, inquired into Charles's business and then had sent out his sons to check with the other schools in the area.

It was as if some center in our societal relationships took responsibility for the actions of everyone and responded with whatever help it could. It is the way of the Mahimorata-Innamorata relations in the world. Shelley would have called it the heart of the Almeg.

They spoke in Malayalam to the father. He turned to Charles.

“Someone fitting the description of your friend made inquiries at the Parameswaran School. But he did not enroll. Said he'll come back later.”

Krishna instructed one of the boys to give a ride to Charles to the Parameswaran school area. Charles thanked Krishna and left on the motor bike.

They were two small hotels in the Parameswaran school area. When Gangothri opened the door to his room, in one of the hotels, he appeared to Charles like a ghost of a man. He had lost weight, his eyes were downcast but he smiled gently.

“How are you,” he greeted Charles.

“I'm fine,” Charles replied, “how are you?”

“Not so good,” he said as he invited Charles into his room.

They sat on rattan chairs. Gangothri poured some water in a glass and offered it to Charles.

“What do you plan to do?” asked Charles.

“I need help to decide,” replied Gangothri.

“You will have to give yourself up to the police,” Charles advised.

“They'll hang me on a noose,” replied Gangothri.

“It is the law of the land,” Charles suggested.

“My fight is with the Mura,” Gangothri moaned, “ I lost. How is the law of the land on the side of the Mura?”

“It's the choices offered to you by the Mura,” Charles offered. “If he offers to fight you then you must kill him. If he offers to test you, you must pass that test. Where you have failed, you must submit to the judgment.”

“What is the judgment?” Gangothri asked.

“Nobody can tell you that,” said Charles. “ You may enroll in the school to learn and where you have learnt of the arts and come to level with your innamorata, it will tell you what you have to do. But if you run away from the law, the punishment will be brought to you in this life or in the next. Your experience of the world will be taken away from you and you will have to recreate the world from your mind. ”

Gangothri thought about it and then said slowly,

“You're right. That is justice.” Then he added, “To recreate the world....that's Brahmastram. Has anybody done it before?”

“The legends say its Parasuraman, but in today's world, that might be the Taliban and they may not have refined it yet. They might be some other sources.....” Charles trailed off.

“Like what.”

“I can guide you, but you must do exactly what I say. We need a dvd player and TV. I need to get the dvds to Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and 'The Matrix'.

“The movie?” asked Gangothri in an incredulous manner.

“Its a learning process like any other. You have to bring a devotion to it. Then we can supplement it with Siva Purana, while you are engaged in the school.”

“What if the fates don't let me continue?”

“We'll have to appeal to Urvasi,” said Charles. Urvasi is the transvestite equivalent in the human, not yet perfected as Sivan/Sakthi. “If she's not happy with your progress, then you'll have to give yourself up to the police.”


Chapter 13 The way back


In the six months that Charles spent with Gangothri, he proved a good learner. His mind had been in a state of dementia over the last thirty years. In addition, his future prospects were entirely dependent on his initiative and progress in the present course of events. They combined to create a powerful motivation on him.

He was fighting for his life and his responses were based on an anima instinct that experienced a constant threat on its survival. It pointed to the experience of the Almeg in individuals which is experienced as one from our youth. Thereafter, in engaging the sexual experience, it comes to a division in itself, where that division may enhance the sexual experience.

However, over a prolonged period, the division is experienced as a loss of its basic intrinsic nature and the Almeg breaks away from the influence of the individual, in order to attempt a reunion. This causes the individual to lose control and substitutes for the experience by the cultivation of faith, which is the essential Atharva process.

Like Don Quiote, in Cervantes' ' Man of La Mancha ', Gangothri no longer feared death. He lived for the knowledge and had death brought an untimely end to his life, he would have gladly gone with the insight he had gained into life's mysterious puzzles.

From Charles's observation, Gangothri engaged the schema of the Ninja Turtles, to create an understanding of the organization of the forces, arraigned in his life. He was the rat Sinsei, who was the puppet master and herbalist, that moved all else in him. In his emotions, he was April who helped preserve his vanity. His hopes and expectations were the personification of Casey, to whom he taught stick fighting.

The four turtles, they worked out into four divisions of varna in the world and alternatively also represented the four yugas of the universe. Shredder became identified as the inexplicable, when he would lose all motivation to act or when he fell into sudden and deep rages.

The use of the Ninja Turtle theme had another curious effect. Where Gangothri felt that the world had no care for someone like him, he was surprised to find one day, that the creators of the Ninja Turtles had gone through considerable effort, to bring to people like him, a way of understanding himself while he was in the midnight of his dementia.

It helped him to take a transparent and conscious initiative on issues, without losing control of himself and substituting it with blind faith.

His faith acted as a brake on some of his impulses. It acted as a guide to steer him along socially acceptable impulses.

Charles kept in touch with the ' Little Angels ' Center and provided the necessary input and suggestions on cases. At the end of the six months he left for a meeting with McClellan.




The McClellan group had begun under another name in pre-war Germany. Its early research was into ethnicity and the development of genetic research that was consistent with explaining human behavior and its potentials. A big part of the research was based on studies of the Aryan population.

In the post war period, it was shut down, so they moved their facility to Switzerland where they did work on solutions for the pharmaceutical companies. In the 80s, they were taken over by a consortium representing sanitariums in Europe and the US.

“Our past continues to be a block to our continuing efforts,” said Caine in his office. “Without a fresh perspective on issues, we are constantly falling back into the trench of our past.”

Charles considered it for a moment. It surprised him that the situation continued to involve issues of theistic thought and its conversion to living experience.

“Did you have a look at my research on TMNT?” Charles inquired.

“Yes,” replied Caine, “ but I have a little problem. The doctors have identified a condition in my mind that they say is similar to altitude sickness. Unless my red blood cells can adapt to storing more oxygen in my system, my mind itself is persuading my body to reduce its oxygen intake in order for me to apply myself to greater theistic analysis. That's affecting my ability to stay with the issues.”

“There are people who have such an adaptation in their system,” Charles remarked.

'That's correct,” Caine replied, “ and you are going to meet one later. She's a doctor from Peru who's been with us for about a year. Does great research but, it must be the hypoxia, nobody here can understand what she's talking about.”

“Her work is theoretical?”

“ Highly theoretical!” he exclaimed, “ but is consistent and logical. She assigns a definition and naming convention to issues that redefines everything we know about the human condition but when we try to convert that into experience at this time, we are completely lost.”

“You could refer to it as the Esmeralda factor,” Charles suggested, “ from ' The Phantom of the Opera.' It's a unique experience in an individual. Medical science refers to it as Polycthemia, a high haemoglobia in red blood cell, with the possibility of low immunization. How is her temperament?”

“Like a storm,” Caine responded.

“That could be the trench you keep falling back into,” Charles suggested. “Its not the holocaust.”

Caine raised both his hands in a gesture of emphasis.

“That is where we're at on the issues. Our research is still product oriented. I wish we could create a greater input for social understanding of the issues.”


Chapter 14  Lions in the pool house


“Alphonia Queta,” she said as she extended her hand.

Caine had done a salutary kiss on her hand, so Charles just shook it.

“Charles Mohan,” he returned.

“Sanderson,” said the tall barrel chested man in the red swimming trunk.

“Mohan,” he said, with a firm grip on the ex-general.

There were all in their swimming attire as they sat at the table for lunch.

“How is Peruvian different from Spanish?” asked Sanderson.

“We don't do the flamenco,” she answered.

The waiter brought the appetizers and requested their instructions for the sauce for the main meal. There were having grilled steak, rare.

Caine gestured to Alphonia,

“I'll have my usual,” she said, looking at Caine.

“With the coca,” Caine reminded the waiter, “check with the chef.”

He turned to Mohan.

“Your concoction then?” he asked.

“Okay,” Charles said, “ its going to be a recipe.”

The waiter, flipped the page and waited with pencil in hand.

“ Four tablespoons yogurt, one lime (small), one ear garlic crushed not sliced, two tablespoons rum, one teaspoon olive oil, a dash of pepper and iodine salt.”

“I'll have whatever she's having,” said Sanderson.

“I'll have the madeira,” Caine affirmed.

They returned their attention to the appetizers.

During the meal, it became plain to see, where Alphonia got her beautiful complexion. It was showing on Sanderson as he cherished every bite that he brought to his lips.

“I tried it once ,” said Caine. “ it made me hurry for dessert.”

Alphonia peeled with laughter, showing teeth that presented a strong milky enamel.

“You'll have to work on your adaptation,” she said to Caine.

Then she looked across at Mohan and asked him for a bite piece. He cut a slice and stretched his hand out to her with the fork. She stood up partially and placed her lips over the piece and then withdrew.

Chewing on it, she then reached for the burgundy. She sipped it, then mused over its taste.

“You must have a lot of girlfriends,” she said. “I can see how you might discourage them from staying too long.”

Charles tipped his head. His appreciation showed in his eyes.

“An incredible insight, Alphonia,” he said sincerely, “ I am your student.”

“But I hardly know you,” she answered.

“That could be quickly remedied,” Charles replied, then continued, “ Queta, isn't that a mission orientation?” he asked.

“Queta might mean to stop,” she replied. “How is it a mission?”

“When you have seen it all, there's a tendency to want to stop. Most people would substitute that with a new mission in life.”

“That's very clever,” she replied, with both her hands clasped around her glass of wine.

Caine brought himself to address the general, with the question,

“Is it true General, that the American dream shut down the Latin favor for fun?”

The general took a moment to consider.

“You're referring to the battle with Santa Ana at the Alamo,” he answered. “ I....I....have to say, that we took quite a bit of loss ourselves.”

Alphonia looked at him with endearment and said,

“You're a gentleman, sir.”

“Thank you, Madam,” the general gushed with delight.

They retired to the bar after the meal. The conversation flowed with the same languid sense of what is possible in all things.

In a private moment, Caine pointed out to Mohan why they can't understand her theories. They were too engaged in the sense of the comfort that it produced.

“You'll have to break out before coming back to it,” Charles suggested.

“You'll have to tell that to the general,” Caine replied.

On the other end of the pool, the general was in a keen conversation with Alphonia. Her snowflake design blue bikini shone brightly in the afternoon sun. It appeared that she was murmuring with approval.


Chapter 15  The protocol of the scarab



Charles took a flight from Geneva to Washington DC. From there he rented a car and drove to Bethel. He had agreed in principle to take up a position in McClellan, but needed about three months to tie up loose ends.

He met Nahmakanta at the same bar and restaurant that they had their meeting before.

“You remember asking me whether I had native American ancestry?” he reminded Nahmakanta.

“Yeah, you have a slight tan, like an Hawaiian,” he replied.

“Well, I'm pleased to confirm that you may have East Indian ancestry,” he said. He reached into his pocket and produced the gold scarab. He put it in front of Nahmakanta on the table.

“What's this?” Nahmakanta asked.

“It belonged to a very pretty lady,” Charles answered. “But she didn't want anybody else to have it. So when she died, she had it buried with her.”

“So this proves that the migration was from the civilizations in the early kingdoms of Egypt,”
Nahmakanta exclaimed.

Charles paused to think and then said thoughtfully, “That's now academic. We have moved from there to a greater world view. But this belongs to your people. I want you to have it.”

Nahmakanta took the scarab and examined it closely.

“I'm going back to the wife, if she'll have me,” Charles said. “What about you?”

“Things have been working out recently,” he said. “I might if it works out.”

Charles produced a piece of paper with the name of Krishna Nambiar and the address in Kerala.

“This is someone you may want to meet someday. He teaches the art of the Atharva for people who want to continue the pursuit of their studies. Its possible that your peoples' Sanskrit background is tied up with Krishna's people.”

He gave him the paper. Nahmakanta stared at it for a while.

“You said before that Kanta is the name of the one who loved the world,” he began slowly.

Charles cut him off.

“Its an older name. Thereafter, the Indians changed the name to Kannan. It is the archetype of Krishna of the Mahabarata. “

Nahmakanta sat silently.

“I don't know why I did it,” he said. “Something in me compelled me to help you, otherwise you would not have had your initial proof.”

Charles squeezed the man's shoulder.

“Not a problem,” he replied, then added, “You are getting more American each day.”

Nahmakanta laughed. Charles rose to leave.

“Don't you want to know if its truly from the Egyptians?” he asked.

Charles turned.

“It's like the lesson in the Mahabarata. Somebody dreamt up a story that would teach the people then, an important lesson about life. How the story got started is not important today. It is up to man to understand the nature of his mind and how he got here in the first place. Then he builds his own reality.”

“I just wanted to help,” he repeated.

Charles shook his hand.

“Thanks for everything Nahmakanta. Have a good life.”




He arrived in Los Angeles airport, picked up his car from the parking lot and drove to Pasadena. He turned into Melrose Avenue and to his house. He parked on the street and walked up the driveway.

There was a note pinned to the door.

“The astrologer said you might come back today. I've gone to the supermarket. Thought I'll get some steak. The key is under the mat. Be back later.”

Charles let himself in. The house had an odor of spices. It reminded him of Kerala.

End of Book III