It’s the fuehrer-ocious inferno dude, who’s kleaning kampf-karma, with a scoundrel scheme to avoid unfortunate metamorphose, they take a wanderlust walkabout, in the land of light-bearing crystal gifts and velvet poems, and halo-wreathed monks meditating in the midst of oceanic waves of cacophonous howling, and indigo clouds blooming above, and you can be in my dream, if I can be in yours … because the Tambourine man told me so.
“Its dreamland in the old homestead once again folks,” thus whispered the corny voice in Jeb’s head. He found himself in continuance of the last episode, as if only a few minutes had past. He and Jehrom and Sreejinn were there, same place, same conversation … and Aristo is floating around them like a starship in orbit. Aristotle, the space dog, is silently flying in circles, doing recognizance of the perimeters, making sure no undesirable spirits are lurking about on the fringe. Sreejinn then told his story to a mystified Jeb and Jehrom;
“This all happened,” said Sreejinn, “not so long ago, and then again, it was a long, long time ago, the story of the long life of myself, or they knew me back then as … Asvatta. It sounds like a fairy-tale story, well … that’s sort of what it is.
“The place was known as Bharta Varsa in ancient times, now it’s known as India. The time period was not that long ago, say around the mid 1940’s or so…
“Of course, my friend Jeb, you are wondering how that is possible, seeing how that would make me an old geezer. That’s part of the story, the ongoing saga of Asvatta, the ancient wanderer … let me begin.
“He awakened that morning and dressed, did his morning duties, and started walking. Asvatta, the wanderer of endless time and space … began another dawn of destiny.
“He followed the voice within, just as he always did countless times in the past. This time the voice told him to walk to the north, to go to Kashmir, and trek into the mountains. He traveled along the bank of the Ganges, passing hermitages and sages on mats of kusa grass, some with white holy markings on their foreheads, and some with shaved heads, and some with long matted hair, some with eyes closed in deep meditation, and some murmuring on prayer beads. All sages appeared to be in a trance, oblivious to the outside world.
“He finally reached the town of Hardwar and entered the perimeters, following a crowd of pilgrims. Seeing a commotion ahead, he wormed through the crowd, to see what was going on. There he pushed to the front of the crowd, and saw a band of foreigners upon the path. They were strangely attired with European coats and the swastika symbol on sleeve, curiously pointing in a clock-wise direction. Asvatta had seen this sign many times at Vedic sacrifices, in the proper counter clock direction. This, he thought, is what caused all the commotion. Asvatta suddenly felt a pang of distress run through his body, which seemed to be invisible barbs of energy coming from the enigmatic figure of the leader.
“Asvatta approached the group and inquired as to why they donned this symbol. He stood patiently as a soldier conveyed his question to the leader, who then turned around to examine him. His eyes penetrated the wanderer for a good amount of time and then the leader said something into the ear of the servant. His servant then walked up to Asvatta, relaying a message from his master, that he would be pleased to have his company for dinner, shortly. Asvatta gave his acceptance, as he glanced back to the master, who was still surveying him with an incisive gaze.
“Asvatta entered the master’s tent and sat cross-legged before his desk.
“Namaste,” welcomed the master, with thick accent.
“Asvatta met the harden gaze of his host, whose crow black hair, combed straight over, and a peculiarly trimmed and thick mustache accented a stone-cold stare.
“Pleased to meet you,” said Asvatta with polished English. “Asvatta is my name.”
“Yes, pardon, Adolf’s my name, world conquest’s my game,” he said with a jab at humor. It seemed that Asvatta possessed a chameleon charm to swing an ashen gravity mood to a copasetic hue of mirth.
“The master continued, “As they say in the western world, I’m head-honcho of the superman tribe … and some people are trying to make me the head-less honcho, heh heh.”
“Ah,” said Asvatta, “A refreshing spot of humor there, after what you’ve been through.…”
“Being serious all the time can get you killed, you know.” the master said.
“In more ways than we can know.”
“I’m just a regular guy like everybody else. I got problems like other people do.”
“I can imagine that’s so … well.”
“Then the master turned a shade more serious and said, “A stranger I am … in your land, searching for a guide, seeking astral advise from planets and signs…”
“We’ll see what we can do.”
“I am in need of knowing … things of the future,” he continued, “I’ve tried other methods of divination, the ancient Teutonic practice of pouring lead for prediction, mandalas, astrologers, seers….”
“Inquiry? … into the ways of providence?”
“Yes. Barely escaping coup de’tat, I slipped away to India, looking for astrologers … those who see into the future.”
“Fortunate you are,” said Asvatta. “To arrive at the right place and exactly at the right time. India is more than snake charmers, some adepts hold the science of the stars within the palm of their hands … the art of divination. Thank your lucky stars, one such astrologer sits before you.”
“The master’s eyes sparkled with this information, and said, “I barely escaped with a thread of life. Assassins seemed to shoot up out of the dark. What lies ahead?”
“Omens do foretell.”
“Cleaning up a little kampf karma?”
“Never mind … pray tell your fear of the future … and something will portend.
“How shall it portend, pray tell?”
“Let us survey your palm, and we’ll see how the future waxes in the stars.”
“The stone cold eyes of the master widened in anticipation, as he gazed evenly upon his company, and said, “I slipped into your country incognito, with a few friends and guards. Things have turned for the worst. I need guidance from the seers. Enemies pummel at my door.”
After a brief hesitation, the master scrutinized his visitor and said in a low tone, “Besides the astral consultation, I am also in search of something valuable, a spear reputed to be of divine powers.”
“Asvatta’s arching eyebrows seemed to say, “What spear is this?” and then he said, “I thought you already had one.”
“But there’s another, it’s said to be infused with the power of a demigod, and two are better than one. Anyway, we’ll talk of that later.” After a pause, the master said with raised eyebrows, “You seem to know a lot about me…”
“We have our ways. Some adepts of India do very well seeing into the future … we have no need for crystal balls.”
“Asvatta took a few minutes to do his calculations. It was obvious that he was a master at his craft by the speed of his mathematical prowess. “So, we see, by your sudden fate line change, and by examination of jhotir, I … I am fain to say, I am the harbinger of foul news, Herr Fuehrer.”
“His eyes turned plaintive, seeming to say, “Out with it….”
“There is no doubt of it, this life, alas, the curtain may be dropping, the final act commences, the fat lady singeth, the last of the Mohicans drops the hatchet, just as the sun sets exactly on time,
setting also in the East this time, everything ends on it’s own schedule, all good things come to an end, as will the war and…..”
“Adolf’s eyes flashed with a penetration that could wilt the snows of Mount Everest. The thought of being hurled from the tent by the mere heat in those eyes, crossed Asvatta’s mind.
“What means thou by Mohican hatchet? The sun sets when?”
“Never mind, sorry about that, please Herr Fuehrer, kindly contain the heat in thine eyes, burn me not … it is no one’s fault, this happens to every man, in due course of time….”
“You’re right,” said the man, “it happens to every man, you are right, sorry, it’s just that so many plans are unfulfilled,” and then he turned down the burning gaze … which flickered and went cold.
“Then Asvatta said, “Every man says that at the end, how his plans are undone.” Somehow Asvatta regained the master’s confidence, and cast his chart again, and encouraged him, saying “Do not protest too much, Herr Fuehrer, plans may be foiled in the here and now, but they might be rekindled and they just may well turn out again … on the other side.”
“What do you mean?”
“What I mean is … nobody ever really dies … when death occurs, one is sure to be reborn, and adjustments can be made, with help from those on the other side.”
“I have heard of the soul, from your ancient texts, some I have read. And there are helpers from the other side, you say, but how is that going to help me and my plans?”
“I see from your chart, your next birth may have its consequences, but your consciousness will remain intact. And with one’s original mind intact, one may still promote one’s designs.”
“You may again take it up … where you left off.”
“How is it possible?”
“Have you heard of yogis?, and how they have this power … called mystic power?”
“Yes, I’ve heard many tales of this, in your land,” said the Fuehrer, “they live for hundreds of years. They can become smaller than an insect or as large as whales, or change their shape to any form, or travel to the sun or moon in an instant. I have heard.”
“It is all true, I assure you. Here’s the deal. I only ask for a little faith, that’s all.”
“Well, ok, I guess I don’t have many options, do I?”
“You shall procure someone … who can follow you into the other side….”
“To the other side?”
“Yes, this is possible. A yogi can follow…”
“Herr Hitler said, “So what is to happen, am I to convince some such yogi to … uh, follow me, or meet me there, or what?”
“I will consult you on how. One such yogi could possibly save you from unfortunate metamorphose.”
“How can that be? Can karma be changed?”
“He may well do that. Just as one such yogi is adept at shape-change, he could help you in a similar fashion. He could clean up your karma. You might begin your campaign again.”
“Herr Hitler’s face perked up a little.
“You are in luck, you can go to Kumbha Mela and search out such a yogi, I will direct you.”
“His eyes gave answer enough. Agitation gone, they again shone with a misty vision … eyes that shine in the truth of astrology and the mystic sciences, eyes that behold the horizon, with which to burn enemies, and see death and rebirth, which foresees victory in the hereafter.”
More of this in “Katz of Hinterland” a novel – http://tinyurl.com/Katz-Amazon
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