Boy Wonder Sacrificed by Guardians


He Gave His Youth


As Rajan breathed in the fragrance of his garland of champaka flowers, he felt wonderful pleasure as he gazed at the nearby garden and courtyard. A small deer loitered about without care, while a pair of Coo-coo birds sweetly sang in a nearby ashoka tree. Brahmins chanted mantras, and a shenai player enhanced the atmosphere with ragas. The Himalayas jutted up into the sky, beautifying the northern skyline. They seemed very near.


The muni took his seat and played a tampura, he began to sing some devotional bhajans. He sang for some time with eyes closed and intense emotion, his head moving side to side. Drafts of sandalwood incense mingled about. He ended with the refrain of “Jai Rama, Sri Rama, Jai Jai Rama.”

The muni suddenly stopped singing and remained motionless, eyes closed, remaining still, as if in trance for a long time. The atmosphere turned quiet and grave. Everyone felt a pervading peace. A smile lit up his face as his eyes quickly opened, and he uttered “Jai Rama,” his eyes shining with intense spiritual emotions. He offered his welcome again to the guests.


“I know all about your adventures,” said the muni, “We have feathered spies everywhere. Also, the high priests of Jaipur sent messenger birds to inform me. I am glad that you made it this far. We did not anticipate the intrusion of demons so soon, but you will have no fear of demons in this circle of land. This ashram and forest area is protected by multi-dimensional mantra armor. It is impregnable by those in the gross modes of ignorance. So, how may I serve you?”

“Thank you kindly, your holiness, for your hospitality and assurance of the security of this ashram,” said Rajan. “Would you please tell us of this world, and describe the path most beneficial for those who are always feeling fear and lamentation.”


The muni replied, “This world is made of dualities, and the path to contentment is fraught with difficulties, and yet everyone is desirous of some happiness. I know that well myself, for I have tried for many life-times to get happiness. By the blessings of my Guru, I received the mystic vision to see my past lives. I was so many things; I was once a doctor, a millionaire, a king, a lawyer, poet, composer, and a philosopher.


I’ve had little spots of happiness in those lives and now I see that the happy times were short-lived in so many earthy lives, and the good years are always short. Although this knowledge is known to all men, still they pursue the illusion of temporary happiness.

I wish to tell a tale from the age-old texts which will shed light upon this. This story is a part of a long epic told by Lord Shiva to Parvati.” He then spoke the story which goes as follows:

Once a King, named Chandravaloka, hunted in a forest and he lost his way and came upon a large lake filled with blue lotus flowers. He spied a young girl upon the far bank beneath an Asoka tree. He approached the maiden to inquire of his way and beheld her comely shape and features so that he thought her to be born from the planets of the celestials. He found out that she was born of the Apsara Menaka from the hermit sage Kanva, who lived near by.

The King went to that sage who shown bright as the moon and sat surrounded by his star like followers. The King worshipped his feet, and in return, the sage requested that the King give up his cruel sport of hunting the poor deer.

The sage said, “Do not all the living creatures fear death, and so why do you slay them without reason? Have you not heard the story of Pandu? Who mistakenly shot a shaft into a sage who was disguised as a deer?”

The King agreed to this request, and the sage Kanva being pleased with him, granted him a boon. The King’s wish was to accept the sage’s daughter, Indivaraprabha’s hand in marriage. This boon was granted and the King set off with his new bride to return to his kingdom – and they were followed by the sage’s tear filled eyes.

Shortly, the sun being wearied with the toil of the day, seemed to set down to rest upon the mountain peak. The silvery moon rose up and ushered in the darkness of night and the host of twinkling stars, and they all seemed to whisper amorous songs of love that caused the fairy-like entities of the woods to dance and fly about the boughs and creepers. Just then, the King found an Asvattha tree on the bank of a lake whose waters were as pure as the mind of a transcendentalist. Beneath the tree was a secluded spot surrounded by dense boughs and leaves and carpeted with lush grass. They took rest upon a bed of flowers beneath the undulating moonbeams which sparkled about the bowers and creepers like jewel-lamps.


The next morning, the moon seemed to sink in fear of the angry rays of the sun which appeared like a curved sword eager to slay the lord of the night. Suddenly, a pitch black demon, a Brahman-rakshasa, appeared there like a thundercloud with yellow hair like lightening. He wore a garland of entrails and drank blood from a skull as he uttered a horrible cry through his projecting tusks.

He vomited fire and hurled a fiery rage at the King, saying, “Rascal, I am a Brahman-rakshasa by name of Jvalamukha, and this dwelling by the Asvattha tree is my abode, not to be trespassed upon by any of the Gods themselves. How presumptuous has thou come to enjoy it, and so ye shall reap the fruits of your offense. I will drink upon your blood here and now.”


The King heard the ghastly decree and his wife fainted away in fear, and he said humbly, “Pardon this sin, oh great one, for I am a mere mortal traversing through your land and am a guest seeking your protection.”

The demon relented and granted him pardon only on the condition that the King bring him a human sacrifice of a boy of seven years old and of such a noble character that he would volunteer himself for the King’s sake. Also, the boy’s father and mother must place him before the demon and hold his hands and feet while the King slays the boy with a sword, all on the seventh day. If this condition was not met, then the demon would lay waste upon the King’s court.


The King thus agreed to these conditions and went back home in great despondency, for he could see no possible way to find such a willing victim. Arriving at his court, he counseled with his ministers in a dejected state, but one of his wise ministers said to him-

“Do not be forlorn, for I will find such a boy, for verily within this world such wonders are to be found.”


That wise minister made a gold image of a seven year old boy and placed it on a chariot and carried it all about the kingdom in every town and village along with the following proclamation that whosoever would be a boy of seven and of noble mind to be made sacrifice and have a mother and father to hold his hands and feet will benefit his parents with this golden image along with a hundred villages.

And it so happened that such a Brahmin seven year old boy did appear, who was born from a previous life’s wish to only benefit his fellowman with any sacrifice that was asked of him. The boy approached the chariot and agreed to give himself and then ran off to tell his parents.

He submitted to his parents with folded hands the following plea, “For the good of the King and his people and to end your poverty I wish to offer up this temporal perishable body of mine by way of sacrifice to a flesh eating demon, if you agree.”

His parents could only respond with faces screwed up with horror as they said, “What kind of monsters do you take us for, as if any parent would agree to such an abomination! Is your brain fevered? Or has some evil planet stricken you?”

The boy answered with all sagacity, “I speak not out of illusion, but with intellect honed by the wisdom of the ancients versed in Vedanta. This body which is impermanent and full of disease and is destined to end at any time is only meant for the service and welfare of others. In this transient world of pain, the only permanent virtue is achieved by sacrificing one’s temporal body for the benefit of all beings, and what more devotion to my parents could I give then to end their poverty forever?”

So, gradually the boy convinced his weeping parents by many similar discourses and they finally agreed.

The King was delighted to find the boy with such noble character and he adorned the boy with costly jewels and garments and garlanded him with fragrant flowers and rubbed expensive oils and sandalwood paste on his body and placed him on a royal elephant and took him to the abode of the demon with his parents following.



Beneath the Asvattha tree, the King’s priest made oblations into a sacrificial fire and summoned the demon who appeared upon the scene with a loud laughter and ghastly appearance. His eyes blazed and his countenance cast darkness to all directions.

The King bowed before him and said, “I have kept my promise in delivering the boy upon the seventh day.” The demon licked his tusks as he gazed wickedly at the boy.

The boy then said, “The benediction rewarded to me for my deeds, I pray, is not salvation to the heavenly planets which benefits not others, I ask only to give up my body for others, birth after birth!”

At this behest, the celestials crowded the heavens in wonder at the boy and they rained flowers upon him.

The boy was placed before the Brahman-rakshasha and the mother and father held his hands and feet and the King raised his sword to strike and suddenly they were astounded so much by the loud laughter of the boy that all, including the demon, fell to their knees with folded palms and stared with wonder into the boy’s face.

“And this is the meaning of the child’s laughter,” said the muni, “please hear … when a weak person is in threat of his life, he calls upon his father and mother to save him, and if they are not present, then he appeals to the King, and at last, he propitiates his protective deity. But in the boy’s moment of danger, his parents held his feet and hands with greed of gain, and the King was ready to slay him to save himself, and the Brahman-rakshasha demon, who somehow was his protective deity, was ready to eat him!”

“The boy laughed hard and said to himself, “`See how great is the illusory potency of Maya, by her power such so-called parents and so-called Kings are so deluded for the sake of their temporal bodies that they will do anything, and they are filled with such strong desires to continue their existence in such a world where even Brahma, Indra and all demigods must perish themselves!'”

Thus the boy laughed out of joy and wonder at the insurmountable power of Maya.”

“And so,” said the muni, “it is difficult to capture that will-o-wisp called happiness. There is happiness experienced by those in the modes of goodness, but that happiness is always wedged in by other things that are full of unhappiness.

The poet or philosopher gets some intellectual bliss, but that is eclipsed by birth and death, and all the way through this mortal life is pain, enemies, and disappointments. But, they still like this short spot of brief happiness, because it is better than nothing at all.

It is only when they finally hear about the vast ocean of Amrita, the nectar of immortality, that they can finally see the brevity of earthly life for what it is. On the scale of eternal time, such happiness is but a brief moment, like flickering lightning in the night sky. Real happiness is like the blazing sun in the sky.”

“What would be that vast ocean of Amrita?” inquired Rajan.

The muni answered, “That vast ocean of Amrita is a gushing river of spiritual sound vibrations cascading down from the top of the universe, just like the celestial waters of the Ganges. This river of sound is innundating all the saintly sages and devotees in the form of Gita, Bhagavata and countless other transcendental sounds, Jai Rama, Sri Rama, Jai Jai Rama!”

Excerpt from “Gift of the Siddhas”


Here's another jnani yogi falling from the sky, straight from the Brahmajyoti!  ["Thus after some time they fall again to this material world"]

Another jnani yogi falling from the sky! Straight from the Brahmajyoti! [“Thus after some time they fall again to this material world”]

Come on people! Even with my small brain, I can see an obvious design in all, from DNA on up to galaxies, the Golden Ratio!!

Come on people! Even with my small brain, I can see an obvious design in all, from DNA on up to galaxies, the Golden Ratio!!


From James Robinson Cooper : What’s more rational ? To look inside a human cell, see libraries of digital information, biological machines and thousands of biological computers and conclude the cell has been designed Or to look inside a human cell see libraries of digital information, biological machines and thousands of biological computers and conclude it all happened by chance, put together by the blind forces of nature?


Ah! The sweet sound of Krishna's flute!

Ah! The sweet sound of Krishna’s flute!



Teleporting Across the Ocean


After Chandra finished his ritual duties, he knows that it is time to teleport across the ocean, back to Sherlock’s domicile … and so his two feet arrives upon the cobble stones of Baker Street, within a wink of an eye, and he drifts through a small crack in the window sill, like a wisp of fog, and he duly appears before Sherlock in a slightly visible ethereal body … and then, sitting opposite Sherlock’s confounded facial expression, Chandra said, “Namaste Lord Sherlock,


“Take a look at this drop of water,” continued Chandra, as he takes an eyedropper from his coat and squeezes a drop onto the table’s top. “You asked me about man’s eternal soul, well, there are hundreds of thousands of microscopic organisms swimming around in this drop of water, and yes, they too have souls, just as the huge body of an elephant has a similar soul of the same size. Whether the body be huge or infinitesimal, the soul within floods the entire body with consciousness.”

Sherlock reaches for something in a drawer, and Chandra says, “Put away your magnifying glass, Sherlock, it will not allow you to see these souls, nor can you see the bodies of these tiny creatures swimming around in their vast world of liquidity. I have teleported into the far future, and I have looked at specimens through their powerful microscopes, and still the soul is invisible to our eyes, because the soul is one ten-thousandth the tip of a hair, and thus invisible to our eyes.”


“Sometimes the path can be a little bumpy in the beginning,” whispered Chandra into Sherlock’s ear.

“We can converse person to person, no need for whispers,” said Sherlock.

After a long pause, Chandra continued, “the path most often requires one to discard baggage that prevents the seeker from flying upward into the heavenly realms …”

“And this means that I must discard something … what?” implored Sherlock.

“Let me narrate a story which illustrates this situation of shedding things that hinder,” offered Chandra, and he told a story thus;


“Once upon a time, on the peripheral edge of the Bermuda Triangle, there rested an exotic bird paradise on a celestial island in the sea.

“Bermuda Triangle?” wondered Sherlock…

“Yes, this triangle was known by men to be a cursed area of the sea, off the coast of Bermuda, and was always a great mystery to man, as many boats and aeroplanes have disappeared after entering it’s domain. The truth is, this area is a conduit, it is like a wormhole, or a portal that teleports whoever enters, and transports them into other dimensions, other lands, other planets, into different eras, into different centuries.

What is on the "other side?"

What is on the “other side?”

“That island on the edge of this Bermuda wormhole, was populated by exotic birds who happily lived in peace for centuries, because it was protected by the curse of that triangle, and humans feared the reputation of “they who enters nare ever return.” Thus that abode of the exotic birds flourished, until one day a wooden ship appeared like a bad dream, with it’s black flag of skull-and-cross-bones flapping in the wind. The birds turned their colorful necks to observe this ship, full of black-bearded pirates, who then proceeded to do what man does best…”


And Chandra paused a few moments, as Sherlock’s eye-brows arched, as if to say, “what, pray tell, what is it, that man does best?”

“The very thing that man, the two legged animal, does best … is to kill every living creature that lay within his wicked eyesight…”

“What you say is true, oh sage, please tell me why this is so?” pleaded Sherlock.


“Why does man delight in killing? This is because he is not in harmony with the creative golden spiral of the universe. He cannot create anything wondrous with his two clumsy hands … therefore he is envious of all that has beauty … envious of all that flows with the magical Fibonacci numbers, he is disharmonious with all that is seen in the golden ratio of the divine proportions of creation,


and all he can do, is to use his gift of free will, and wrongly choose to kill that which he fears, that which is beyond his comprehension. And thus he thinks his crude murder of life to be a sort of brutish creativity … like it is some kind of esoteric work of art … but it is only his fear and hatred of God’s immaculate creation.”

“And so,” continued Chandra, “the beautiful birds resided in caves etched within the side of a great mountain, and thus Blackbeard and his motley crew of pirates proceeded to fire their man’o-war cannon balls at the near mountain, which decimated the nests of unsuspecting birds, who raised a squalor of protest.”


The Condor’s only hope of survival from the pirate’s fiery assault was to fly up the sheer walls of the vertical face of the mountain, up to the lofty peaks without hesitation, … but alas, those condors who were attached to their nest and eggs, and tried to secure either nest or eggs held in their talons, they could not make the vertical ascent as quickly, being burdened down’, and they could not escape the cannon balls exploding all about the mountain face, and they fell down to death, while the Condors who flew without a second thought, leaving all behind, only they lived … so, the moral of the story, is that when the house is on fire, rhe survivor exits,  to reach the goal, sometimes he must leave cherished attachments behind. That is what the moral of the story seems to be telling … but then again, things are not always what they seem.”

“There is nothing more deceptive than obvious facts,” said Sherlock, quoting one of his favorite axioms.

After assimilating all of this elaborate elucidation, Sherlock suggested, “Yes, it may seem that the birds that flew off were selfish, just trying to save themselves … and those who tried to save the nest, bore true nobility of heart, possessing a true moral compass.

“But, from another viewpoint, it may be said that in order for one to save himself from imminent danger, the situation may preclude the giving up of one’s attachments, to first save yourself, then go back and save others.”


To this, Chandra said, “Sometimes you can’t save others until you first save yourself … but that is not what really happened! The most common mistake people make, is to smugly think that our particular species of homo sapiens is more intelligent than animals who live in so-called primitive ages … and so it may come as a shock to our big brains, to discover that primitive animals possess the ability to proffer a challenge to one’s so-called modern intelligence.

“And so, keeping that in mind … this is what really happened:”

Some of the Condors pretended to be dead, laying there still, in the nests … while the other Condors flew upward into the clouds, until they became tiny specks in the sky before merging into the clouds. To which the Pirates laughed loudly, and hurled insults up into the skies, crying out;


“Run you cowards, fly away and save your own skin, and let your fellow mates and wives die in your nests, trying to protect your eggs, ha ha, big big birds with big big yellow bellies!!!”

The Pirates thought they were gone, until they heard a  faint wailing noise, way up in the sky,


getting louder and louder … and before they could discern the reality of what was about to happen, a multitude of Condors suddenly materializing out of thin air, and they came swooping down with talons extended, claws eager to dig deep into the backs of the terrified Pirates, who ran here and there, some being picked up in the air with the Condor’s talons so sharp and strong, and firmly embedded into the bleeding backs of hapless pirates, and some were dropped into the ocean, as other terrified pirates ran all about, helter skelter, while the Condors ripped up their sails, tore down their masts, and overturned fires and kegs of oil, which set the ship ablaze.

As the wooden ship became a blazing inferno, more pirates came running out of the bowels of the ship, some jumping into the churning water and swimming ashore, where they lay exhausted on the beach for a long time. After gathering their wits, they looked around, and gazed up into the sky, and they thought that the Condors were gone, and they breathed deeply with great relief and gratitude … and then after a long while, a low and distant growl summoned their attention, and looking towards that alarming sound, they saw small specs on the distant shore, specs that grew larger and larger, until the true shapes began to manifest … and to their utter dismay, the pirates found themselves confronted with a pack of snarling and hungry wolves …


great grey  wolves much larger than ever seen in Europe. Both pirates and wolves stood there staring at each other, the men frozen, afraid to run, and then the whole pack moved simultaneously, just a mere inch, which set off sheer panic throughout the bodies of the terrified pirates, and they all turned and ran for dear life.”



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Books and Stones Telltale the Past


Books and Stones telltale the past

What best endures the ravages of time? The written word or architecture? What gives us the real picture about our past? Was it written manuscripts on parchment and palm leaves that had more impact on history, or was it those great and enigmatic edifices of stone left behind by vanished civilizations?


Lately there’s been talk about these structures on Mars, especially a face visible from space. There’s been fear and wonder about what this implicates. The imagination can go wild and think of amazing implications that will challenge the reality of a worldview we’ve embraced, very challenging indeed. That’s why it is so secretive and controversial with NASA. It seems that people are very afraid to think of things that might change their view of the world. Recently the movie of going to Mars came out, and the structure was in the movie, and some speculate that NASA wasn’t very happy with it.


Such a vision on the surface of Mars sets the senses of man agog, his mind races in lightspeed, reeling in wonder … but what about structures on the earth? Have we really understood the ruins left on earth?, and what they implicate? Denial and secrecy may be more of an issue here than the face on Mars. Have we unlocked the secrets of the pyramids? Have we a clue of the Easter island faces staring out in space? Have we fathomed the enigmas of Machu Pichu? The Mayan temples? What’s the story behind the vast labyrinths of Angkor Vat? Who built these mind boggling conundrums and how? A replication of such construction is impossible in our modern day. We sometimes pride ourselves as being so greatly scientifically advanced, but what do we really know what is really going on … on this earth? What to speak of a face on Mars, have we even barely scratched the surface of the meanings of the astounding puzzles on the face of this earth?


The following information will never be aired in mainstream media and newspapers, because the implications are just too mind boggling, it sticks in the throat, just too hard to swallow for modern man to neatly fit into his preconcieved notions of his world and human history. It beggars the historians to re-think, to re-write, but they are unwilling. Despite resistance and denial, the plain evidence stares us in the face, clear cut and excutiatingly verifiable … a relentless and obdurate statement about the mysterious past of humankind.


Thousands of years ago, we had no archives, no microfiche machines, no libraries, and so the only method of leaving clues for the future was to leave embedded messages in architecture, or give the written story on palm leaves and parchments. Books and stones – and so what do they tell of the past? Man was always leaving his mark in history in the form of architectureal monuments and the written word. What paints a most vivid picture of the true story of our past? Victor Hugo raises this question in his “Hunchback,” when he talks about the Gutenberg press, 1450, and how this event changed the history of man.


Before the ink and plates of the Gutenberg press, long before the printing press, a large body of books were kept well in stock for many thousands of years, in the land of India, written on palm leafs. These ancient books of India are known as the Vedas, which date 5,000 years back into antiquity. It is said there are enough books of Vedic literature to fill a basketball stadium. But most are lost (many distroyed by envaders) and yet there is still a large canon of literature of the Vedas in existence. Still, many people in the world do not know of the Vedas, nor believe in the Vedas. The Indologists from the British empire were especially intent upon discrediting the Vedas. They portrayed the Vedas to be somewhat like old comic books, old fables and myths made up by fertile imagination. The ancient scripts even tell of how a Vedic civilization once existed all over the globe! Scoffers beware … restrain your verdict for a minute, and give the following information a chance for digestion.


What Irony Fate has Wrought!


What irony fate has wrought! Our escape is foiled by a drunken sot, passed out and sleeping on the ground!


Varga wondered how he got included in this whole adventure. He thought back on that day in the forest … yes … it was the cryptic voice within, and he remembered, he acted on the mysterious voice deep within.

“It must be the will of Isvara,” he murmured to himself. “We are puppets in his hands, and he causes us to dance as he wishes.”

The next morning, Varga performed daily rituals and chanted mantras in the stillness of the early morning hours, awaiting the rising sun. He entered the temple and received a garland from the Deity, and gazed upon that brilliant form with shining eyes.


At sunrise, he watched the fiery globe emerge … and he murmured the Gayatri, and the golden rays chased away the fleeing shadows. He meditated on the light of the radiant sun … only a tiny fraction of the Brahmajyoti effulgence … it had once again banished the night’s darkness.


He began his journey with several men, and some pack mules. Sri Satram employed his mystic vision to show Varga the location of the gem, which lay within the lair of a tribe of dacoits. It was a few days journey through a rugged land.


His band journeyed through a mountain pass along trails steep and treacherous. At the end of the second day, they made camp in a moonlit cove of trees. In a short time, one of their trackers spotted the Dacoit’s camp, about six miles away.

In the dead of night, Varga and a few men stealthily crept through some brush to the crest of a low hill and surveyed the camp from a distance. The night darkened as a large cloud veiled the moon, and Varga and his men crept to the edge of camp. They found a sentry who was carelessly falling asleep on his watch. This band of dacoits wore some strange traditional robes with hoods concealing the face.

Varga dexterously circled the unwary man and he detected that the sentry was snoring in a drunken stupor. He quickly bound, gagged, and disrobed him. Varga donned the man’s robe, and instructed his men to wait for further signal, as he skulked into their camp, incognito.


The camp was a ram-shakle tangle of tents and run down huts. There were two well built buildings in the center of camp. The large one appeared to be a tavern and the small one appeared to be a temple.

He milled about, looking for possible clues or leads, and then entered the tavern, his face well concealed by the draping hood.

It was a raucous tavern, the atmosphere was filled with loud noises and peels of laughter. The mayhem was occasionally accented by sudden brawls, and bursting bottles, flashing fists, cursing, and flying chairs. This only charged the enthusiasm and mirth of the belligerent crowd.


Varga leaned against the bar and ordered with a muffled voice. He ease-dropped on a nearby conversation. A grotesque ruffian was boasting loudly, slurring and gesturing like a stinking drunk, his tongue unrestrained, bragging about the capture of a man and some gem of mysterious powers.

There was a sudden crash against the bar and Varga turned to see a big bully taunting a smaller man. Nothing ruffles Varga’s feathers more than the ignoble deeds of a bully. Intolerant of such acts, Varga stepped between the cowering man and the thug.

This enraged the brute so, that he swung at Varga with all his might. Being nimble and quick, Varga eluded his fist and doubled him over with a right to the midsection.

The thug looked up for a brief moment, only to stare with eyes wide open, in total disbelief. His gaze was put to rest, as Varga belted him up and over the bar, and he slid the full length down the polished wooden top, bowling over everyone’s drink.

This caused a large uproar, followed by intense glares, as everyone turned to stare and grumble. The smaller man quickly bade Varga to follow him outside. The crowd was too drunk to meddle, and turned back to their boisterous activities as Varga and his mate exited discreetly.

They repaired to a secluded spot, and the man said, “My name is Sugosh … thank you for saving my skin. I liked the way you knocked him across that bar … why, nobody else would dare interfere. I see you are a stranger, please tell me who you are and how I may repay you.” Varga then introduced himself, and inquired of his story.


“I was captured by this band of rogues at when they raided my small village years ago,” Sugosh said. “The King’s army arrived in time to capture many of the dacoits, but many got away, with me included as their slave. And so, I’ve been waiting for my chance to escape, please take me with you.”

“Sure Sugosh, I’ll get you out of here, no problem, but first you might help me with my task at hand. I am looking for a wonderful crystal gem, said to be in the hands of these rogues.”

“Oh yes,” answered Sugosh, “I can help you with that. Over on the eastern side of camp, there’s a guarded cabin. Within is a prisoner by the name Megadut, and the gem. It seems they caught the hapless fool outside the Shrine of Mahadeva. He was boasting of his possession of some powerful gem.”


Varga and Sugosh set their sights upon that cabin and circled around back through the woods. Varga had to step over several drunks who were passed out and sleeping in the bushes.

Varga thought, what a zest they have for this rot gut brew, how they guzzle it down!

They stealthily made their way to the rear of the cabin. In concealment they heard a conversation of the Guards.


“When is the journey to crater lake to be?” said the first.

The second replied, “Kergold said we will depart tomorrow at dawn, one day before the eve of the full moon. You know how the Kraken is fond of human offerings on a full moon night!” They both cackled loudly, anticipating the fun to be had.


Varga then devised a plan. Sugosh lured one of the guards around to the back with promises of strong drink. The guard scratched his head and weighed the pros and consequences of drinking on the job. He quickly discarded the cons and advanced to Sugosh with a grin. Varga stepped out from behind a tree … as the guard started to gasp in surprise, Varga promptly knocked him unconscious. He then went to the front and commanded the other guard to open the door. The guard glanced at the gleaming dagger protruding from Varga’s robe and complied to the order without a peep. They went inside and Varga gagged and tied up the guard.

Megadut squealed in excitement upon presuming his escape, but his smile turned to a frown as Varga ignored him and instead forced open the box holding the gem.

Megadut beckoned him and pleaded for his release in a submissive voice, “Please take me with you and I will vow my loyalty and service to you … oh great sir!”

At that time, Sugosh submitted this advice to Varga, “Be wary of this base person, oh Varga! See how he pleads with feigned submission! Policy is the true substance of dynasties, and thus one should not accept the fake submission of a rogue, this is clearly seen in the story of the snake and the frog.” Sugosh then related the following story:

Once there was a clever snake who was lazy and unable to catch frogs easily and so he remained motionless upon a riverbank. The King of the frogs was curious and asked the snake, from a safe distance, why he was sitting so still, and why he didn’t eat frogs as of old.


The snake replied, “Once I was at chase of some frog, and by mistake I did bite the finger of a Brahmin’s son by mistake, and he died, and so the Brahmin cursed me to be a bearer of frogs, instead of an eater of frogs, and so here I am, and I cannot eat you, no, I can only carry you on my back.”

And as the King heard this, he became desirous of being carried and so he came out of the water with his minister frogs and they all mounted upon the snake’s back for a ride. After the snake had gained their confidence, he feigned exhaustion and said, “I cannot go a step further without any food, unless you give me food, how can a servant serve without subsistence?”

At this, the King frog said, “alright, I suppose you can eat a few of my followers.” And so the snake ate all the frog followers, and the King tolerated it because of blind pride at being carried about on his back.

“And so,” said Sugosh, “we should not give into false submission or a calamity may befall us for such indiscretion.”

Varga replied, “Oh Sugosh, you give noble advise, and yet I feel compelled to take him in. I remember how Laksmana advised Lord Rama not to accept the brother of Ravana, Vibishana, into his camp. Laksmana said that he was a brother of the enemy and one should never trust an enemy. But Lord Rama said that he never refused anyone who came to him in surrender, and so I shall adopt the same policy, even though I may live to regret it.”

And so the three tried to escape through the back way. They made their way secretly through the woods, with the moon light shimmering about the tree boughs. They were upon the outer limits of the woods and ill fortune fell, as Megadut stumbled over a sleeping drunk in the bushes, and stepped on his head so hard that the stinking lush screamed out in bloody murder. This alarmed a nearby sentry, who alerted his comrades with a loud whistle, and droves of soldiers came from all directions and surrounded them. The odds outweighed Varga as the dacoits were in numbers and were armed with swords and spears.

Being trapped, just as the immortal soul is trapped within the material body, Varga gave a good fight, but they were outnumbered. He opted for discretion instead of valor, on account of the former being the better part of the latter … and he decided to surrender.

They were put into jail, and the dacoits grinned and slapped each other’s backs and shook each other’s grimy hands vigorously, after spitting on them as a token of victory.

As they sat in the cell, Sugosh exclaimed, “What irony fate has wrought! Our escape is foiled by a drunken sot, passed out and sleeping on the ground!”

Varga nodded in sad confirmation and said, “Aye, the devil’s brew has waylayed many a man’s dream.”

Gigantic Ball of Dirt and Trees


Comments & Q’s welcome 🙂 contact at bottom  … also, for best view, zoom in a few clicks 🙂


A tiny kitten snuggled up to her momma, and mentally purred, “Mommy, how does Sanjay know all these things about humans?”

“Well Pinky, you know that most humans don’t have the gift we felines have, which is the ability to telepathickly communicate … to say and hear what we think in our minds, to read other’s minds, and read the human mind. Humans don’t have a clue of this, even though their pets are telling them all the time, like with body language, but humans just don’t get it. They’re not so bright some times. There are a few that have the gift, like the young girl.


“Well, our Sanjay, he possesses our gift a hundred times more than all of us put together. He does what is called “channeling” where he tunes into the human’s brains, sees everything in their minds, at a distance, when they gather information from their books and their electrical boxes, those square gizmos that have moving images of animals and things. Sanjay says that some humans are addicted to these boxes, which they watch day and night.

Sanjay sees all that stuff on the boxes, these things called TVs. They switch around on their TV and tune into things called channels. Sanjay channels the different channels of their TVs, especially the history channel and educational channels, as well as the books which the brighter humans read, and as they gather information, Sanjay also gathers his information, that’s how he knows so much about humans.


“Ditterostra is Sanjay’s old friend, and he constantly inquires from Sanjay, as Ditter has always been curious about the outside world. Being blind from birth, Ditterostra’s handicap had always piqued his curiosity to know about everything out there in the world. And Sanjay is always telling of this world, via his channeling, to his old friend, and some of us listen as well, and we tell others. They always talk about the humans and their world, and their wars. Ditter is especially curious about the wars. I’ve heard my share of these stories … strange animals, these humans.

“Sanjay says that we cats, and humans, and all animals, we all live on this gigantic clump of dirt and trees and water, a very large, round ball … which is speeding around and around, in great circles called orbits … it’s racing around in a great dark sky, called outer space.


This gigantic ball is called planet earth, and although humans are supposedly masters of this earth, they are always having some war going on, battles between lands of people, they call nations. And so these conflicts are always raging on planet earth. Sometimes they have small wars; sometimes they have these big huge wars, called global conflicts. Although they claim to be intellectually superior, still their big brains can’t figure out how to share their world with all the lands of nations, though they’ve had many eons of the passage of time to think it out. They are supposed to be the king of animals, although you’d never know it from what they do to each other. They just can’t stop fighting to be top dog, to be crowned king of the hill, to be the lords of all they survey on this giant ball speeding round and round, the world they call planet earth. That’s what Sanjay tells us.

“Sanjay said that some day he wants to channel some communiqués through this girl, to the humans, and he is going to tell them what he thinks of their so-called civilized race … purrrrr”


High on some branch, the hawk nodded his head, and he then understood the mystery behind the superior intelligence of this feline colony, and he offered this comment, “And then again, who’s going to believe a gothic teen, who says she’s channeling a wild cat from the woods? I mean, that’s really taking a long walk on the far side. As we know, so many humans have spoken and written the same brand of peace and love philosophy throughout the ages, and still there is as much evil in the world as ever before. What’s she going to say, something like…. “Yeah, humans are so cruel, so on and so on … and what is war good for? Absolutely nothing. And how do I know? The voices in the woods, they told me so … and the wise leaders of humanity, they will learn?”

“Yeah, but,” said another voice, “Our nature is to say what is right, even if its redundant … even if it makes little difference…”

Excerpt from

Katz of Hinterland,” a novel –


Recommended blogs:
Catterwaul cuts the crap –
Is it Pinkish? –
Willy Wanko –
Tolkien in Hinterland –
Coronation of Lord Smithy the Third –
Telling the Gents What to Do –
Sherlock  chap 1 –
Sherlock  chap 1 pt 2 –
Sherlock  chap 1 pt 3 –
Sherlock chap 2 –
Sherlock chap 4 –
Mandates of the night sky –
Rory chap 1 – Einstein & golden Ratio
Rory chap 2, the law of confusion –
Rory chap 5 father time –
Mind over matter –
Beehive of devotion:
Even children can take part:
Exhortations of Humble Love –
Real Happiness –
Boy Wonder Sacrificed by Guardians-

Catterwaul Cuts the Crap

Kitty and Butterfly

[Herein is a cat conversation on the advantages and disadvantages of defecating on the floor]

Only cat owners can understand this, others cannot…

Comments & Q’s welcome 🙂 contact at bottom  … also, for best view, zoom in a few clicks 🙂

Voices arose in the woods as Fuzzball perked up her courage to point her way back to the house of the humans…..

“Hey Weirdtail, … that is your name, right?”

“No, the name is Fuzzball.”


“Ok, Fussbucket, or whatever … this is such a bummer, you getting kicked out of the house by the boy. All your domestic pleasure appears to be dashed into oblivion. We can understand your pain. A few of us, once upon a time, we also had dreams of getting into good favors with these humans. We pondered upon the easy life of lounging around on sofas with humans serving us timely meals, and all the endless petting and affection. But, as you might well guess, the petting gets so boring and redundant after a while, the same old thing, over and over. Without life’s struggles, like here in the woods, things will get boring. The constant battle of life makes existence more interesting.


“By contrast, the constant human pampering gets tedious, it becomes shallow and superficial, because … the minute the cat craps inside the house, love flies right out the window … but, then again…”

“..Eh, excuse me … dear Catterwaul, but how could a cat, who is living the good life as a pet, provided for, with a litter box and food and heat and leisurely pleasures … how could he suddenly decide to ruin everything, by some irrational defecating on the floor? This makes no sense.

“Good question Tigertin. We don’t make much sense. It’s hard to understand why a cat does anything he does, as you may well know. The cat species is the most inexplicable animal known to mankind. He is extremely independent and unpredictable, and you might say that he does things like that, like poop in the house, just to assert his autonomy, to exercise his free will, to proclaim his independence of any rules.

“We did heard a story like this …… once upon a time, a cat was living in house pet luxury, for 10 years or so. And then one day he … inexplicably he … Teelock was his name, well … he decided to defecate on the living room floor. Not only once did he do this, but repeatedly he did it, quite to the consternation of his owner, who loved him dearly, until he was forced to be banished to the cruel world, and made to be an outside cat. Then, to punish his owners, he ran away into the woods. And that was his third episode of disappearing. The first time he left, he was gone 5 months, the second time it was 4 months. He hasn’t returned from this third escapade, and may never return … as his ninth life may well have be spent. But, when all is said and done, a cat will invariably assert his free will, withstanding all adverse consequences, even the risk of losing his loving relationship with his human owner.”

“Yes,” concurred Tigertin, “we do have our irrational quirks sometimes, and there are times when we just cast destiny to the wind, being oblivious to all consequences, just to assert our free will.”


“Well,” Catterwaul continued, “you know what they say, that there isn’t anything like a good rubdown from warm human hands … the way they work their fingers into the fur, the deep stimulating of the shoulders, the delicate stomach massaging … and your food is supplied to your bowl, on time, every day … ahhh, that sounds so good … and they regularly change your kitty litter … well, that’s what they say … and I have to admit sometimes, … we are tempted by this being a house cat pet thing sometimes. But let we face the reality, that we’ll never get out of these woods. The thought of leaving the woods does not occur to us, because we know that we belong here, in the wild. In the end, that is meant to be, because there’s something enriching to the soul, to be where we were fated to be, there’s something redeeming about the struggle for survival that makes us feel more alive…”


“Cut the crap Catterwaul,” interjected Tigertin, “you know good and well that if you had the chance to be a house pet, and get the regular food and petting, you’d jump at the chance, and you know it.”


“Well … yeah,” admitted Catterwaul, “maybe so. But, if I were to become domesticated, then one of you would want it also, then another, and another. And the two females with the soft hearts, they would take us one by one, refusing no one, especially when the men are away … and before we know it, there would be hundreds of us accepted into their domicile, and they would build little sheds around the house when our occupation exceeds it’s limits … when there are felines reclining on all the sofas and chairs and floors,


and the men are screaming for their space and sanity … and the food bowls, and the cat litter boxes, don’t get me going on that … so, you see, I would not lead my clan into such an overpopulation predicament, we are suited to be where we are, this is our destiny…

“But fuzzbutton, or whatever your name is, we see that your not receptive to our tough love, wild existence wisdom, it seems you are going back to the house, to give it another try….”


“Yes fellow felines, I am going back to the warmth and security of the house, hopefully to procure the permission of the kind hearted daughter. And this austere life in the woods, in the cold and scrounging for food, it is tempting, but I think I’ll go with the house, if the girl will take me back …. as long as I stay clear of that pesky brother for a while. I heard them talking, the boy and his dad, and they said were going back to the city for a while, so now’s my time to make my move … get back into the heart of the girl … so I’ll see all you cats later.”

“Is Fuzzball really your name?”

“Yes,” he said, “I know … it’s pathetic, isn’t it? It was given to me by the girl human. I suppose I’ll be stuck with it, because I guess I couldn’t talk her into changing it, you know, they can’t hear us, can they?”


“Oh, you might be surprised as to how much she understands,” said Catterwaul.

Excerpt from “Katz of Hinterland,” a novel –


Recommended blogs:

Sherlock  chap 1 –
Sherlock  chap 1 pt 2 –
Sherlock  chap 1 pt 3 –
Sherlock chap 2 –
Sherlock chap 4 –
Mandates of the night sky –
Rory chap 1 – Einstein & golden Ratio
Rory chap 2, the law of confusion –
Rory chap 5 father time –
Mind over matter –
Willy Wanko –
Tolkien in Hinterland –
Beehive of devotion:
Even children can take part:
Exhortations of Humble Love –
Real Happiness –
Coronation of Lord Smithy the Third –
Telling the Gents What to Do –
Game is afoot-


“Katz of Hinterland,” a novel –
“A Day in the Life of Jayananda Thakur” –
“The Beautiful Life of Jayananda Thakur” –
“The Beautiful Life of Jayananda Thakur” – kindle –

He can’t die! He’s Clint Eastwood!!

Clint Eastwood hits the dirt, he took a half dozen bullets … Some enraged man in the audience jumps up and screams, “Bogus!! He can’t die! He’s Clint Eastwood!!” True, the hero of the movie should never die … and this is a hint of what’s next in the Sherlock Time Tweaking saga. Something similar is going to happen to a leading person that will stun readers, something totally shocking and unthinkable! It’s something mind-boggling and impossible to conceive, yet the hard facts seem to confirm that it did happen! [Sherlock says, “There is nothing more deceptive than an obvious fact.”]


Quote from Sherlock’s author-

“Life is infinitely stranger than anything which the mind of man could invent. We would not dare to conceive the things which are really mere commonplaces of existence. If we could fly out of that window hand in hand, hover over this great city, gently remove the roofs, and and peep in at the queer things which are going on, the strange coincidences, the plannings, the cross-purposes, the wonderful chains of events, working through generations, and leading to the most outre results, it would make all fiction with its conventionalities and foreseen conclusions most stale and unprofitable.” ― Arthur Conan Doyle

and now we switch channels into a Pinkish haze…

Is it pinkish? No, it’s a crucifix!

excerpt from Katz of Hinterland


Phelia lays her weary head on a blood-reddish pillow. She feels herself in a rare mellowish mood, and so she reaches for her Pink Floyd CD, the one with the cosmic track that sounds like an interstellar journey, and she inserts it and pushes the play button. She also turns on her DVD player and plays the section of 2001 Space Odyssey, no volume, where the music of Pink Floyd seems to fit right into the imagery. She learned this trick from her friends back in Frisco. It is so uncanny how the music goes along with the footage. The astronaut is speeding through the cosmos and the pinky-floyders are just cooking it up with their trans-cosmic journey, and Phelia is day-tripping on the swirling colors and far-out sounds. Instead of her head jerking around in gyrations, her face slightly tilted back and forth like she had seen a Hindu lady do on TV one time. Then she hears something really weird, something really off. There is some new sound, like something new was just dubbed onto the track. “What is it?” She thought.


“Is it pinkish?” she inquires to herself. “Yes, that definitely sounds pinkish—yeah—or, is it somewhere between a ballerina pink and a clown’s red nose? … really bizarre … the kind of stuff they do, but, although it fits like a glove, I definitely never heard that kind of riff before, and I had it all memorized … at least I thought … uh, something strange is happening here.”


“Now I know,” she thinks. “That sounds like the screeching of… uh … what? A cat screaming? Yes, it is some cat screaming! No doubt about it. Or, is it more like cat chanting in a high-pitched screeching tone?” Then she is irresistibly drawn to her window. It is so freaking dark outside, and the woods looms ghoulishly in a dense bog. But suddenly, she sees a bright flash of light. A spotlight suddenly appears. “What? A spotlight,” she thinks, as she turns back to the flashing journey of the spacecraft and the pinkish concert. But the cat screeches right there, right on time with the music. As if it was dubbed onto the sound track. “How do they know, how to sing along with pink?” She thinks. The music is building up to a climax, and the guitar lead explodes, as David Gilmour rips out his articulate guitar licks in towering form. Then she looks again to the open window, out into the yard, her eyes are dragged to that spot light! That glaring spot light! Somehow, someone, some thing, had turned the porch spot light around. Usually it lights up the porch. This time it was turned around to a particular spot in the woods! And what is in the limelight? Her eyes squint to see what it is. “Wait,” she tells herself, “you are missing the climax of the 2001 pinker mind blow! Turn back to the telly, you are going to miss the best part!” However, unable to turn back to the pinkard crescendo, she rivets her assaulted eyes upon the hideous sight in the woods, accented by the turned spot light. It is a crucifix! Two arms were stretched out and upward, like the crucifixion of Christ! And two legs are nailed with thorns to the rotten trucks of trees. And the head, what is it? “It’s a cat!” thinks Phelia, “it’s a hideously mutilated and crucified cat!!”


A voice appears in Phelia’s ear. It is that old familiar voice of some cat in the woods. It says, “take heed, Phelia, and look for our emissary. He is coming. You will help, you will channel us. You are part of the plan. Do not fail us. We did this. We’ll do it to you, if you fail us.”

Phelia cried out, “You monster, look what you did!”

The voice says, “What is the difference? You humans do this all the time. You gloss it over with euphemisms. You kill animals all the time, and you dare to call me the monster! You string them up, you hang them up on hooks, just like a crucified victim, and then you cook their muscles and stuff their charred flesh into your gullet, you do it all the time! So, what’s the difference between you and me?!”

Phelia thinks for a moment, of what he means, and says softly to the woods, “oh yes, we do slaughter animals all the time, and men think nothing of it.”

“The game is afoot!!” says Silvester Sleuth


A foot? The game is about a foot?

Om Tat Sat

“The big picture means that we look beyond this short life, we look beyond the stars, beyond all suns and planets, and see the whole enchilada, the huge spiritual galaxy out there, full of effulgent planets … I call it the nexus, borrowing the nomenclature from the star trek movie “Generations.” The nexus in the film was a place in the cosmic ribbon, in which once being there, and made to leave, one can only think of how to get back to this nexus, and nothing else … because within the nexus, all desires are instant reality, and time has no meaning. There one holds dear, the deepest longing of his soul, and time does not take it away.” – “Katz of Hinterland” –

Recommended blogs:

Sherlock  chap 1 –
Sherlock  chap 1 pt 2 –
Sherlock  chap 1 pt 3 –
Sherlock chap 2 –
Sherlock chap 4 –
Mandates of the night sky –
Rory chap 1 – Einstein & golden Ratio
Rory chap 2, the law of confusion –
Rory chap 5 father time –
Mind over matter –
Willy Wanko –
Tolkien in Hinterland –
Beehive of devotion:
Even children can take part:
Exhortations of Humble Love –
Real Happiness –
Coronation of Lord Smithy the Third –


“A Day in the Life of Jayananda Thakur” –
“The Beautiful Life of Jayananda Thakur” –
“The Beautiful Life of Jayananda Thakur” – kindle –
“Katz of Hinterland,” a novel –