Dharma Sutra

by David Pugh

  The girl came back in the evening and together they ate a pure vegetarian curry, along with a half bottle of O.C. They ate in silence; Remus was afraid that if he spoke the spell might be broken and he would awaken from this gorgeous dream. Gradually, his past was being washed away; he knew how humiliated he had felt renouncing the honest work of a palm tapper in exchange for the modicum of comfort he was afforded as Bob’s houseboy. He knew people had been talking behind his back, he had traded in his dignity for use of a television and an A/C unit, and he had pretended that he did not care. None of this mattered now, he had no responsibility, his children were all employed by his ex-mistress and their business was helping the family in Guinea Bissau. As he approached his 50th birthday, he felt it was his time to become sannyasin. His friend Jeffrey had tried to explain this state to Remus, before he departed for India and his own search for freedom.

  ‘A sannyasin should aim to become a perfect human being, doing one’s best in every task set, no perfection means no progress. Do your best, no matter how difficult the circumstances, and do not criticise others you think are wrong.’

  Remus liked this idea and liked this simple dream life he was now living. One thing worried him, who was this guardian watching over him now? It was certainly not the girl, she was the hand guided by a greater power. The weeks drifted into months as he pondered on the nature of his new existence. The angel was there every day to pleasure and indulge him, and still not one word was spoken. As a Christian he couldn’t help wondering when the serpent would enter this Garden of Eden and this state of beauty and innocence would be lost to him forever. One morning, returning from his ablutions in the ocean, a well-dressed man approached him.

  ‘Good morning!’ the Indian spoke without a hint of an accent, ‘I am a fisherman,’ he announced.

  ‘You no look like fisherman,’ Remus eyed the expensive suit.

  ‘Well, I assure you that I am,’ he theatrically smiled, ‘In fact, I’d like to invite you right now to a fish lunch and a cold beer at my simple house, how does that sound?’

  ‘Sound good,’ Remus had not had a beer since he got here but he did wonder why he hadn’t tried catching a fish himself.

  ‘Follow me to my humble home,’ the man led the way, ‘my name is Pilak Pampu; we have been neighbours for quite some time but never met.’ It seemed a very long walk north to this neighbour’s simple house. Remus could see holidaymakers on the beach in the distance; they must be close to the city centre. A modern housing estate appeared on his left-hand side, Pampu indicted one as being his modest little home. It was two-storey, with a high compound wall, razor wire providing security. Inside the compound were three camels. Remus asked why a fisherman should need camels.

  ‘A side line,’ Pampu replied, ‘taking tourists for a ride, you know.’ He led Remus to a shaded garden table near the kitchen and brought a Kingfisher Extra Strong beer from a fridge.

  ‘Enjoy,’ he said, leaving Remus with a cold glass, he opened a refrigerator and brought a tray to the table. ‘Lobster or hilsa?’ he proffered Remus the choice of sea creatures.

  ‘Big fish!’ Remus thought the hilsa could feed a family, ‘Have some more beer, while my wife cooks it.’

  Several beers later the cooked fish was placed in front of him, with no rice or accompanying vegetables. ‘Eat, sir,’ handing Remus a knife and fork.

  ‘You join, you wife join, family join, plenty chop, plenty fish!’ Remus protested.

  ‘Whatever is left, dear fellow,’ Pampu smiled rather coldly, the Gambian thought. Remus was never one to turn down free food, but he felt uncomfortable eating like this.

  Nonetheless, the fish was tasty and Remus consumed most of it, along with some more beer.

  When finished he rose and politely thanked his host for his generosity.

  ‘I’m so glad you enjoyed the meal,’ Pampu stared him in the eye, ‘now if you care to settle the bill, it will be 4,000 rupees including the four large beers.’

  ‘That $60 American!’ Remus protested, ‘Thought meal gift, money gone, have none!’

  ‘I invite you to my restaurant, you eat, you drink and now you won’t pay!’ Pampu looked venomously at him.

  ‘Thought your home, only one table!’ Remus protested.

  ‘Now you mock my little restaurant!’ he indicated the beach umbrella shading the round table, with Kingfisher logos emblazoned on it. ‘Pay!’ suddenly, the empty garden was filled by a group of angry men.

  The men were shouting in Tamil, ‘Kollaikkaran!’ over and over. Then came the blows and kicks, Remus curled his body on the floor and started to cry, the shouting and beating got louder and more relentless. Through a red haze he thought he saw a huge angry python snapping at him, trying to consume his flesh. The snake seemed to be wrapping itself around his body and crushing his bones. When the massive python had broken his body enough, it drew Remus’ feet into its mouth and began to consume him. The creature sucked his body into itself, and Remus struggled to breathe, as the snake’s digestive juices filled his lungs. Finally, he blacked out.

  Chapter 44: The Kingmaker

  ‘Two fishermen brought you here; there is no serious damage done, you have a body used to hard knocks.’ An aching Remus was back on the bed in Anirudh Ramachiranjiv’s tent and the girl had just spoken to him.

  ‘You speak, speak good English…all this time?’ Remus wasn’t sure how long the time had been.

  ‘There was nothing to say,’ she kissed a nasty cut on his cheek, ‘Pilak Pampu is a snake; he has played the trick he played on you with so many tourists but they have money, so pay. I am perplexed that he tried this on you, somehow he thought you just another tourist?’ she kissed another wound, ‘He will have to be watched, he is more dangerous than we thought.’

  ‘Who we?’ the African looked equally perplexed.

  ‘We are us,’ was her ambiguous answer. Remus wasn’t interested enough in further enlightenment and reached his hand into her choli, the small blouse worn with the saree. Not that Remus was interested in what it was called; he just wanted to play with those hard nipples on her boyish chest. ‘No time for that,’ she pulled away, ‘we have been given a sign that it time for you to leave.’

  ‘Here is a train ticket and your passport,’ she handed both to him.

  ‘VISA card?’ Remus held out his hand for the source of his new-found wealth.

  ‘No!’ she replied, ‘You are now embarking on the next phase of your life, you can travel without money as a sadhu.’ Remus looked horrified. ’Your former employer has probably blocked his money, Remus Jallow is no more!

  Remus wondered how she knew his Gambian name, as they had never spoken. ‘From now on you must be an Indian, a Tamil, that is what this passport says,’ she tapped him on his broad nose with it. ‘You really do not understand, do you?’ opening the passport’s identity page. ‘You haven’t even looked at your new name, have you?’

  This was true, and Remus had to admit that had been careless and remiss. Had he been stopped by a policeman, who had asked who he was, he would have been in serious trouble. ‘Sorry,’ he said to her, ‘name very long, you say it to me.’

  Smiling fondly, she slowly read out the name printed on the document, ‘ANIRUDH RAMACHIRANJIV.’ The train ticket was for the 10.00am, 22641 Shalimar Express, with one change at Khurda Road, arriving in Puri 21hours 10minutes later at 07.10am the next day. It would be a long journey; an Indian man of his own age was staring intently at him. He was a little overweight but had a military bearing, with a small unruly handlebar moustache.

  Remus wanted very much to escape his eyes. ‘Why you stare me?’ Remus snapped after half an hour.

  ‘Ah, you are African, West African, I should guess?’ the man smiled rather benignly, ‘I must apologise, my name is Om Pekesh, and I make a hobby of reading people’s hands and faces.’ He then launched into his dissertation on what he had learned from Remus’ face. I, Suliman Manneh, shall attempt to record the impression Mr Pekesh made on Remus J
allow. ‘When you first boarded the train, I took you to be the person you are attempting to be, a sadhu from Tamil Nadu. However, your aura does not match your outward appearance. You are on some spiritual quest, but you have far to go along the road to your enlightenment. Your body tells me that you have far too much concentration on your lower chakras.’ He reached over and pressed hard on the tip of Remus’ spine, too close to his rectum for Mr Jallow’s comfort. ‘Here!’ Om pressed hard, ‘This is where you will find your Muladhara, the chakra of stability, security and the very basic needs. It covers the first three vertebrae, the bladder and colon. Open this chakra and you will feel fearless and invincible.’ ‘Lion chakra!’ Remus liked this. ‘Perhaps that is a suitable interpretation,’ Om continued, this time putting his hand on the African’s pubic bone, much to Remus’ discomfort. ‘Here is your Svadhisthana.’

  ‘You no touch my sad his fanny!’ Remus pushed Om’s hand away.

  ‘My dear fellow, the Svadhisthana is your sexual centre,’ Om was reaching out again.

  ‘You keep hand off my sexual central!’ Remus was alarmed by the man’s overly physical demonstration.

  ‘Dear friend,’ Om reached out again but was blocked by Remus’ restraining hand, ‘here is also the centre of creative expression and you, I guess, are sadly lacking in that department.’

  ‘I have three childrens!’ Remus protested.

  ‘That is procreation,’ Om grabbed his left hand, ‘let me read your palm, it will cost you nothing.’ Remus reluctantly agreed and offered Om Pekesh his open palm. Om shook his head and looked disapprovingly at the African, ‘Friend, you have not been honest with me!’ Om looked from palm to eyes, ’You have five children!

  But no like mother of other two, they live with her family.’

  ‘Only have Marianna’s childrens, Jack, John, Margaret.’

  Remus wanted to close the subject but Om Pekesh continued, ‘You have the skill of the African shaman within you, but you have been too lazy and indolent to cultivate this power.’

  ‘Your colour now is yellow but in your bright future it will be orange and you will live beyond 107 years, if you mend your ways,’ Om continued; the man was enthusiastic, Remus was being drawn to him.

  ‘I can see your photo on walls of temples and churches across the world, your kind face smiling down on those needing spiritual and physical healing.’

  ‘Not mosque, I no want to go inside mosque,’ Remus pulled a face of revulsion, ‘I like Hindu, I like Buddha, I like Jesus best, him my God but I no like ones with sword.’

  ‘You mean you don’t like Sikhs?’ Om looked shocked, ‘They are kind people; they give free food to people at their gurdwara.’

  ‘Not mean them!’ Remus was getting irritable, ‘I mean the one who want you dead by sword if you leave him church.’

  Om Pekesh decided to leave this point rest; he was an all-encompassing believer in unconditional love for all humankind. Hailing from Gujarat he was a Hindu in a majority Muslim state, so had to get on with his neighbours. ‘There is more I can tell you, shall I continue?’

  ‘It long journey, you no want money?’ Remus squinted at him.

  ‘Quite the opposite, let me order lunch for you,’ a canteen steward was taking orders.

  ‘It will be served 11.45 am, sirs,’ the steward noted two veg lunches, more or less the same as the non-veg, which had the addition of an egg.

  ‘I no get egg?’ Remus looked disappointed; ‘I like egg.’

  ‘From now on it is pure veg for you,’ Remus looked even more disappointed but this man was paying the bill. ‘I can do something with you, my friend, I can make you a great guru; do you like the sound of that?’ Remus had heard of the guru who had a different car for every day of the year and a different woman too perhaps. Om Pekesh had his attention, could this man make him, Ahuben Selassie, the great chief he thought he should have been? This man, Om, could see that Remus had healing skills, which could be developed to make money. Perhaps he could miraculously heal people all over the world, helping them get well and helping himself to be rich and famous. This, surely, was the creativity this man wanted to unlock. ‘May I ask you why you are on this train to Puri?’ Om Pekesh inquired.

  ‘Someone give me ticket,’ was the truthful answer.

  ‘Do you know anything of Puri and of Lord Jagannath?’ Remus looked blank, all Om could say was, ‘I see. Perhaps, as we have another,’ checking his watch, ‘eighteen hours, thirty-five minutes on this train, I could fill you in?’

  Remus didn’t pay much attention; he just hoped lunch would come on time.

  Chapter 45: Death of a Ladies’ Man

  The Testament of Aboboulaye, Bakau, The Gambia

  For a black man I have a very small penis, by any race I have a small penis, but curiously, it has been a motivator to my success in life. Bob Jatta International Imports and Exports has been built on trying to prove that a three-inch erect prick is not the measure of a man. I stare at my naked body in the mirror and feel humiliated by my embarrassingly tiny member, but the embarrassment is also a turn-on. I allow the humiliation to course through me, making it rock hard and in need of relief.

  A buzzer summons Fatou, my personal assistant; she is a stunningly attractive woman, Gambian father and Sudanese mother. She is wearing a dark blue business suit with pencil skirt, a fitted white blouse and black shiny stiletto heels. I project her as my lover and sing the praises of her sexual prowess; it is all a sham. She knows the routine, she unbuttons her jacket and blouse and removes her bra, fastened by a clip at the front, and reveals the first of her secrets, she is as flat chested as a boy, without even womanly nipples. Her chest was bound as a child, by a mother attempting to protect her innocence. The well-constructed brassieres I have made for her create a realistic impression of an ample bosom. This is one of the many illusions that hide the secrets of my so-called sex life. She kneels before me and very slowly she will bring me to climax in her mouth. Occasionally, I will slip my prick into her vagina, to remind me what I am not missing. Neither of us gets any pleasure out of it, other than thrill I get from humiliating her. She shows no outward signs of humiliation; in fact, she feels nothing at all. As a child Fatou also underwent the circumcision of her clitoris and inner labia, with a razor blade in the hands of her mother in the Sudan. Whether she could feel a vaginal or cervical orgasm I shall never know, as I don’t have the equipment to test her. I have attempted to bring her to orgasm with various vibrators, primarily for the joy I get out of further punishing her.

  I have allowed my boyhood friend Remus Jallow to attempt to pleasure her, while I watch and get off on the pain he is causing this charming young woman. I know Remus enjoys any kind of sex, so I allow him the privileged knowledge of Fatou’s failings as a woman. To the world I maintain the illusion that my PA is a rampant sex beast, always craving my huge African cock. Remus Jallow does indeed have a huge African cock and it belongs to me; I prefer his oral skills to my PA’s, it’s a joy for me to have a proud man sucking on my prick. I particularly enjoy sharing the “69” position with him, holding and kissing that huge member causes me to feel the humiliation more intensely. My boyhood friend enjoys the work, I repeat Remus loves any form of sex, he is a pure hedonist. I don’t know why I thought sending him to India was such a good idea. I truly did think that giving him access to, what would seem to him, as an unlimited amount of money would put him under my total control, as I could cut off the cash supply at any time. Now I find that he hasn’t used his cash card for weeks. My guess is that he has found that smug bastard, Jeffrey Dharma, who has bought him off. The Whitey has always held some sway other my naïve friend. I once came across the two of them in that little hideaway arboreal shelter that Remus called his office; they were both holding each other and crying, disgusting behaviour.

  ‘Woman, stop a moment and raise your skirt, I fancy giving that useless cunt of yours another try.’ I push her back onto the desk and rip her panties; there isn’t much to see, her mother had l
eft her outer labia intact, now it is covered with rough black hair, which hides her deformity. My knob pops in and out a few times but nothing is clenching it. ‘Turn around and give me your arse,’ she obeys and I slip a knob of KY jelly into her rectum. I consider myself a good Muslim but most Africans are naturally bisexual, though they profess otherwise. The beach boys here in The Gambia will sell their penis or their arse to whoever holds the cash. The seventy-two houris promised to the young martyrs of Islam are actually of indeterminate sex, one translation describes them as, “Young boys of perpetual freshness.” A pleasant vision of the After Life, I caress Fatou’s flat chest and thrust harder. Of course, no one can “come out” in The Gambia, that pretentious upstart His Excellency Sheikh Professor Alhaji Dr Yahya A.J.J. Jammeh Babili Mansa is a homophobe and was quoted saying,

  ‘If you do it I will slit your throat—if you are a man and want to marry another man in this country and we catch you, no one will ever set eyes on you again, and no white person can do anything about it.’

  So best keep up the pretence and fuck your secretary in the arse, ‘Shit, Fatou, you’re bleeding, you dirty bitch!’ I pull away. ‘Here, put my prick back in your mouth and don’t wipe it first!’ Before I finish with that Chink, Sylvia Dharma, I think I’d like to fuck her in the arse. She can laugh at my cock all she wants, yes, now with a humiliation like that I could get it to grow an extra half inch. Yes, I’d like her to mock me and to laugh, but I can…tell…you…it will be…the last thing…she laughs at! ‘That’s it, woman, swallow it all down!’

  Chapter 46: Stalemate