by David Pugh
‘I am a Jarawa from the Andaman Islands, the blackest people in India some say.’
‘You black as me, I like to put my skin next you skin,’ it was one of his winning seduction lines in The Gambia.
‘Perhaps African, but first I make you tea, special tea,’ she teased.
‘Bhang tea? I like, I try,’ Remus was never one to turn down a high.
She returned ten minutes later, ‘Better than bhang, this is soma, few know the true recipe but the best is made here in Odisha.’
‘It smell like shit,’ he grimaced.
Kali handed him the dark cloudy hot mix; Remus looked dubiously at it as it didn’t smell too nice.
‘Very close,’ Mrs Khadanga laughed, ‘the psilocybin cubensis mushroom, the main ingredient, grows in elephant dung.’
Remus wanted to throw it away, but she offered to share the cup with him, bringing them in close eye contact. They both drank and she led him to the bathroom.
‘We both shower now,’ she offered him the zip at the back of her skin-tight suit.
‘I no want to wash hair, dreads no like washing,’ he said.
‘Okay, I wash you from here down to here,’ indicating his neck to his penis and removing his lungi.
Kali turned her back to him, and he slowly slid the zip down to her rounded backside, peeling this second skin down her legs to her feet. When she was naked he turned her around while still on his knees, eyes level to her pudenda. Like her bed sheets her pubic hair grew in leopard spots, quite usual in African women.
‘You African!’ he looked in awe at her, up into her rounded breasts with deep black areolae and then back to her cunt, probing it with his tongue.
She turned the water onto herself; Remus tried to avoid the water as he probed her with his mouth. Her outer labia were thick and dark, with just a little coarse hair either side. Parting her with his fingers he saw she had a very small retracted clitoris, which he failed to release from its hood. Her dark pink inner labia were very small, he worried that she may be too small to take him in, but he could see the marbled skin of her lower stomach had been stretched by a baby.
‘You have childs?’ she lifted the showerhead and squirted him beneath his chin.
‘Two boys, one twenty-nine and one twenty-seven, and both came out very easy, try.’
She washed both his hands before allowing him to penetrate her with three fingers.
As his sexual excitement arose, so did the effect of the soma, the water sparkled and became like tiny jewels almost cutting into his flesh. The effect was so strong that he believed if he tried to wash her he would cut her skin. Kali was still wearing her mala of tiny heads, all now looking at him enviously, their tongues going in and out, mimicking his licking of her genitals. He pulled away and looked into the face of the woman; her tongue was slowly snaking out, becoming as long as his penis. He pulled even further back, but she dragged him to her with a pair of strong arms and then with another pair of arms, even stronger, and yet again another pair. He was about to run from the bathroom when he looked down to see she had three pairs of legs, each with a different more inviting vagina. This mesmerised him and he began to laugh, he would fuck all three of those vaginas. His laughter became intense, when he saw that he now had six legs and three penises, each extra one longer than his original impressive member. No amount of fear for his sanity would make Remus Jallow run away from an experience like this; he slipped each of his penises into her vaginas, standing back to the shower, she against a wall now composed of swirling cloud-like mandalas and beyond them a beautiful mountain. The shower of diamonds was cutting through the skin of his back, energising his multiple erections. As each penis ejaculated another penis and more vaginas appeared, his lucid mind counted ten with a matching pair of hands, each caressing Kali’s writhing body, the fifty-four heads enjoying the show tried to manoeuvre for a better view. The Gambian sadhu had never dreamt that such a thing as this was possible, he had envied women who had multiple orgasms, excepting his experience in Rama’s tent, the best he could manage was two. Now as his tenth penis served the tenth vagina, the first penis was ready to come back into the battle, which continued long into the day. When his tenth penis had its release a second time, Kali raised the lower left arm, she was holding something. She raised it in line with his face, Remus saw his own life-sized severed head staring back at him, tongue lolling it began to shrink, to join the others on Kali’s mala.
It was late afternoon when Remus awoke on a deep pile of cushions in an overhanging Rajasthan-style balcony which caught the setting sun. The psilocybin was still in his system, enhanced by the multi-coloured glass panels that topped the clear panels of the bay window; sun particles were dancing around him, poking him playfully awake. Mrs Khadanga still naked was approaching him but with only two arms and two beautiful legs.
‘That sex very real, not possible,’ despite his twenty orgasms her naked body was stirring him again.
‘You think it not possible?’ she was climbing over his prone body like a leopard.
‘Look, not at my breasts, gaze at this,’ her breasts were dangling enticingly still very firm but Kali was indicating her mala, passing each head through her fingers suggestively, pausing at one and presenting it to his eyes. It was his own miniaturised head, as he had seen during the hallucination.
‘You make while I sleep?’ the African rationalised.
‘Not quite, I created it out of the stuff of your soma dream,’ nodding in that somewhat charming, sometimes irritating Indian style.
‘My people walked out of Africa to what are now the Andaman Islands 50,000 years ago, and people like me were there then to show them the way.’
‘We have always been there to guide our people, and we shall always be there for them, you could join us, you have the power!’
Remus wasn’t paying attention; he was counting the heads on the mala, which he had slipped off her head.
‘Fifty-four lovers?’ he was sure of his numbers.
‘Always fifty-four, the others are in this chest,’ she waved her arm towards a large red lacquered travel trunk.
Remus opened the lid tentatively and found thousands of men’s miniaturised heads in there. It seemed impossible that one woman could have had this many lovers in one lifetime.
All his confusion was overridden when one head in particular caught his eye; it was the tiny head of Jeffery Dharma.
‘This my friend,’ Remus studied the head intently, there was no doubt.
‘Oh him, he showed so much potential but he was too self-possessed,’ she took the small head and tossed it back in with the others.
‘He came here about two months ago; you’ll find him every day at the Jagannath beach temple, he’s in love with that piece of wood.’
Chapter 54: In the Arms of Kristna
Jeffery’s Journal, Two Months Earlier
I’m staying at the Lakshmi Lodge it’s close to Puri’s fishing village, suitable for the ethnic tourist but still having Western toilets. The fishing village is not a pleasant place, unsurprisingly everyone smells of long-dead fish and the paths are black from generations of discarded fish entrails. Do not attempt to visit from the seaside, the tide line is thick with human faeces as there is no sanitation, everyone shits and bathes in the sea.
Lunchtimes I eat with Papu at the beach temple and walk past the Shanti Hotel, where I had stayed when I first arrived. Today Kali waved to me from the reception desk; we had had a night of drug-induced passion, after she’d given me a drink that she swore was soma, the legendary drug of the gods. No one knows the recipe but the psychoactive element in Kali’s mix was the psilocybe cubensis mushroom. I must say it was very enjoyable, at one point I thought she had two sets of arms and legs with two vaginas. I could actually feel myself growing extra arms and legs but as I have trouble erecting one penis, the thought of bringing two to life rather broke the spell.
I found the temple locked up, so decided I’d walk the beach to Marine Drive, where
I knew there was an off-shop which sold cold Kingfisher Strong at label price.
Reaching the bottle shop an impulse made me buy two bottles of Kingfisher Strong. I decided to walk the length of Golden Beach to the deserted stretch far beyond the Swargadwar burning grounds. Swargadwar means gateway to Heaven, and the cremations go on 24/7, there is even a football-style seating terrace to view the doings, with two more off-shops nearby to enhance the experience. The deceased is laid on a small pallet with legs bent, feet touching the ground. When the upper body has been burnt, the legs fall away and someone is employed to throw them on the remains of the fire. The beach here has an unappetising smell of burnt BBQ, but it doesn’t interfere with the holiday atmosphere.
I arrived at the quiet end of the beach, usually deserted except for the odd tuk-tuk driver; they come here to give blowjobs to their ageing male passengers. Today I only saw one person, a young man, I guessed an Israeli hippie, taking advantage of the 60-rupee rooms found here. My impulse beer purchase seemed to point towards offering him one, as a bottle was more than the price of a room.
‘You look like you could use a beer,’ he was dressed in a lungi and a long-sleeved cotton shirt with bare scarred feet.
‘Thanks, it’s been a long time since anyone offered me a drink,’ he smiled sweetly.
‘You speak very good English,’ I replied, ‘not a hint of an accent.’
‘I was born with a gift for languages, I speak many,’ his smile became even more infectious.
He was about to open the bottle with his strong white teeth, I stopped him and offered him my Royal Challenge bottle opener, which acted as my key fob. He looked at the opener as if he’d never seen one before.
‘How long have you been in Puri?’ I enquired.
‘Too long, it seems like two thousand years, seriously, sometimes it feels like I’ve been here most of my life.’
‘Have you been travelling around India, you know doing the Hippie Trail, Dharamsala, Manali, Leh?’
I was just making conversation and not that interested in his travels, I don’t like the ‘been there, been there, been there’ that travellers lapse into.
‘Yes, I spent about fourteen years just walking and walking, listening and questioning,’ he did look tired but still young, despite his sun-burnt skin, I’d have guessed him to be between thirty and thirty-three.
‘Really, you don’t look that old?’ I was becoming intrigued by this man, he was truly charismatic.
‘I’m much older than I look, I left home when I was around thirteen and kept walking,’ he seemed to be trying to second-guess my next question.
‘That’s what I and many people believe Jesus did, you know, walking to find enlightenment,’ his eyes were laughing as I asked if he was trying to recreate Jesus’ journey from Nazareth, Persia, Afghanistan and Ladakh to here.
‘Well, I did do that journey on foot, it was before passports and visas though!’ his reply confused me but I let it go.
I was interested in getting his opinion on my favourite subject, which irritated my Christian fundamentalist sister so much.
‘Do you believe that Jesus took the name of Christ from Kristna, the local name of Krishna?’
‘Yes he did, he also did gain enlightenment here,’ the young man looked so certain of himself.
‘How do you mean enlightenment?’ I was eagerly awaiting the answer, but he just raised his bottle and clinked mine.
‘I’ll tell you when you buy me my next beer!’
Chapter 55: The Gospel of Issa
’I left Nazareth, following Alexander the Great’s route to India, spending some time in the Hemis monastery, Ladakh. From there I travelled all over the north of the sub-continent in the footsteps of the Buddha. We had many Buddhists travelling in Judea in my youth; being brought up in the Jewish faith, I found the ways of the Buddha kind and compassionate. I then looked at Siddhartha’s own roots, Hinduism, in particular, the constant rebirth of Kristna as he was known here. All Buddhists accept that the Buddha is reborn again and again; the Dalai Lamas are proof of the overall acceptance of this belief. There is always not just one but many incarnations of the Brahman, living in the human realm at the same time. Each one is aware of the other, and they are in constant communication, discussing the development of humankind. The Brahman cannot experience joy or sorrow without feeling it through the human frame. Yet, humankind wants to be free of its earthly body and gain enlightenment; they do not understand their own importance. The Brahman, the Cosmos, for want of a better name, has no feeling, cannot feel compassion or anger, as they have no body to channel such emotions. They use their little mortal selves to experience the painful and the beautiful; in return they give mortals a piece of themselves. The gifted humans can become aware of their godhead and use it for the benefit of the Cosmos; these Chosen Ones know they are the power behind the gods or more correctly, the God itself. The Brahman depends on you for its very existence because as the wise know, the Brahman is only the collective receptacle of the human mind and body.
‘My own enlightenment came to me, here in Puri a long time ago, when I became aware of my duality as human and as god. Like you, when I met Jagannath, Balabhadra and Subhadra, I understood the root of humankind’s need for religion, the emptiness they can feel without the connection to the Cosmos. During an evening of ingesting psychoactive mushrooms my physical body split in two, one became the pure deity body, the other became the eternal human, if you like The Wandering Jew.’
His discourse ended in laughter at the incredulous look on my face.
‘Are you trying to tell me that you are or were Jesus?’
I wanted to believe this man; it would be so wonderfully joyous if it were true.
‘You tell me?’ he smiled, a twinkle in his eye, ‘After, all you were the one who had congress with a, was it four-armed goddess?’
‘How do you know that?’ I was getting really excited, ‘You are trying to explain to me a very complex view of the universe in overly simple terms,’ I was becoming sceptical, thinking the guy was playing mental tricks on me.
‘My other self did get a reputation for telling some very good parables,’ laughing out loud at my perplexity.
‘You are telling me,’ I continued, ‘that here in Puri, you became two distinct beings, and one walks back to Jerusalem with his Buddhist learning, only to die a painful death?’
‘The death was quite quick really, compared to the two unlucky buggers either side of him,’ now Jesus swears, I thought.
‘It’s this other Jesus I’m looking at now that confuses me,’ I said, ‘If you have become immortal, why the fuck do you choose to live on this arse end of Puri beach?’
‘But I don’t,’ he replied, ‘I am everywhere, anywhere I choose, but I only appear to those who wish to speak to me, just a projection of your need to believe.’
‘If you can appear anywhere in time have you met the Buddha?’ I challenged him.
‘You are still not getting it, are you?’ he said, ‘I am the Buddha; remember the smile I gave you that day in Dharamsala?’
‘Jesus!’ I was so shocked.
‘Call me Issa and come back tomorrow to continue the chat,’ he paused, ‘better still lend me a shirt and trousers, and you can buy me a few beers at the Santana Bar, I’m told it’s a cool venue.’
By now I was wondering if I had accidentally digested some more of the elephant dung mushrooms.
He ended the conversation by saying,
‘Meet me 6pm at your Jagannath temple and bring lots of cash, I hear the Santana does a mean chilly fish and finger chips!’
‘You’ll only need to order one plate though, I’m good at conjuring extra fish!’ he left laughing and me in a state of utter bewilderment.
Chapter 56: Santana’s White Magic Man
Leaving the Lakshmi before 6pm the next day, I wanted to see the sunset and prepare my mind for the battle of wits with Issa. I truly wished to believe in this man, if indeed he was a man, but my s
cepticism has always dogged me, forever nibbling at the trouser legs of my soul. Two fish wives in their thirties were walking in front of me swaying their hips provocatively to help balance the large aluminium bowls on their heads, they were on their way to collect the day’s catch from their men. The one in a red saree stopped right before me, lifted her skirt and with rock-solid legs spread straight and wide let out a stream of piss, hitting the sand at a near perfect vertical jet. I was mesmerised, she smiled at me with a look that said there was more than fish on sale tonight. Cursing myself for letting my penis wipe any thought of a theological contest from my mind, I carried on to the Jagannath temple. I did my obedience and chatted idly with Papu about his ongoing financial problems. He was dependent on donations from his very tiny congregation to supplement the small allowance the main temple gave him. Most days his face registered disappointment as he emptied out the one and two rupee coins. On the dot of six, Issa turned up and did a very ritualised and showy obscuration to the three idols.
‘The Holy Trinity,’ he laughed.
‘I don’t like this man,’ Papu observed, ‘look at him, he looks like an old Dalit.’
‘You said old?’ I questioned.
‘Yes,’ my Brahmin friend replied, ‘he has been coming here since I was a boy.’
More confusion churned my brain; I offered Issa my spare trousers and shirt.
‘What!’ Papu was shocked, ‘You give this dirty man your clean clothes, look at him!’
I was looking at Issa; he glowed from a very recent wash but smelled slightly of patchouli oil. There would be some revelations at the Santana Bar tonight, and we headed off together, approaching the Santana Hotel’s discrete watering hole from its side alley entrance. Our waiter was happy to see two Westerners; I’d been there before, always leaving a fair tip.
‘Good evening, Baba Dharma, your usual table?’
‘Please,’ I nodded.
The Santana Bar has an unusual and discreet seating plan, consisting of moveable screens advertising “The King of Good Times!”, the rather characterless Kingfisher Premium, which the world seems to have agreed as being the pride of Indian brewing. The posters had photos of very good-looking Indian and Western young women, dancing provocatively in short skirts, illustrating what type of good time the gassy beer offered.