Dharma Sutra

by David Pugh

  In this state of divine love we felt a soft floor beneath us, a vast bed of human flesh, the hands of our brother Remus, still in his exaggerated form of the immense four-limbed Lord Jagannath. The size of our own entwined bodies had astounded us but we were now dwarfed by the form of the Lord of the Universe. Remus Jagannath was huge beyond measure, planets rotated around his being, penetrating his cosmic body. Shizuko and I peaked and orgasmed one more time, then I felt myself drawn out of her, my body carried on a galactic wind. I felt my shape change, I was growing to the size of my universal brother. I now became the Balabhadra of the Universe, the spirit of all the white races. I briefly held Remus Jagannath’s hand and he became small, it was my turn to hold the cosmic couple, as they too joined in universal union. I smiled at my brother and sister, sending my blessing into their lovemaking. With my new huge eyes I surveyed the whole of existence and for a moment saw all that there was, had been or will ever be. As I record this now I cannot describe what I saw, it was as difficult as it is recording most of our dreams but at that moment I saw the truth. On the far side of the universe a familiar figure waved to me with one of his four arms, floating there cross-legged, the now blue-skinned Issa sent me a blessing. My love crossed the cosmos as a blue bolt, Issa caught the bolt which had turned to crystal and plunged the dagger into his heart and laughing at his joke, stood and walked away from me, ignoring the planets that seemed in his way. I closed my eyes for a thousand years and when I opened them Jagannath and Subhadra were beside me, our hands linked, the happiness of all that ever was or ever will be coursed through us. I do not remember witnessing Remus and Shizuko actually coupling, perhaps my psyche wished to protect me from corrosive feelings of jealousy; we had seen the truth but each of us would remember it differently.

  Chapter 81: Subhadra Realised

  When we returned to Puri, Shizuko asked me to her room, where we made pleasurable, if not cosmic, love. I was happy that Remus needn’t always be included in our future unions, and she assured me that our tri-union would remain an open relationship. She wanted to see me alone because she wished to relate her experience of our cosmic sex and Remus didn’t have enough English to help her interpret what she’d experienced. At first our union had given her a similar experience to mine, she was aware that she had the ability to offer herself in any shape or form I desired, reaching into my mind to see the pictures of my perfect woman. She was so happy that I chose to love her as she was, in her own flawed form as she saw herself. I protested that she had no flaws, she, Shizuko, was beautiful but as Dora Yaki she had been manipulated by men to suit the fantasies of other men. As our cosmic lovemaking had begun she saw herself from above in the dresses, wigs and make-up of the many characters she had played. She told me that me saying that I wanted to make love to her as the forty-one-year-old woman, reassured her that for that moment she was the only woman who mattered in my life.

  It was then that a mandala began forming around us; in the centre was the four-limbed image of herself as Subhadra. She was drawn to this image and her lucid self called Subhadra to come into her body, and the mandala began to extrude itself, sucked into the centre of her being. She changed her position to ride me in the forward cowboy position; she looked down at me and found herself riding an almost wooden but moving murti of the white Balabhadra. As the huge mandala was drawn into her it engulfed both our bodies, reversed itself and like a tsunami tore through our coupled being. She was the Silver Surfer and I the surfboard as we leapt into hyperspace, carried by a cosmic wind to the beginning of everything.

  The surge left her drained, she still felt me moving inside her but now she was at the edge of the dark place, where all the doubts and fears lurk. This is The Void where humankind’s darkness of the soul lurks; the Destroyer is here and has existed here since before life began in the universe. That state of self-destruction, the pointlessness of existence that so many people have experienced, the hopelessness which some call Evil. Depression, Gloom, Despair, Despondency, Discouragement, Hopelessness and Apathy are just some of the names of this monster that lives to devour us. She saw her fifteen-year-old self in the Love Hotel in Oita, Kyushu, being taken for the first time by the handsome eighteen-year-old school champion. She wanted to prove to her class, like so many girls the world over, that she was ready to be a woman. She felt nothing but some pain and a sickness, knowing that she was just another trophy on his shelf. Someone to describe to his friends in detail, review her inexperienced performance, so they would laugh when they next saw her; Insecurity, yet another milder name for the Beast. Then she was with the thirty-two-year-old piano tutor who had taught her how to have sex and how to give her world famous blowjob but now she saw it as Exploitation, another given name of the Beast. Her third boyfriend, closer to her age, whom she first saw as cute, just desired to lick her sweet face, spitting on it and eventually ejaculating onto her mouth, taking a photograph of his achievement with no thought of her pleasure. This time the Beast went under the name of Humiliation. So began a replay of all the films she had made in the name of the Beast, where she had been humiliated, exploited and defiled for the enjoyment of men, lonely men, unsatisfied men. The defilement excited her; it gave her a genuine onscreen orgasm, something she failed to do in real relationships. She saw this as helping men to achieve some sort of happiness, but she also knew that out there were thousands of eyes that relished the humiliation and indignity she portrayed on the screen. Eyes that became dilated with the pleasure of the gang rape she simulated and then it came, the horror!

  She saw a young girl, late at night, boarding a bus, the only passengers five drunken men. At first she thought she was seeing her film Tokyo Bus Rape, but then she knew she was witnessing what she feared most in the world, the thing she had suppressed for years. This young woman was real, she sees the men groping her, ripping at her clothes, raping her in turns. The bus driver has pulled over and has joined the men, she sees the laughing faces as the oldest of the men forces his rolled steel-tipped umbrella deep into her vagina, the others encouraging him to go deeper until she bleeds. The driver panics and throws her off his bus like a used rag, leaving her dying in a ditch. The horror overwhelmed Shizuko; she knew about this real life recreation of her entertainment but had suppressed it, until that moment when Despair gripped her heart, dragging her down into the Darkness.

  She was still in the arms of the older white man, who caressed her with such love and tenderness that she felt momentarily safe. Joined together in humankind’s oldest act, they rose up to a sun, so bright that she felt it would blind her, burn her, but the flame is blue and soothing. Nonetheless, she sees her Subhadra body burn to ash and the phoenix that rises is a golden Shizuko Ichigo, held by a gentle man who truly loves her and has somehow always known of her pain. They settle down to a quiet lovemaking that gradually peaks and brings them both to climax. She described how she then closed her eyes and still in her mystic dream state, found herself resting on the palm of the giant Jagannath, who I too had seen. It was now my black friend’s turn to heal the fragile doll.

  ‘You knew about the bus rape, Jeffrey?’ Shizuko asked me.

  ‘Yes, I had seen your film,’ I replied; I had dreaded this subject coming up but here it was, ‘The moment I read it in print, and even though the attack took place in Delhi, I saw the similarities. To my shame I had enjoyed watching your simulated abuse and humiliation on that bus, an almost primordial desire that men seem to relish inflicting on women. We know that you are the stronger sex, you are built to endure childbirth and no matter how well-endowed a man is, he feels a fear of inadequacy when approaching a woman, his little member can never compete with a baby’s head.’

  ‘Are you making fun of me?’ she looked annoyed, ‘This is serious. I heard about this rape, I had a sense of horror gripping my stomach; I felt as if I was responsible for the poor girl’s death.’

  ‘Millions of women of all ages have been raped since the birth of our species,’ it was not easy to console her, I kn
ew, ‘Maybe we were all born from one act of rape. I do believe in hindsight that the film should not have been made. No one knew how widespread the Internet would become and how it would influence weak minds. When I first saw that film Google still censored itself, you had to search hard to find hardcore films like yours. Today you just type in Japanese bus rape and links to your film are there for all to see. Shouldn’t we then blame Google more than you, for allowing weak-minded people to get this bad stimulation? Yes, I can’t excuse it, it was not a healthy film to make; when I saw it I was there with those actors, cheering them on, wanting them to humiliate you further. That ridiculously long dildo they forced into you led to the death of the girl, should we blame the prop maker that someone would try to replicate that scene with an umbrella?’

  Shizuko replied, still not helped, ‘Jeffrey, you know that long dildo didn’t go in that far, we had a shorter version, but those men were so naïve that they believed a woman could take that length inside her and that girl bled to death as a result.’

  ‘Look the Japanese film companies are still making these convincing gang rape videos,’ I had been angry about this sort of exploitation film for some years, but I had still got the same sick pleasure out of watching them. ‘Humankind will always look for ways of making people pay for being shocked and sickened. Is the writer or director to blame if someone dies because some deluded person copies a Hollywood Slasher Film and what about Snuff Movies, fake or not?’

  I put my arms around her, ‘You were young and couldn’t have imagined this consequence of what you saw as entertainment.’

  ‘But Jeffrey,’ she held onto to me tight, ‘I actually orgasmed during that film; I’ve mostly had an orgasm when I’m on camera, I’ve rarely had one through masturbation, unless it was being filmed.’

  My hand went down between her legs and first gently, then with a little force brought her to climax.

  Chapter 82: The Song of Suliman Reprise – The Black Knight of the Soul

  It was some time after these events took place that I had the opportunity to interview my friend, Remus Jallow. Jeff had asked me to collaborate on the book you now hold, so that Remus could tell his tale more fluently in Wolof. I have also had the opportunity to study the work of Ms Ichigo in some detail; such films are blocked in my native country, considered un-Islamic. I found that I was quite startled by what I saw, but I’m not here to express my opinions or judge, this whole story has been quite a revelation.

  Under the intoxication of the soma, Remus at first experienced the events in some way the same as his brother, Jeffrey. He saw himself grow into a huge four-limbed Jagannath figure, the copulating couple performed in the palm of his hand. They hadn’t transformed the way Jeffrey described. He just saw two people he loved in the act of love, his old self felt eager to join with the JAV Idol, but he was aware that this was also a ritual which needed to find its own course. He was standing there in an empty grey space, translucent patterns forming flimsy curtains. One part of the curtain opened and a glowing figure as large as himself stood before him, indicating that Remus place the couple in his scarred palms. Remus did so, as he had instantly recognised the man from the pictures he had seen in a book at his childhood Sunday school. The Man gradually shrank to the size of the couple he could no longer hold; now he looked like a young Jeffrey, wearing a white shirt and trousers with bared feet, each foot bore a deep scar. The Man gestured Remus to turn and open the curtain behind him and face what was beyond, while The Man put his hand on the now weeping woman’s brow.

  Remus hesitated a moment, he felt alone and scared, but firmly drew the veil before him. Once again he experienced that hyperspace jump and still in his Jagannath form crossed the universe like a comet. From a black hole in the centre of his vision he could see a huge horseman riding toward him; the figure was even larger than his own exaggerated Jagannath form. The horseman’s head was topped by a small silver bowl, from which rose three spikes, each sporting a peacock feather. From the round helmet hung a curtain of chainmail that barely concealed the dreadlocks below. His body was protected by ornately decorated medieval armour; the patterns shimmered and changed but were nonetheless similar to the patterns Remus saw at the beginning of this journey. The black horse was equally protected in armour and decorated but the skin had a translucent quality, allowing the stars to shine through, occasionally allowing glimpses of its silver skeleton. Though they were yet to meet he recognised Anirudh Ramachiranjiv, and his twin dismounted, now the same size as my Gambian friend, he placed his helmet on Remus’ dreads. Remus stood in his own form, naked before his other self, whose exposed face carried a benign smile, filled with love for his younger twin. Rama took off his armour and dressed Remus in its splendour and naked handed the reins of the horse to Remus. Remus had very little experience of horses but Rama ordered him to mount the steed, looking up at the palm tapper, he spoke three words, ‘Find me soon!’ Ramachiranjiv slapped the horse’s hindquarters and the beast took off. Remus had no idea of how to control the beast but it took him back to where he had left Jeffrey and Shizuko. When he returned he found that the scarred man had gone, now a young woman with short hair and a fringe was holding the sobbing older woman. Jeffrey stood up and once again became the huge figure of Balabhadra, and it became his turn to offer his palms as a bed to continue the ceremony. Remus and the two women stood naked on Balabhadra’s palm, Shizuko addressed Remus,

  ‘This is Dora Yaki, she will complete the joining with you,’ so saying she merged herself into the younger woman, who knelt before the confused Remus, taking his member into her mouth. Remus found he was now alone with the younger woman; they were in familiar surroundings for him, back in the Rajasthan tent on Chennai beach. Dora Yaki reawakened his passion very quickly with her expert mouth work; standing up she put her arms around the big black man’s neck, pulled her body up so their faces were level and guided him inside her. Still standing the pair moved together, the tent became that now familiar grey space where visions are born. Briefly the room was Sylvia’s bedroom in Bakau, then Yangzom’s bedroom in Ladakh, Kali’s room in the Shanti Hotel and then all the places that Remus had known the love act before. He was confused but intoxicated, he dreaded that he would find himself in Bob’s house, abusing this act with Fatou but no, each of these floating locations were places where love had been, and for the first time in his near fifty years, Remus knew what it was to truly make love.

  Chapter 83: The Temple of the Heart

  Jeffrey’s Journal Continued

  It’s the day before my talk with Shizuko; we were still in the cave temple, slowly coming down from our cosmic lovemaking and the effects of the soma. The three of us were smiling but looking very confused.

  ‘Did we actually have sex?’ I asked Shizuko.

  She put her fingers into her vagina and showed us both a copious amount of seminal fluid, ‘Well, this shows that more than one man has been inside me,’ Dora Yaki teased, ‘does anyone recognise their ejaculate?’

  She was about to wash her hands in a nearby bowl, but Papu had reappeared and stopped her, offering her an ornate cup for her to place the semen.

  ‘Now all three of you must piss in here as well,’ the priest ordered.

  Very apprehensively we obliged, I felt queasy as I remembered reading that after a soma ceremony Hindu priests would drink their piss and recirculate it through their body to give it added potency. This process could be repeated up to seven times.

  ‘I’m not going to drink that!’ I protested, ‘You surely aren’t?’

  Remus was looking more horrified than me, while Shizuko looked interested but remained silent.

  ‘I shall drink,’ said the priest very matter-of-factly, ‘Then I shall understand your experience.’

  ‘No, you just sick!’ I think Remus meant being physically sick, rather than casting a judgement on Papu’s state of mind.

  ‘You talk about what you have learned,’ Papu said, ‘I shall wait outside.’

  ‘So what
have we learned?’ I asked, looking at the other two.

  ‘I’m not ready to talk, Jeffrey,’ Shizuko spoke; she was looking distressed, ‘I’ll speak about it to you, when we get back to Puri.’

  ‘You not speak to me?’ Remus looked rejected.

  ‘When you know me better,’ she put her hand on his bare knee, ‘Jeffrey knows my background, I won’t have to explain everything about myself, it would take too long.’

  I spoke first, ‘I’ve had a reaffirmation of what I have come to know, that we all have the spirit of the divine inside us, not just a small spark but ALL of the essential being of God, the Brahman or whoever. Our bodies are the illusion; our true selves exist up there, out there in the universe, outside of time and outside of death. I have heard many people talk about their experience with ayahuasca and DMT, that they stop being afraid of death, as Death doesn’t exist, our bodies decay and rot but our spirit moves on. We have inhabited countless bodies in our existence as spiritual beings but we also inhabit each other. Even though each of us just experienced something quite different, there were shared visions. I sense that we all experienced being these god roles we have been assigned; I was Balabhadra, even though I still don’t know anything of what he truly represents. These gods of Odisha may represent the three races of humanity, and yet we three know that there is only one human species, colour, size and characteristics are just an aberration of environment, a meaninglessness difference. We all have the same design, the same organs, excepting the small difference between the man and the woman. I have yet to know what it is like to be a woman, but I know I have been one and I have seen my inner self, the spirit of my true existence, change sex before my eyes. In this dream that we have passed through Shizuko, you briefly became every woman I have known, who had any effect on me. I am in no doubt that if I had allowed it, your body could have transformed into that of any woman I have had the briefest intimacy with. I’m still new to this understanding and still too bound in this male body, to remember liaisons I have had with men in my previous incarnations, I have much to learn.’