Continuing from the discussion above, you may imagine I am looking to create a ranking of knights per se, and you will not be so wrong. I am not an activist. Come and be part of my fellowship, and I will do everything that I can for a person of your caliber. Prepare to get respect, love, money, everything that your heart should desire, and most of all, self actualization, not in that particular order. We just have to keep moving with writing this book.
So one of the ways that the Modi administration and all of his state minions presided over my persecution, with my children having been taken away, and I will include in this hierarchy of animals, Modi and Adanis, sidekicks of Finland and Israel, false romances in the middle of the leopard infested villages of Binsar and Kasar Devi, these combined deep state powers would leave girls where they would be eaten, and in my inbox. In the middle of nowhere. So attractive, so young, so innocent and in the pain of doing all of this exchange work and writing and fighting, and these girls were also fair. Very fair. And then can you imagine such a traditional setting, conservative values and despite myself, but in line with my frustrations with any fruitfulness, sequential rewards of promised affection in return for my advances.
In one such instance, the girl happened to belong to a family of some sort of Brahmins. I would be let on in affection and just as much in my fetishes and I want you to remember that we are under the umbrella of the maha Vyaghreshwar in Upper Kumaon, and the promise of a forever connection within the Kingdom of Golu devta himself, who secretly in my notes, I happened to take the liberty of imagining as a previous version of my own self, and there is nothing that one son of man could do about this. My affections would be led onwards and along until such a time as the connection would be strong.
Never, for once, did I hide any thing at all about my many white women, my children, but there was a certain thing that she hid. She told me that she would declare this one thing when I would drive her from the Heart of Almora to very close to her village in Garud Bageshwar. I could only imagine just what the revelation would be, because I believed that we were in love, all of my fetishes were accommodated. Would you believe it if I told you that more than simply to test her, I once told her that her sister was indeed more strikingly beautiful, cuter because it just was what it was, as I always determine it for what it’s supposed to be. There is little despair in terms of nonsense when a man sees the vestiges of youth, energy and life itself, sailing away into the horizon.
She told me, in return, that it was incredibly shocking that I would be talking like this, and even more indignantly, but innocently, hung up, only to proceed to call me in short order and to then make it appear like it’s the most normal thing in the world. I write these things over here so I can get strength. I can get some more of strength over this power that has the acumen to pull this off with innumerable ones among you and bring you to ruin you. On that trip back, she would tell me that her parents, her family and her community and her village had so thoroughly fixated her wedding to a boy about eight or nine years her senior and unpleasant and uncouth in every sense of the word.
This is what her friend would second to me when I would see her in the market of Garud, at the conclusion of this trip, and see her continuously for all of that day and the next because the two girls would hide in the leg space of my Land Rover as we would take trips into the Baijnath Mahadev and places to eat, or perhaps even some ways to Kausani and some ways to the side of the Garhwal in trips fueled in love, as they would say that numerous of their uncles and other relatives would be looking on from in the markets.
I knew that by this time, there was enough of a warrior inside of me with experience to be conscious of what was being done to me as the love progressed, while at the same time allowing myself a distraction of the most pink sort to look away from the misery that comes by way of fighting the matrix. My wife in America – herself in these throughs of the Matrices, would – as I would believe, not communicate nor allow the kids to communicate – to draw me to the USA of Biden. This had also been a year where she told me, she had filed taxes NOT jointly. This was a big setback to me.
What seemed like innumerable trips driven in the purest form of love that I had for this girl would take me to all around her village, with conversations of the kind that you would imagine as the date of her marriage approached, and her calculated and deliberate submission of herself into the will, rather the so called will of her clan, just as she had submitted into my will in the seat beside me and what busloads and Jeep loads full of villagers would attest to, if the very Instagram like exteriors of my Land Rover were any less of a distraction in the narrow highways in and out of Garud.
The last of these trips would be into the day before the wedding and in the middle of her village, as what appeared, like 40 men of her village would surround me while I tried to reason with them in the heart of a entirely black winter night, something that the girl had herself convinced me against. Her willingness. But the matrix had brought me there. The Matrix had laid out signs and symbolism all along. The matrix had dropped hints and signals along the way, all the way in the hours long drive from avadh to that village in kumao under the Trishuli mountain .
The Matrix would show me magic along the way. It would thrust me in the behinds of lingering tempos with names of poets emblazzened across, that you CANNOT miss. Only for the poet’s song to come on next in the Google queue. It would TRANSPORT that best friend of hers OUT of the village, as we communicated, and she calculated her options. She would find her way to her resort, where she worked for more than the pittance she used to make in Garud courtesy the blood she soiled in me for the Matrix – and in the background of her, would play out a second wedding. A wedding at her resort.
But this wedding would send sounds in the backgrounds of my phone calls with her to coordinate my DDLJ moment over here in the Kausani village. For example, when I would only wonder if there WAS to be a wedding – which I dared not imagine, her call … her calls would have these pahadi wedding servingware ringing in the background. I knew. I may still have kept my own and found some kind of a convincement in the village market and scenes of Garud, IF ONLY I hadnt seen her in there – ON MY WAY. Perfectly lonesome and entirely distraught. Also – mad with me. It would take me a couple minutes to turn the long Toyota around in that market though it has a girth in the middle of it, and it would take her a couple minutes to DISAPPEAR in that market. My N. With her round Nanda Sunanda face. Enormous eyes and next to no forehead. But smarts to gloss over my whole set of emotions as I explained in detail and anguish, with evidence of connections, linking the Matrix from me to her and from me to the centres of power in Embassies and agencies – all in my phone.
How, as I only desired to pray and begged the many Ambassadors to pray in my stead, and in within the next few SECONDS, the PanditJi from the Vimandeshwar temple and an acuquaintance (since he yelled ‘Maharaj’ upon hardly seeing me for the very first time, approach the hidden, put away temple beyond Dwarahat) – whatsapping me dozens of prayer mantras. None of this made any impact upon the performing character. Im not done with the market: to rub it in, the Matrix would present a gaggle of girls the next tense moment – girls laughing and balling. Like how girls are meant to be over their weddings. Happy – and always with company. Village pahadi girls are usually always in company. Girls that went underneath my skin, igniting rage and a severe urge to GO in hostility and find them all in their curse of a village.
At every moment – and over the course of dozens of emails in one evening, that evening, I kept every prominent embassy in Delhi in the loop. After every turn, after every sighting, every Matrix trick. I intend to start dropping names once Im done with the most important parts of the book. Everyone will be naked. We must all go into everything. We must win together. There is going to be numerous instances where I will go into episodes for you to learn from me, my experiences and my conclusions.
When I look back to that evening, I will say that I saw Brahmins of all kinds in that village. There was the substantially melanated ones. There was definitely the very fair ones. And my girl was as fair as I would have liked for her to be, given the circumstances. And there were also the Bhotiya ones, the Mongoloid. One more purer than the next. Yet among them all in that village of Brahmins, less than violence, and more than everything else, to turn and find no connection. I felt that the horde of them did not have very much to do REALLY with the outsider that had arrived amongst them once the mission was out, or with the MISSION (I was received very well at an earlier date and into the temple of a neighbor when I had presented as a guest), had simply been sitting in his car the whole evening, more than a football field away from the scene of crime, minding his own business absolutely (basically planning and exhorting the many Embassies and agencies over the mobile phone to test a drone, or to start rainfall to create chaos, perhaps start a fire – all managed for me at an earlier occasion), and still less upsetting than they had perhaps made the girl who had earlier confided to me that she had been subject to beatings from a mother, a sister (also to whose city I had been strung along to, and stuck there for a totality of two weeks – I dont want to remember how long it takes to get to such a place in the middle of nowhere in the higher Himalayas).
The last thing I want to do is fight for such villages and villagers all over the Hindustan. Fuck them all. These are my real emotions. I don’t give a fuck about them either. I I don’t give a fuck about the constantly increasing populations in all of these villages all over the mountains, even as our extended family was among the very, very first to get out of these dirty, nosy village scenes. I will request the deep state personally upon the Ides of each month to obliterate 2 out of the three so called sanskriti centers that these toady villages are, all over the Himalayas. I will beg President Xi to cook all Kumaoni Garhwali and Nepchinkis into a hole darker than their sun tanned skins in their villages.
I dont like the sick fucks that you are, and in short order the BJP sub-algorithm in Pushkar Singh Dhami would start passing laws that outsiders should not be allowed in our villages – and many others in sync with my movements (AND MY MOOD). I ask Dhami the deep state bish, that you translate that sign in the Han language. Just as that village of Brahmins had nothing to do with me, why am I not justified in imagining that I have just about nothing to do with them? The tragedy is the Dharma that flows in the veins of my body, a little part of which has to do with Brahmins. If there have been any two communities more allied with one another than all others, then it would perhaps be our two communities, which in my case, actually translates into a giant family, because the marriages are endemic.
However, just as I decided to place a knife to the throat of Swami Vivekananda from our clan, this familiarity and this kinship with Brahmins is why I would choose their community to distance from myself before all else, before I will go after the other three classes or the outsiders. I will penalize and draw deep contributions and sacrifices from this community, indeed, at this time in power, along with the Marvais, Gujaratis etc that go from border to border without allegiance to any king, and this is all that has been shown and sent to my desk in the past two weeks that have combined alongside the Brahmins of the BJP in perpetrating the greatest abuse of national power in the history of our democracy. Side note: given how inept the bunch of them are, there are signs that the Modi algorithm is using Brahmins to hide behind, running nonsense against me, just as the poor and stoned Israelis are being used in the game of genocide the US likes and loves.
I have written upon my social media that these times are worse than the times of Alamgir Aurangzeb, who would go on to nurture the son of Sambhaji Maharaj, while listening to one of his own sisters and preserving the Dharma in that boy who would then flourish the kingdom of Marathas, from where Raja Ram would be scurried away to the fort of Gingi, to what Marathas would actually become. While I am at this diatribe, let me curse upon the Peshwas. Let me look down upon the Brahmins that sequentially went after father and son. That went after Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj himself, who I consider no different than God himself, just not in birth, who would determine qualifications upon His ascension to the throne, the same Brahmins of Kashi that likely connived with Aurangzeb in dispatching the Mahadev Himself from Varanasi.
On a side note, at this point, I will urge my readers to find the songs of this poet, favorite of the Maharaj himself, who writes about the prevalence of Shivaji, even as Shiva himself leaves Varanasi under Mughal atrocities … and then, with everything about the last rites of Sambhaji Maharaj, for which I am being told in person by the people of those regions, how severe the punishments of these Brahmins were for praying, forgiving, for performing the last rights of Sambhaji Maharaj. There is an episode in the magnum opus Sriman Yogi where Desai brings up Sambhaji Maharaj pursuing a married Brahmin woman, perhaps eloping to a certain extent before the matter comes to light, her committing suicide while Sambhaji getting himself tied to the muzzle of his father’s cannons on the top of tak mak tok. Somewhere along, the boundaries of royalty in choosing to include a piece of land or the flesh of a woman or the soul of a woman within its confines, got muddled, and today we have these Marwadis and this strange amalgamation with Brahmins in the middle of statecraft.
This king of Uttarakhand with his ‘aanchharees’, comes to my mind when this Brahman of yore tells him to take six wives out of the six sisters, because he was king. And in this affair, and perhaps to the most of my vexation, I would lament an even more deplorable situation with my own clan, which was instituted to keep the four castes, metered within their boundaries, having lost all sense of itself and its boundaries all together.
The mess in Hindu Dharma today is a reflection of the mess in all of our clans and families and at this moment, I relegate every Brahmin out of Delhi back into their temples, if there is such an intent within them to hold on to their temples but for their meddling in the past 200 to 300 years, because my clan in Maharashtra, in Orissa, in Tamil Nadu, relate how they are having to deal with these priests that are polarizing state affairs. Just why the fuck? Just why the fuck? Or I can write another of the 1000s of letters that I write to my dear President Xi Jinping and ask him to supplant the plight of this Dharma with a few robots that chant and we don’t need Brahmins and I just may do such a thing within certain corners of our dharma, because there is punishment due upon the priestly class for all of its indecent affairs, not just in Maharashtra (the BJP deep state algorithm there in 2024 – 25 uses a Brahmin at the helm to proliferate loose women for wives, that are overtly intimate with other men using the strength of their skin), in Orissa, but also with the British, where I hold them entirely responsible for collusion and perpetuating the yoke of the British hold within the subcontinent.
If the rest of the folks in the mountains imagine that I have any other charitable dispositions about their lot, then I would like to disappoint you at this stage. I see the many villages in the mountains as nothing more than ulcers upon my Himalayas. I wish that not only the numbers of these villages, but also the numbers of your lots of the remaining three castes generally reduced in the mountains, because your women can only do such a thing as bring a couple 100 rupees worth of firewood from inside the majestic forests of The Himalayas. But be so very averse to doing paid chores that would bring in, in most cases, more monies for lesser time invested elsewhere, because then you would have to deal with the will of another human being, as opposed to imposing your own upon the nature and the trees that you come together to burn. Your men are even less disposed to do even this.
So then why are you abusing these beautiful mountains. Of course, I am exceedingly happy at the realization that you were thrown out of the Nanda Devi biosphere and but much of the mountains would be as pristine if it wasn’t for your lot. You want to hear more truth than it is that I enjoyed traveling, walking on trails, such as the ones done by the British, much more so than your lot. They just happen to be everywhere, all over it’s like a human being has dragged their affairs through every possible permutation of gradient difference imaginable. And then to imagine how privileged it is for a so called outsider to take land in one of your mountains. Why? Why at all should anybody defend your lot? And I don’t understand, why should you then be granted facilities such as medical and stuff all over in the plains, when you have so much animosity and rancor for the very people that are bringing dollars to you, money to you, rupees to you, and given that a part of my family is from Almora, I would let you in on a secret. So many have confessed their origins from in Rajasthan and other places having migrated in the past two or 300 years, or even more so, and your lot is the same as the lot in Nepal, where the migrations from the plains have taken people in the mountains. So I want you to quit your nonsense.
There is nothing more or less that I have to say to you, You are overdue in the service of the bhakti exchange and the Maharaj himself, and out of your temples that reek of blood once it gets serious. BTW, I had warned in writing the overlords of Delhi that I will do unto every temple in the mountains what was done at my behest to the Badri Vishal – I will take this up separately. And the same DONE to EVERY household of her variety in the state of the mountains, and a couple similar equally vexing outcomes. Should my girl not be returned to her state unto me. Then I swore it.
BTW: Im speaking of caste Brahmins here. The unfortunation of Brahmanism is that the reproduction works against the grain. It is not probable to any degree that true affiliation to spirituality or Krishna the most complete personality of Godhead would be found in anyone’s biological sons or daughters – including a Brahmin’s. However they would be most susceptible to such unpredictability. On the other hand a mason will birth children with stubbed toes and fingers and more pliant in their trade. Likewise for other castes.
