*28 "Poof"

On the floor of a dim room I sat amidst several others listening to a hooded man with a cobra coiled loosely around his neck informing us “There are 7 heavens above Earth and 7 hells below it!!”

I laughed and spoke up, "You are joking, right?!"

Everyone (including the hooded man) glared harshly at me. The hooded man’s cold voice hit me like a slap, “Dreaming again, you ignorant fool?!” I almost jumped out of my skin! I must have dozed off listening to his discourse! I felt completely disoriented. Some unknown power squeezed my throat; suffocating me and leaving me gasping for air. I mumbled something about needing water and rushed outside into the blinding sunlight. I steadied myself and sat on the ground, shaking my head to make some sense of my situation. My throat still felt constricted but less intensely.

I looked around and it all came back to me – I’m in no flying machine, rather I dwell in a wretched land! All around, as far as the eye could see, dying vegetation rotted and withered. In the distance, I saw starved and shrunken skeletal animals staggering on the parched, cracked edge of a drying mud hole. In sharp contrast, lush vegetation spilled over the landscape of my immediate surroundings. Nearby the house, a large clear-water lake sparkled invitingly. A high-spiked fence (clearly to keep the animals out) surrounded the lake and the house. I walked over to the lake and took a sip of water. My reflection in the water shocked me - I looked old and spent with dark bags beneath my troubled eyes. I looked away and remembered a time when I had been a carefree and (perhaps) careless man.

A long, long time ago (actually it had only been about three years ago, but it felt like ages), I had been healthy and robust (at least that’s how I remember myself). I loved spiritual things and would invite any and all holy people to my house by the lake. I would give them anything they asked for. I asked them questions upon questions about spiritual life and how to attain it. Once in a while, I would get a guest who, although they looked the part outside, turned out not to be spiritual inside. In such a case, I would fake some urgent matter and leave for the mountains for a few days. When I would come came back, the unwanted guests would be gone. But this hadn’t worked with the hooded master.

I had invited him thinking him to be spiritual man, but soon discovered him to be nothing but a dangerous sorcerer with insatiable hunger for dark powers. I had left my house departing for the mountains, but all through my travels, I felt a tight noose enclosing my neck. This greatly troubled me so I came back to see the local medicine man who explained that the hooded master was responsible for my troubles but could offer me no help. I returned home to find the hooded master had taken up permanent residence in my house. He showed me a stick-figure resembling me which had thin string around its neck. Whenever the hooded master pulled the string, I felt my throat being squeezed! I begged him to release me. He refused, insisting that he considered me an apprentice worthy of his skill in the dark arts and so forcefully became my master. I resisted violently, but to no avail

Life took a turn for the worst becoming very miserable for me soon after. I would have to sit with him in his room by the hour with all windows shut tightly for the hooded master hated sunlight, reciting the Shek Naag mantra thousands of times. I hated his Cobra ~~~~<:>,-< and the feeling was mutual. I soon discovered the hooded master’s carpet we sat on to be alive by some evil powers. Once I threatened to kill myself (I would have done it, such was my desperation) but I had been informed that my soul now belonged to the hooded master and that should I do so he would incarnate me into a pet snake! Although this sounded almost comical, I knew him to be capable of doing just that - I suspected the Cobra to be another such unfortunate innocent soul

Using his powers, the hooded master slowly dried up all the surrounding lands, drawing up the water into the lake by my house. The people in the area, though fearful of him, begged for water. He released water to only those who worshipped him. Thus he became the most powerful man in the area - revered and feared by all.

I felt completely trapped - a slave in my own home! A feeling of dread persisted heavily in my heart all the time. My only means of escape had been in dreams. I had dreamt long and elaborate dreams before but the last one outdid them all. Flying machines, light-emitting people! I must be going crazy.

The door of the house opened and people came streaming out with buckets in their hands. After filling them with water from the lake, they filed shuffling away back towards their homes.

I felt the squeeze on my throat getting tighter and knew my master wanted to see me. Reluctantly I returned to the house - knowing exactly what would happen. I would first protest and then end up begging for forgiveness and mercy for my inexcusable behavior during his discourse.

Once our slave-master ritual was over, my master instructed me to sit with him and recite some dark mantras. After doing this for sometime, we heard a knock on the door and a man’s voice called, "I have come on behalf of my Guru Nanak. We are in need of water; may we please take some from the lake?" Though this was a common enough request from strangers, uneasiness came over my master. He cowered down and whispered, hissing sharply at me to tell whoever it was to go away. I bluntly refused for I had never turned anyone away.

He picked up his black staff and tapped it on the floor; I heard him speaking through my voice, "There is only one Guru here. We do not serve others! Be Gone!"

After the man left I asked, "Who was that?" My master did not answer but started whispering some incantations.

A few minutes later, we heard a knock again and the same voice as before once more spoke, "Sirs, we wish no harm. My Guru sends a message - He says the gifts that the Creator has given us are meant to be shared."

Embers of rage sparked in my master making him tremble as tapped his staff sharply on the ground and through me, shouted out heatedly, "Tell your Guru that we do not serve ones like him! I would advise you to leave this area immediately - it is already spoken for!" The man walked away.

Soon he came back with a warning, "Sirs, hear my Guru's message. Only the Creator owns this and all other lands. If you do not share the Creator's gifts, the Creator will take them away!"

This time, my master shook irately; I had never seen him like this. His flaring rage exploding as he replied furiously, "You have an hour to leave this area, otherwise face my wrath!"

That hour was long indeed. Embroiled by his dark and foul mood, my master took out his burning anger on me. He struck me several times with his staff, sending seething pain into my heart with each bludgeoning blow. Agitatedly, he paced back and forth chanting his mantras loudly. After the hour passed, he sank back to his seat and quietly ordered me get water for him. With relief, I got up and ran outside.

To my utter amazement, the water level of our lake had begun to shrink rapidly, drying it up! And even more astonishing, the dry lake in the distance bubbled and sparkled as it began filling up! Animals crowded in drinking from one side, while children splashed and people bathed; and still others danced merrily along the shore. I could see a crowd gathering around the old Banyan Tree next to the filling lake.

I ran inside and related all this to my master, expecting him to discharge his resentment on me. But he remained deadly calm while he spoke, "So it has come to be. But there are other weapons yet at our disposal." He took out some shriveled-up clusters from his bag and put them in a basket. Then he sprinkled a clear liquid over them and right in front of my eyes, the dry castings swelled turning into plump succulent blue berries. My hand involuntarily reached out to pick one up, the master slapped it away hissing, "Do not touch this, you greedy Swine! Take them to the Guru and make certain he eats one!" He showed me my stick-figure likeness admonishing me, "I will be watching you all the way!"

I started walking towards the gathering. Feeling filthy and ashamed, I prayed desperately for a miracle. My prayers were answered…

As I moved closer, I heard exquisite music coming from the direction of the Guru. Words of a song came drifting towards me…

gMgw kI lhir myrI tutI jMjIr ] imRgCwlw pr bYTy kbIr ]

gangaa kee lehar maeree ttuttee janjeer || mrigashhaalaa par baithae kabeer ||

I had heard these words several times before. According to the hooded master, this poem had been penned by the poet Kabeer after he had broken his bonds when he had been thrown, chained up, into the River Ganges by a jealous King. But the words coming into my ears told a completely different story. Perhaps it was because they were sung in a special way or perhaps there was a special power in the singer’s voice. The way I understood the words now were: The pure waves (of grace) broke Kabeer’s chains (of darkness) and he is now free (of birth and death).

I stopped in wonder. The stinging around my neck had vanished. I touched my throat in disbelief. What had happened? I looked down at the berries and to my surprise they had reverted back to sickly-looking dried clusters. I threw them away disgustedly. Relieved, I couldn’t believe my fate! Was I truly emancipated after all these years? I knew that the Guru had somehow set me free. I started running towards the Guru, not wanting the hooded Peer to regain control over me. The closer I got, the lighter I felt.

By the time I got to the gathering, delirious joy filled me to overflowing. The people sat listening attentively – most with closed eyes and some looking steadfastly towards the two musicians sitting under the old banyan tree (which had sprung to life with tiny green sprouts). One of the musicians played a stringed instrument. Beside him sat an embodied angel of light, the Great Guru Nanak. I, of course, had not seen the Guru before, but I *knew* it was him – for only Guru Nanak could be so young and beautiful; only Guru Nanak could be so radiant and magnificent; only Guru Nanak could be so noble, sublime and transcendental; only Guru Nanak could be filled with so much freedom and love; only the Guru could set slaves free with his words.

The blissful song ended. After a long silence, the gathered people all made a beeline for the Guru. The Guru would give water and ask each one to repeat a Word five times after him. When they drank the water, I saw people transforming right there before my eyes; their faces shone with unconcealed joy and freedom. Some could not handle this new-found freedom and broke into dance and raving exaltation. The bearded man with the stringed instrument would then place his hand on their shoulders calming them until they sit down quietly with closed eyes and straight backs.

I, of course, wanted to drink this water more than anything else in life. But then I thought of my master (rather the hooded Peer, for I no longer served him) and a great sadness washed over me - I felt his pain and darkness – perhaps I felt a little affinity with him. I felt certain he too had once been free and loving; before he had chosen the wrong path. The Guru could show him the light, so I decided to bring him to the Guru. Since I stood last in line, I felt confident I could fetch the hooded peer and still be back before my turn. I ran to get him.

Although the world had changed for me, the hooded Peer was exactly as I had left him (it was perhaps naïve of me to think that he should have changed too). He harshly asked me if the Guru had fallen. I answered mirthfully, joyfully, “Sir, Guru Nanak is an angel in human form.” My master looked into my eyes intently and his hands moved towards his staff, “So you have fallen under this great Guru’s spell too,” he said sarcastically, “not for long, you ignorant fool!” He tapped his staff on the ground. I felt nothing and I smiled. That annoyed him. He tapped his staff impatiently on the ground again and still I smiled. He raised his staff and threw it at me like a spear – but before it could reach me, it disintegrated into dark ashes. Then right before my eyes, the hooded man turned into a very old sick man. He hunched over and his legs gave way under him. His hood came off and he screamed raising his hand against the sunlight piercing his eyes. I had heard that that though he was actually 113 years old, the magic power of his staff had made him look much younger. But no longer, the spell had broken and dissolved into ash. He scrabbled in the ashes scooping them into piles lifting them towards his face but they sifted through his gnarled knuckles back to the floor falling into sooty heaps. His gasping grasping efforts scattered the soot dissolving it until nothing remained but a dark charcoal like stain

I felt the utmost compassion for this miserable man. He lay there sobbing - completely helpless. I moved closer to him and touched him and said, “I will take you to the Guru on my shoulders.” “No!” he screamed.

I tried again, to lift him from the floor where he lay, “Sir, you don’t understand. The Guru is a kind and forgiving healer…” He interrupted me, “No Son, you don’t understand. I cannot admit that I have been wrong all my life. Although I have no strength left, I vow that I will fight the teachings of this Guru… even if I have to come back to do so.” He evaporated into a dark dense blur of smoke. This smudge glided away, drifting off in a direction opposite of the Guru. I saw a puff of dark smoke and then another leaving my house and merge into that dark cloud, (I later discovered that the carpet and the Cobra had departed as well and can only guess that they went with him).

I turned and started back in the direction of the Guru when I had another idea enter my head - perhaps I could invite the Guru back to my house for the evening meal and a night’s rest. That would such an honor, I thought. But I looked at the house and could not imagine the Guru in its filthy darkness. I ran back inside and started cleaning it like a mad man. I flung open the windows which had been shut for years, swept away the clumps of cobwebs and thick piles of dust which had accumulated. I gathered and threw everything of the hooded peer’s into a bonfire which I started outside. I scoured and scrubbed until looking up I suddenly realized that evening had come already. I panicked and ran towards the Guru. In my haste, I tripped on a tree root and fell to the ground hitting my head hard - I lost consciousness…

I opened my eyes and found myself in the Interstellar Elevator, with only the man in white there. He was waiting for me with open arms, his hands wide spread. I threw myself into his arms sobbing. He held me close while I shouted, “No!” repeatedly.

He wiped my tears and said, “It ok, it ok.”

I cried, “I want to go back!” He soothed me with his words and said, “Son, to get Naam, one must prepare – sometime for many lives. That why now you get birth in Sikh house. You get chance to prepare for time when Guru give you Naam. When Guru give you Naam, only True One decide. No we decide.”

That calmed me a bit – then suddenly the vaja toR kid popped back crying, “Yes!”

The man in white soothed the kid with words (that I didn’t understand). Soon everyone was back (some crying, some laughing); the man in white said, “In 2 paurees, Dhan Guru Nanak say countless chase light, countless chase darkness. Now you know what Guru mean?” We all nodded. He asked our sister to tell us what had happened to her when she had disappeared…

Meanwhile “down” in GoonKhand…

St. Goony scowled, clearly annoyed when one of the GoonKhand guards shook him out of his daily 23-hour+-virtual-vacation. He found his job very stressful and he really needed this break to rejuvenate. For eons, he hadn’t needed any sort of break – back then, he had hopes for the Goons and fancied himself as a reformer; but slowly all hope diminished as not one single Goon ever graduated to higher Khands (although some had to be transferred to the nearby S&E (Sinister and Evil) Khand, but that’s another episode). Slowly the eons eked along. Eon in and eon out the eons came and went without change, and his job became a joyless chore.

After refusing to acknowledge his depression for three straight eons, he finally consulted the Great Goon God (or “Triple G” as he liked to be called), who instructed him to take the aforementioned virtual-vacation (well, the recommended time was 15 minutes, but St. Goony had expanded it quite a bit (that’s what happens when your boss’s name is Triple-G and spends more time on DopeyKhand than in his own khand).

Initially, the virtual-vacation consisted of St. Goony closing his eyes and imagining a beach with nice (looking) people. But that slowly “evolved” to St. Goony imagining a beach where all the Goons had drowned after been attacked by some rather ugly-looking sharks! He had mentioned this to Triple-G, who had said, “Man, whatever rocks your boat is kewl! Now be a good Saint and pass me the pipe!”).

I hear a “Why was his job so stressful?” from reader 1 of 2. You see, my dear reader 1 of 2, (I wish reader 2 of 2 was as attentive as you; actually I wish you were reader 1 of 3, but … 'c'est la vie) in GoonKhand, the hardest, most difficult job was keeping the short-tempered-and-attention-challenged Goons entertained. They had no tension in their lives – they had died already (“bin der, done dat”, they would shrug) and there was nothing worth looking forward to either - no wasting-away-rival-gangs, no-evil-attempts-to-take-over-world etc. Thus, the Goons loitered around getting into all sorts of trouble.

So St. Goony tweaked the GoonKhand software a little bit and imposed virtual time on GoonKhand. He added virtual death too – ie if a Goon got shot, he would, until the start of the next day, “die” (actually fall sleep, but that’s another episode …. Nay… why wait for another episode while I’m on the roll… He had contacted St. Sleepy from SleepyKhand for the software and I’m telling you, you don’t want to do business with them SleepyKhand folks. I mean, your phone calls are not returned for eons (and even then when they do happen to answer, they yawn for the first 15 minutes, and then hang up on you saying, “I’ll have to call you back, I have an urgent meeting with …er … Mr. Pillo”); you go ring their doorbell and you hear a ding-dong lullaby which puts you to sleep too.

While we are on the subject, I would also recommend that you avoid business with BashfulKhand (discussing business peeping over a conference room curtain gets old quickly) and the GrumpyKhand (“WHAT THE ##@@@!! DO YOU WANT NOW?” the receptionist shouts at you and that’s on her nice days) too. SneezyKhand’s not too bad, but make sure you schedule a stop at TissueKhand on your way there.)

As you know, we, the Jedi Night-ers are not just pure entertainment; we think it is our civic duty to report the bug that occurred during testing this new GoonKhand software. This bug could affect you (yes, you, reader 1 of 2; and reader 2 of 2 - the inattentive reader that he is, couldn’t care less anyway). So please do read this carefully. You see, the software misinterpreted the “fall” part in the command “fall asleep” – it thought “fall” as in falling down, as in falling off the khand, as in falling through the cracks of the Universe. So one Goon fell and is still unaccounted for!

The cosmic no-accident-second-counter had to be reset to zero and as you can imagine, there was a lot of finger-pointing. Mostly to the folks at the SleepyKhand, who simply pulled more blankets on top of them. The whole Universe has been scanned (and is still being scanned as you read this) for this missing Goon. Even DocKhand, which is normally avoided (you see DocKhand’s motto is “Its all in the feet, not the mind” and patients are routinely shown all their previous re-incarnations and told, “Your neurosis started when you were a baby amoeba and someone stepped on you while you were privately self-dividing” – I mean, I try to forget the bozo that stepped on me last week and these guys insist on going back zillions of stepped-on years).

Anyway, although the scans for the missing Goon have revealed nothing yet, there is a strong suspicion that the missing Goon could be on Earth!!! He could very well be your neighbor. But DO NOT PANIC, there are ways of finding out if he is – this memo was sent to all heads of species (and to the wiggly part of those species without heads) but it has been widely suppressed by humans because of potential meltdown of the NASDAQ), however, as previously stated we are TruTh lovers and don’t care about the value of stock portfolios – hang on, I need to make a short call, “Hello, Mr. Broker, please short-sell the hell out of everything!”

Signs Your Neighbor Is a Goon

· For his son's birthday, buys him the City Mayor

· All his anecdotes end with, "So I blew his head off"

· Number of his missing gold chains directly relate to city murder rate

· Comes home covered with bloodment (80% blood and 20% cement mixture)

There are more signs, but Woodle is on the phone and threatening taking away the freedom-of-speech rights, so I’ll move on.

But despite this minor setback, St. Goony finally got the virtual-GoonKhand program going. Those were the St.Goony’s heady I’m-gonna-change-de-Goon-World-days and he was very creative.

He started off with Meditation-Mondays which quickly turned into Medication-Mondays. I mean the things that the Goons said were mega-migraine-inducing. I’ll give you a sample:

· “Hey Don Goony, I knocked and knocked but nobody was home, so I blew open my 10^th door with a shotgun - ‘ope dat ok.”

· “I found the missing bullet in my heart chakra.”

· “Hey St, I’ve been watching for my breath for hours now; haven’t seen nothin’ yet.”

· “My legs can’t go into the lotus position – is ok to use Vinny’s legs?”

So St. Goony figured maybe meditation was too much of a leap for these guys, so next he came up with Sharing-Saturdays. Those, I’m sorry to say, turned into nothing but Suicide-Saturdays - the Goons started sharing their grenades (conveniently removing the safety-pins before “sharing” them).

After a while, St. Goony just gave up and came up with this fixed schedule (which has been unchanged for 28,493 Ong cycles)

Shoot-em-up-Sundays (where Goons shoot everything in sight)

Shut-de-#%@!-up-Saturdays (where Goons shoot everything in sight)

Manhandle-Mondays (where Goons shoot everything in sight)

Trigger-happy-Tuesdays (where Goons shoot everything in sight)

Whack-‘em-up-Wednesdays (where Goons shoot everything in sight)

Thwak-‘em-down-Thursdays (where Goons shoot everything in sight)

Fudged-about-it -Fridays (where Goons shoot everything in sight)

Shoot-em-upSundays got so popular that it spread like ether-fire to all the khands. Even SleepyKhand has a version (Shoot-em-up-after-a- nice -long-nap-Sunday).

The good thing about this schedule was that by about 12:15am every goon was good and dead. Except, of course, the one Goon, who has out-Gooned the others. But (and don’t mention this to anybody or no mo’ amore for you) St. Goony usually took care of him personally before heading off to his 23-hour+-power-nap.

So you can imagine St. Goony’s annoyance when some guard woke him up to tell him that more than 2 dozen ballerina goons had shown up. “What is Earth coming to?” St. Goony shouted, “First a Goodle and now some Ballerinas – this is not going good!” (Nobody had a clue about how to handle Goodle when he had shown up; and finally ended up sending him down to the S&E-Khand – I know, I know, discrimination is rampant even in the Khands – just because Goodle looks S&E doesn’t mean he is S&E).

But the chaos that happened when Goodle had arrived was nothing compared to the mayhem which the Ballerinas created. They started dancing and talking about how the world should be violence-free and happy. Their joy was infectious and the guards started dancing with them, singing “Joy to de World” and other happy songs like dat. The other goons woke up from all the racket and things started getting rowdy.

At long last and not until after the GoonKhand door had burnt down (and some goon had gone and burnt up the S&E-Khand door too and St. S&E had personally turned up – not a pretty sight, lemme tell ya) things did calm down. The Ballerinas Goons and some of guards had to be transferred to HappyKhand (another khand you wanna avoid – those guys are so annoyingly perky, you just want to smack the smugy cheer right off their faces!)

When the final count was done, six S&E-Khand occupants were declared missing (the Hooded Peer, his grandson, his grandson’s grandson, his grandson’s father, and his grandson’s father’s grandson and Goodle – yup, that’s what happens when you stick a nice Goon in with the hard-core guys).

To be continued… (if you still care)