The Cabinet Room
She felt that the meeting in the Cabinet Room should concentrate on Ved Nagar and my Svarūpé Avasthānam only.
On what Evelyn Carter should give to me and expect to receive in return.
Yes, she isn’t certain I’ve attained my Svarūpé Avasthānam.
Neither she is certain there is any stage in human evolution that’s called Svarūpé Avasthānam, Self Synchronization, at all.
There’s only one human society, Hinduism that claims, there exists such a stage in human evolution.
HVSI explains its every meteoric miraculous incredible rise using this extremely incredulous theory.
Evelyn Carter doesn’t believe it’s true.
Well, Lily Turner herself doesn’t believe it.
“You know I can’t.” Lily Turner said almost incensed due to her helplessness.
With this concentration on the immediate subject of concern, there was no need to be burdened by the secretary of agriculture, the secretary of commerce, the secretary of transportation, the attorney general, and other members of President’s staff.
Entering the Cabinet Room, Lily Turner could see at a glance that the necessary officers had been alerted.
They were already on hand.
Lily Turner greeted Dr. Åārifah Mustafā, Secretary to Secretary of State, Cyrus Vance, Dr. Shāhidah Ashraf, the recommended Chief of Staff of White House, the secretary of defense and the three officers of the National Security Council.
Then she took the leather chair next to Evelyn Carter’s vacant one.
Åāliyah Muħammad Åbbās watched me gravely.
“I asked was there any ice to break?” I repeated my question.
“It depends on how you look at it.”
“You went to the table to get acquainted with Nadīm Iqbāl Muħammad?”
“If the court please,” Waħīd Murād, the Public Prosecutor, said, “I must insist that the counsel is renowned, infamous rather I must say, to be biased in favor of Musalmān Beauties whosoever she may be. Yet he is surprisingly manifestly unfair to this witness. He is browbeating this witness constantly and trying to put her in a false light before the jury. I want to remind the court, as well as to the defense counsel this woman is a widow. She has been bereaved by the crime of murder committed by―”
“Just a minute, your honor,” I interrupted, smiling, “Mr. Public Prosecutor is arguing the case. There isn’t any question before the court for the Public Prosecutor to argue the case at this time.”
Waħīd Murād was quite angry.
“Nevertheless,” he shouted as if, “I object to having this woman held up in front of this jury as a strumpet, a harlot, a prostitute.”
I smiled patronizing, yet sophisticated.
“And I object, your honor, to having Mrs. Åāliyah Muħammad Åbbās held up as a mealymouthed, deceptive, persecuted, bereaved widow simply so the prosecutor can play on the sympathies of the jury. It isn’t a theater; neither are we staging a theatrical drama here. It’s a temple of justice and we are fighting here for the life of humankind. One person already has been murdered and we are fighting here to save the life of another.”
Judge Keyser frowned.
“At present there isn’t any question before the court. Therefore, there isn’t any reason whatsoever to make an objection. The jurors are called upon to see the witnesses, to watch their demeanor, their behavior, their conduct on the stand, to form their own opinions as to thefacts.
The prosecutor has one theory of the case and the defense has another. Please try to avoid personalities, gentlemen. You may proceed, Mr. Durgesh.”
By this time, all vestiges, all hints of the fragile, delicate, helpless, bereaved widow had left the witness Åāliyah Muħammad Åbbās.
However, her guts were appreciable.
Åāliyah Muħammad Åbbās was still sitting on the witness chair, slightly forward, still sad, and feigning a widow being intimidated unreasonably.
“Now then,” I attacked her once again, “you saw this letter in your husband’s pocket?”
“It wasn’t a letter, your honor,” she looked at Judge Keyser, “everyone can understand that it was a blackmail demand.”
“Blackmail demand on Nadīm Iqbāl Muħammad?” I asked.
“The letter was sent to him.”
“Isn’t it a fact that your third husband, Akram Sultan, had also received a blackmail demand?” I thundered at her.
“I can’t help it.”
“Isn’t it a fact that your second husband, Muħammad Qāsim Ayyūbī, had also received a blackmail demand?” I smiled at her meaningfully.
“I can’t help it.” Åāliyah Muħammad Åbbās repeated her answer.
“Isn’t it a fact that your first husband, Zāhid Rashīd, had also received a blackmail demand?” I smiled at her once again.
“I can’t help it.” She again repeated.
“All the four envelopes had the return address in the upper left hand corner and the name A. M. Åbbās?”
“How do you know it was blackmail?”
“There was a demand for money in the letter. What do you think; it was an invitation to dance?”
“I can’t answer that question. I’d rather leave it to the jury to draw their own conclusion.”
Åāliyah Muħammad Åbbās watched me gravely.
“That’s your privilege.”
“What’s your full name?”
“Will you please abbreviate it?”
“A. M. Åbbās.” She said curtly, “I understand your implication. But I never blackmailed anyone in my life. Neither have I sent any blackmail letter to anyone. Anyone can use my name as a return address to implicate me.”
“Is there a newsstand at the corner by your residence?”
“Yes, there is.”
“Are you familiar with the person who runs it?”*
Lily Turner repeated her question.
“I asked how did your pre-briefing go with Evelyn Carter?”
“It means lousy, useless, worthless, crummy, horrible. Our potential candidate for next President of USA, Ms. Evelyn Carter, didn’t give a damn about Ved Nagar, Svarūpé Avasthānam and Durgesh himself. She only wanted to speak of sex championship contest in Washington D.C. between
“Then our work’s cut out for us.”
“You are forgetting the resources CIA has. Fortunately or unfortunately, I’m somewhat in a position to use those entire resources for the benefits of USA. Even the President of USA himself has given us the permission, let alone the Director of CIA. I never believe anyone of my Musalmān women friends too, as the President of USA has instructed us, rather has imposed the condition on us, without investigating about them thoroughly.”
“I agree with Lily Turner.” Dr. Åārifah Mustafā, Secretary to Secretary of State, Cyrus Vance, said severely, “That’s why I cancelled everyone else. Ved Nagar is the dream city of Vedic Monotheist Hindus. Durgesh has succeeded in their dreams getting true. He is a Parahuman and Ved Nagar is full of Posthumans.”
“Nonsense.” Evelyn Carter said.
“You must be crazy, Lily.” Evelyn Carter said tersely, “I know Durgesh more than you. He and his adroit followers Vedic Monotheist Hindus are number one liars, number one rumor spreaders. They believe that spreading rumors is Dharm Yuddh, the holy war, a Crusade.”*
Lily Turner smiled.
“I wanted to concentrate on what’s waiting for you at lunch.”
Evelyn Carter controlled herself.
Now she appeared suddenly surprisingly to be in good humor.
She brushed back her hair, grinned at the assemblage, and watched all of them impishly deliberately.
Lily Turner realized her strategy.
She reminded Evelyn Carter gravely.
“We have been discussing your lunch with Durgesh.”
“Is it going to be a long lunch?” Evelyn Carter asked delinquently.
“It doesn’t have to be.” Dr. Åārifah Mustafā, Secretary to Secretary of State, Cyrus Vance, assured her, “After some filling gap talk with the ever richest person in the entire history of humankind, you can wind up lunch and we’ll move into the Yellow Oval Room. The President would be busy elsewhere with Valéry Giscard d’Estaing, the President of France. He has instructed us already to be there in Yellow Oval Room.”
“That can be strictly business?”
“That can be strictly business.” Dr. Åārifah Mustafā said.
“I just wanted to know because I didn’t want to miss the big contest.” Evelyn Carter explained.
“You’ll have plenty of time for that,” Lily Turner promised, “This lunch and meeting with the former head of Hindu Vishv Underground is scheduled to last one and a half hours. Then Miss USA, Margaret Kennedy, is scheduled to accompany Durgesh to the opening of the Ashvinatam Museum expecting Durgesh to say a few words, maybe five minutes’ worth, about an important fund raiser. That’ll give you plenty of time to get back for the contest.”
Evelyn Carter surveyed the Cabinet Room.
“I see a lot of our friends are missing. You’ve brought in only the big brass.”
“Deliberate,” said Lily Turner simply, “Since you are going to be bargaining with the ever sexiest Vedic Monotheist Hindu, we wanted our full concentration to be devoted to a treaty with Ved Nagar/Trantor.”*
“Fair enough.” She said.
“The fact you have to remember is not that Durgesh is the Mayor of Ved Nagar/Trantor now. He was the democratic head of Hindu Vishv Underground too. Hindu Vishv Underground was an underground organization of revolutionaries who were actually behind the independence of India.”
“That doesn’t exist now?” Evelyn Carter smiled sarcastically.
“CIA suspects that it does exist now as Ved Nagar/Trantor instead of its said dissolution into Vyom, interspace.” Lily Turner said curtly. “Our former station head at Ved Nagar/Trantor, Della Turner, and our present station head, Akhilésh M. Āgnéý there, both have reported the importance of Ved Nagar/Trantor. We suspect it isn’t only a city in India. It’s actually Hindu Vishv Underground in its new present supreme developed form.”
Evelyn Carter smiled.
“Any evidence that our suspicion may be true?”
“That’s what you have to find out.” Lily Turner said.
She was twenty-one.
“The fact,” Lily Turner said, “that your younger sister, Rukħsānah Carter, is also in the same university as Kħadījah Muħammad was in, will give you something in common to talk about before you settle down to the nitty-gritty. Durgesh loves Kħadījah Muħammad even more than his duly married wife, Saiyadah Fātimah PhD.”
Now, Evelyn Carter too nodded.
“Alright, what’s the nitty-gritty?”
She tore it loose and came around the table to Evelyn Carter.
“Nellie Adams, take my seat and give me yours. This will make it easier for me to explain a map of Indian sub continent and beyond that I’ve been drawing.”
The exchange was made.
“That’s the reason I called you in today. You are the one closest to Salīm Jalāluddīn Muħammad. I have naturally to discuss the problem with you.” Dr. Āsiyah Mustafā cleared her throat and looked into Nūrjahān Ghayās Beg’s beautiful Iranian Shiå Musalmān eys, “I saw Salīm Jalāluddīn Muħammad late yesterday. I outlined one final time what had to be done. He approved, approved of the surgery. This morning, first thing, he telephoned me. He has changed his mind. He is turning down the operation.”
“He is what? Salīm won’t go through it? I didn’t talk to him this morning. He was still asleep. I haven’t heard about it naturally. It makes no sense. Are you sure, Doctor? We had agreed surgery was his only chance.”
“Apparently, Salīm now doesn’t think so. He now thinks there’s a better course. Have you seen this morning’s paper?”
Nūrjahān surveyed the front page.
She was more bewildered than ever.
“There’s just some headline about Madīnah Munawwarah.”
Turn to page three. Read the full story.”
Nūrjahān Ghayās Beg opened the paper.
The headline hit her.
The story that followed was bylined by great Bābarah Åālamgīr.
It was datelined Paris.
Nūrjahān Ghayās Beg calmly, patiently, read the news story.
When she was through, she folded the paper patiently, neatly, and put it on the desk.
She met the beautiful eyes of Dr. Āsiyah Mustafā.
Nūrjahān Ghayās Beg was aghast, stunned, as the full import of what was happening struck her.
“Yes, that’s the news.” Dr. Āsiyah Mustafā said.
“News? Hell. The hallucination of some crazy uneducated/under educated Musalmīn. It might be some deliberate political strategy of Pseudo Musalmīn too to compensate the anti Musalmīn anti Islam trend, propelled by Dr. Ali Sina and his co authors. Are you telling me Salīm Jalāluddīn Muħammad has read it and believes in this nonsense?”
“Yes.” Dr. Āsiyah Mustafā admitted.
Evelyn Carter watched it.
“A crude drawing of the Indian Sub Continent. It highlights our major Eīshān Vaigyānic bases that help us contain any overenthusiasm that may occur in India, Pakistan, Shri Lanka, nd Afghanistan.” Using her pen as a pointer on the map, Dr. Åārifah Mustafā resumed, “As you can see, our potential Presidential candidate for the next term, this Eīshān Vaigyānic base of ours there in Pakistan has three major wings: Sunnī, Shiå and Aħmadī. Dr. Āsiyah Mustafā is the Commander of our Sunnī Eīshān Vaigyānic base. It is unfortunate that Dr. Āsiyah Mustafā doesn’t have even the citizenship of Pakistan. She is still a Turk Musalmān Beauty. Nūrjahān Ghayās Beg is the Commander of our Shiå Eīshān Vaigyānic base. What a tragedy it is that as Dr. Āsiyah Mustafā, Nūrjahān Ghayās Beg too isn’t a Pakistani citizen. Nūrjahān Ghayās Beg is still a proud Iranian. We have only an Aħmadī Musalmān Beauty as our Aħmadī Eīshān Vaigyānic base at Pakistan that’s a citizen of Pakistan.”
Evelyn Carter smiled.
“How the hell you think Durgesh can help us in improving it?”
“He can permit us to have similar three Eīshān Vaigyānic bases in Ved Nagar: Sunnī Eīshān Vaigyānic base, Shiå Eīshān Vaigyānic base and Aħmadī Eīshān Vaigyānic base. He is the Mayor of the dream city Ved Nagar.”
“Do you really believe in Eīshān Vigyān?”
“Allah,” Dr. Åārifah Mustafā looked at her entirely disgruntled. “Don’t tell us you don’t deserve the post we are preparing you for.”
“Shame on you, Evelyn Carter,” Lily Turner said curtly, “you are more interested in the sex championship contest between Musalmān Beauties and Christian Beauties, than you are interested in your preparation for what we want you to be.”
“Go to hell your Nafīsah Salmān and you both. I say Nafīsah Salmān has succeeded in getting Durgesh. Her ambition has been attained. She is living now in your so-called dream city, Ved Nagar/Trantor. If it’s really a dream city as you claim it to be, why the hell Nafīsah Salmān would risk her golden fortune by helping us, instead of working for HVSI? Durgesh is her Live in Relationship Partner now. Nafīsah Salmān isn’t a fool to risk the golden opportunity of her life. No one would. Even I wouldn’t if I were in her shoes.”
“So this is the reason you are not interested in the strategies we are suggesting?” Lily Turner was furious now.
“Well, why should I?”
Evelyn Carter stared at the map.
“An area, a large area you’ve colored in green and saffron, and two small ones.”
“And you want one there?”
“Don’t you?” now it was Nellie Adams, the secretary to the secretary of defense.
Moreover, Nellie Adams was furious.
“Nellie Adams, the secretary to the secretary of defense,” Evelyn Carter laughed sarcastically, “Don’t pretend to be righteous enough to be more interested in anything else instead in sex with Durgesh. Didn’t you yourself rape Durgesh because he wasn’t leaving Dr. Åārifah Mustafā?”
“I raped him because he was deliberately ignoring me.” Nellie Adams shouted, “It doesn’t mean I’m as disinterested in my country and in Christianity as the hell you are. I am ashamed of you, Evelyn Carter.”
4. On History
6. On Hinduism
7. On Islam
Al Sāliħah Al Rashīd was also proud of her daughter, Lily Turner.
Yet, due to my Svarūpé Avasthānam, none of us looked aged.
Lily Turner still looked anywhere in her late thirties.
Actually, she was sixty-two now, on the brim of completing her sixty-three even.
“The bastard.” She said.
I smiled fucking her more passionately,
“No. He says there are certain female shareholders who don’t want to come in the open, supporting Hindu Lund Muslim Choot International Club. Imām Muħammad Ħasan doesn’t have their addresses. They are kept secret.”
“And Shaguftah Rashīd is one of them?”
“And Shaguftah Rashīd is one of them.”
“Maybe he is really not entrusted. Yet, it sounds goofy to me.”
“Anyway, that’s his story.”
The door from the manager’s apartment opened.
Raziyah Najmul Ħasan, wearing a housedress, came toward us.
Her face had been given a generous application of rouge somewhat evenly applied.
She smiled at us,
Raziyah Najmul Ħasan turned toward the door.
We followed her gaze.
Through the plate glass, we saw a slim waisted young man run up the porch stairs, and jab a key into the lock of the door.
Raziyah Najmul Ħasan had time to say, before the door opened,
“This is Iqbāl Rashīd now.”
We waited until Iqbāl Rashīd was well on his way toward the elevator.
I noticed his half running pace and the excited tension that seemed to grip him.
“Putting out a fire?”
Iqbāl Rashīd apparently saw us for the first time.
He jerked to a standing stop, and stared.
Raziyah Najmul Ħasan said, ingratiatingly,
“Iqbāl Rashīd, this is…”
She stepped forward and jerked back the lapel of her coat so that Iqbāl Rashīd could see her badge and stars.
Iqbāl Rashīd’s reaction to it was instantaneous.
He half turned back toward the big plate glass door as if about to run.
His face was white.
She watched Iqbāl Rashīd’s countenance.
It began to twitch.
Realizing he was trapped, Iqbāl Rashīd took a deep breath.
Even I could see his hands clenching into fists.
“Well,” he asked, “what is it?”
I also studied Iqbāl Rashīd.
He was a small boned slim hipped man.
His coat was heavily padded at the shoulders.
The even tan of his face indicated that he habitually went without a hat and was much in the open.
His hair, black and glossy, waved back from his forehead with a rippling regularity that suggested the touch of a professional hairdresser.
His height was medium and he didn’t weigh much more than a hundred and thirty pounds.
“What’s the hurry?”
“I wanted to get to bed.” Iqbāl Rashīd controlled himself surprisingly.
She reassured me similarly without using even a single word.
Iqbāl Rashīd managed to smile sophisticatedly.
He didn’t comment.
“Sure, ma’am. Whatever I can help the law.”
“Shaguftah Rashīd is your sister?”
“We’re trying to locate her. We got a lead to you.”
“Well, Shaguftah Bājī doesn’t live with me.”
“Where does she live?”
“She has her own residence, Shaguftah Rashīd Apartments.”
“I see. Your Bājī is that Shaguftah Rashīd?”
“When did you see her last?”
“Last? Why? Is there something abnormal, officer?”
“Don’t try to question me, young chap. Just answer me. When did you see her last?”
“A week ago? An hour ago?” I too asked.
“Oh, probably yesterday sometime. She’s at the Hindu Lund Muslim Choot International Club. I too am manager there.”
“Yes, ma’am. Is there anything wrong?”
“Not that the police know of. Yet, there are so many Musalmīn that think the name of the club is disgraceful to them. Don’t you yourself think so?”
“The Musalmīn that think so, don’t know the Hindu Lund Muslim Choot International Club is actually owned by internationally renowned and well established zillionaires, trillionaires, billionaires and at least multi-millionaires Musalmān Beauties. The Hindus have a too much negligible shareholding in the club. So even if it is a disgrace to the Musalmīn, the Hindus are not responsible for it. The internationally capable, accomplished, talented, proficient, skilled, gifted, adept, skillful, clever, and influential, powerful Musalmān Beauties are accountable for it. Most of them are feminist nudists. They don’t think the name of the club is disgraceful to them. Instead, they think it’s disgraceful to the Hindus, not to Musalmīn. ”
“What? Disgraceful to the Hindus? How?”
“Ask them, the owners of the Hindu Lund Muslim Choot International Club I mean.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“You deserve to be a manager there. Quite efficient. Congratulations.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“That’s right ma’am.” Iqbāl Rashīd said good-naturedly.
After nodding good morning to several National Security officers, Lily Turner hastened up a narrow flight of stairs to the office of Dr. Shāhidah Ashraf, the recommended Chief of Staff of White House.
The office was two doors down from the President’s Oval Office.
Inside, three of Dr. Shāhidah Ashraf’s aides, informally attired, were lounging about discussing the contents of a speech President of USA, Jimmy Carter, would soon deliver on cuts in domestic spending.
Were the rumors true?
Is Durgesh really capable to replace anyone after his so-called Svarūpé Avasthānam?
How is it possible?
How a person can has his two bodies so drastically different in almost everything?
Wasn’t Karl Marx right when he said that Religion is opium of people?
But it doesn’t mean that everything whatsoever the Soviet Union believes in is wrong.
Dr. Shāhidah Ashraf dismissed the aides, postponing the conference on speech for later in the day.
Hell, Durgesh is actually representing not only India now.
Yes, Durgesh doesn’t say so in so many words.
But it may fool only the morons, not Lily Turner.
She had known Evelyn Carter a long time.
She knew she was extremely beautiful.
So did her intellect and her ability at organization.
Evelyn Carter appeared to be only half listening.
I was the male partner, and officially that was the reason I was there.
Lily Turner was neither sure nor actually, she was interested.
What the hell difference does it make?
Evelyn Carter was impatient somewhat.
“Look, Lily Turner, let’s go to Ved Nagar and Durgesh’s so called damn (Shanno Mitrah!) Svarūpé Avasthānam later. Do I have to hear it all twice? Let’s go over it at the cabinet meeting. Then it’ll be fresh in my mind when I settle down to lunch with Durgesh.”
Evelyn Carter laughed.
“We have four years now for it, dearie, haven’t we?”
“Ouch!” Evelyn Carter jumped up, “what are you doing?”
“Trying to make you listen to me, you moron.”
Evelyn Carter winked at her.
“I’m dying to watch Durgesh fucking us Christian Beauties.”
“Damn you! How do you know?”
When Lily Turner returned to her quarters, annoyed at her failure to get anywhere with Evelyn Carter, she considered phoning Dr. Åārifah Mustafā, Secretary to Secretary of State, Cyrus Vance, and Dr. Shāhidah Ashraf, the recommended Chief of Staff of White House, to pick up on the speech about cuts in domestic spending.*
The Shaguftah Rashīd Apartments was a little walk up.
There was no answer at Shaguftah Rashīd bell.
She ordered her to follow us up to the apartment with a passkey.
We climbed two flights of stairs, as the elevator wasn’t in working order temporarily then.
All the three of us, ACP Suraiyā Jamāl I and the beautiful manager of Shaguftah Rashīd Apartments, walked down a narrow, yet heavily carpeted corridor, fragrant with wonderfully pleasant aroma and the lighted emanations that fill an excellent ventilated place where people were sleeping.
It was noticeable that the immigrant apartment owners were providing more facilities to their tenants and customers in Ved Nagar than even the original residents.
They had to.
They had to win the tenants and customers from the original residents.
It had started a healthy competition between the immigrant apartment owners and the original residents of Ved Nagar in providing more and more facilities to their tenants and customers.
My administration there was encouraging it more and more.
It was impartial.
We wanted to encourage immigration.
Shaguftah Rashīd’s apartment was in the middle.
A light showed over the transom.
There wasn’t any answer.
She nodded to the beautiful manager.
“Okay. Open it up.”*
The beautiful manager of Shaguftah Rashīd Apartments hesitated a moment, then looked at me.
The door had Eīshān Vaigyānic lock.
While it was locked from inside it needed the Eīshān Vaigyānic rays emanating either from Shaguftah Rashīd’s own Saůūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Cunt or from the Saůūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Cunt of the beautiful manager.
Ħāfizah Kalām-e-Pāk sucked me and as soon as it was ready enough to fuck her, I nodded her to go into rukū.
It was her first time with me.
Ħāfizah Kalām-e-Pāk felt immensely honored.
Even then, Ħāfizah Kalām-e-Pāk whispered.
“Please honor my femininity by coming into me.”
I obliged her.*
The door clicked back.
The figure of a blond woman dressed in a tweed skirt and jacket stockings and rubber soled gold shoes, lay sprawled near the door.
The telephone had been knocked from a small spindly-legged stand to the floor.
A box of the chocolate creams was open on the table, and some wrapping paper.
It was evident that in the wrapping paper the chocolate box had been tied folded itself neatly around the edges of the box.
The cover lay slightly to one side.
On the cover, there was a chocolate smudged card.
‘These will make you feel better.’
The card was signed with the initials ‘FMA’.
The chocolates were cradled in little paper cups.
A blank space in the upper tray furnished the sole clue as to the number that had been eaten.
I made a swift survey.
I estimated that eight or ten were missing from the top layer of the box.
The lower layer seemed untouched.
“You must be a highly qualified doctor to qualify for being a manager here in Eīshān Vaigyānic areas. Are you?”
“Sure.” Ħāfizah Kalām-e-Pāk immediately was all-alert.
“I’m going downstairs. I’ve to call Inspector Pratāp at headquarters. I’ve to tell him I’ve found Shaguftah Rashīd and the candy. It’s evident that she’s been poisoned. I’ve to order Inspector Pratāp to rush out the fingerprint staff and an ambulance.”
“We may need your decisions as a competent police officer for what to do in certain medical turn outs while checking her.” Ħāfizah Kalām-e-Pāk protested, “Why don’t you use your mobile here to instruct your staff necessarily?”
“I may have to instruct my staff clandestinely.”
“That can wait. Your presence here is far more necessary. It can’t wait.”
I started to harden once more.
I looked at Ħāfizah Kalām-e-Pāk.
“Sure. That’s right.” Ħāfizah Kalām-e-Pāk confirmed.
“What if it were a man?”
“The men need different sort of first aid in Eīshān Vigyān.”
Shaguftah Rashīd’s face was slightly congested.
Her breathing was slow and seemed labored.
The skin was surprisingly cold to the touch.
“Looks more like a drug than an active poison.” Ħāfizah Kalām-e-Pāk said, “I think if you fuck her immediately perhaps we can bring her out of it without any more medical help.”
There was a legal question in my eyes.
“Nonsense. She is unconscious. She may hate me for what you both tell me to do with her.”*
Ħāfizah Kalām-e-Pāk said curtly.
“You didn’t hesitate when you’d to fuck me.”
“Well, she has spread her legs. Perhaps even in her unconsciousness she is inviting you to go ahead and fuck her.”
“Is she married?” I asked Ħāfizah Kalām-e-Pāk.
“Yes. Why did you ask?”
Ħāfizah Kalām-e-Pāk laughed bitterly.
“How do you know it wasn’t her husband that has drugged her to death? Musalmān Beauties don’t join Hindu Lund Muslim Choot International Club if they maintain healthy married life with their wretched Musalmān husbands.”
“Well,” I hesitated.
“Fuck her.” Ħāfizah Kalām-e-Pāk shouted, “She is losing the temperature of her body. She has been drugged to die of coldness, I think.”
“Do you know her husband’s name?” I looked at Ħāfizah Kalām-e-Pāk.
“Fahīm Muħammad Åbbās.”
4. On History
6. On Hinduism
7. On Islam
I remembered when I first met her.
The flight on board the DC-10 from Virginia was uneventful.
The flight attendant seemed friendly enough although I could not stop looking at her legs.
Even though the flight was not that long, I had a few too many adult beverages.
Even the best have to go sometime so I made my way to the rear of the jet to the restroom, when someone caught my attention.
She was stunning in a plain sort of way.
Her hair neatly brushed back behind her ears.
A simple, yet elegant, blouse that hid what I suspected was an ample set of breasts.
Neither of these wonderful assets caught my attention.
It was her eyes.
She only gave a quick glance my way, but that was enough.
Her eyes seemed to pierce right through my very soul.
It seemed that I had been standing there for an hour, but in reality, it was just a few seconds.
I continued on my way back, finally getting to the lavatory.
I shut the door quickly.
My breathing labored.
It seemed I couldn’t focus on anything.
It was those eyes; they wouldn’t leave my thoughts.
As I returned to my seat, I chanced a look towards her.
To my disappointment, she was reading a nature magazine. I continued on my way back to my seat, trying to clear my thoughts.
The plane landed, and I was still finding it hard to focus.
All the way through the landing, baggage claim and trying to find a taxi I could not get those eyes out of my mind.
The room I reserved was one of the best.
It was nice to get the very best, almost always.
A spacious living area with a whirlpool, and a rather large bedroom, would definitely relax me.
I began to unpack my suitcase; I was going to start enjoying life after all.
It wasn’t any business trip.
After getting my things put away, I decided on a quick swim.
Maybe that would clear my mind.
There were about forty people lounging out by the pool.
Most of them were drinking something cold and colorful, with those little umbrellas in them.
As I dove into the clear blue water, a sense of relief began to wash over me.
All the stress from the long hours, and late nights of nonstop sexual work, were soon gone.
I started to feel at peace.
This was all about to change when I came up for air.
I broke the surface of the water and there was the same exotic woman from the flight in, staring at me with those eyes.
“Oh I’m sorry, my eyes were closed, and I didn’t realize that someone was standing there.” She flashed a little smile as bright as her eyes.
“It’s really alright, it’s not like you knocked me over or anything. Since we seem to have bumped into each other, maybe we should introduce ourselves’. I’m Lily Turner. If I’m not mistaken I think we were on the same flight,”
I stood there staring at her.
It really surprised me that even I found it hard to get any words out.
Her effect on me was intoxicating to say the least.
“Do you have a name or you going to make me guess?”
“My name is Durgesh,” I told her as air rushed back into my lungs.
Lily Turner smiled.
I was a little alert.
Lily Turner was smart and seemed to have a quick wit.
“Well I guess I’m going to have to take your word for it, unless you have an ID somewhere in those swim trunks.” I found it intoxicating to look into her eyes.
They were mystifying.
“Well now that the introductions are out of the way, what should we do now? I know I was getting ready to get out, and grab something tall and wet. Care to join me, Mr. Durgesh?”
We walked over to an open table and put the umbrella up.
The waiter came over and took our order, a Salty Dog for her and a Corona for me.
“I’m sorry for not being able to talk back in the pool. Something about the chemical in the water seemed to have taken by breath away,” I lied. “So what brings you to the island Lily Turner?”
“Well, I thought I would get away for a while and enjoy myself a little. I work very hard for my friends company and I needed a break. I know that sounds so much like a tourist but at least it’s true. May I ask what brings you to such a beautiful place? Are you here for business or maybe just some self pleasure?” she asked, letting the last part roll off her tongue.
“Well I guess, I’ve been putting in tons of overtime and thought I would treat myself to a little, how did you put that – self pleasure.”
We chatted for quite some time together.
The more Lily Turner drank, the more she relaxed.
It didn’t take long before the two of us began to feel at ease with each other.
“Wow look at the time. It seems we’ve been out here for a while. Forgive me for keeping you out so long. I should be getting back upstairs for a bit,” I said.
“Oh, what room are you in, if you don’t mind me asking?” I didn’t know where this was leading, but thought I’d play along for a while.
“I’m in room 1201,” I said.
“Isn’t that the top floor of the hotel? I believe it’s the Kings suite, isn’t it?” Lily Turner asked.
“As far as what they call it, I wouldn’t know, but that sounds as good a name as any,” I said jokingly.
“What room are you are in, if you don’t mind me asking also?” I asked.
“Well, it seems I didn’t get as good as you, I’m in 712,” Lily Turner replied bashfully.
“But, I wouldn’t mind seeing what’s on the top floor, if it’s not an inconvenience?” Lily Turner added quickly, trying not to appear intrigued.
“I think that I can arrange that,” I said. “In the meantime, it would be an honor to escort you to dinner tonight. That is, if you don’t already have plans.”
“I think that would be a lovely idea, say 7 o’clock? I’ll meet you up at your room if you don’t mind. That way, I can see what a king’s suite looks like.”
“It’s a deal. I’ll see you in a few hours then.” We shook hands politely and then I walked back inside to start getting ready.
‘This trip is starting to get better every minute,’ I said to myself, smiling, as I pushed the button for the elevator.
I busied myself with trying to decide what to wear.
I finally decided on a pair of tan slacks and a crisp white shirt.
I figured at least it would be cool and maybe that was a good thing, because things might get a little hot tonight, I hoped.
It was 6:45 and I was just finishing, when there was a knock at the door.
I opened up the door to a vision of beauty.
Lily Turner had on a knee-length flower printed dress that showed off her ample cleavage and fantastic legs, not to mention those eyes.
I smiled, when her voice started ringing in my ears. “DURGESH, did you hear what I said?” she asked politely.
“Oh I’m sorry what were you saying?” I said, trying to regain my composure.
“I asked if it was ok if I came in, I feel a little silly standing in the hall like this.”
I moved out of the doorway and watched her stroll into the room.
It was as if she was floating and never once touched the floor.
“Well; it looks as if you do very well for yourself, the room is very beautiful. I think you will likely get a few more dates with a room like this.” Lily Turner said as she scanned the room.
“I just have to finish up and then we can be on our way,” I said, and then returned to the bathroom.
I stood there splashing water on my face, trying to regain a little bit of my self-control back.
“Eīshān Param Brahm Paramātmā, Durgesh, it’s not like you have never seen a woman before.”
Then that little voice in my head answered back, ‘yes, but not like that!’
I finished dressing and took a deep breath then went in to join her.
“That’s a very nice spa you have in there. I hope you don’t mind I took the liberty of looking around a bit.”
“No really that’s fine, I hope you like it.”
“Did you get to see everything?”
“Well if we both play our cards right, I will,” Lily Turner said with a little smile.
We went to a little café down from the hotel with a wonderful view of the ocean and the setting sun.
I noticed the way the persons stared at us as we walked down the boardwalk.
They all must have had the same thoughts, because all of them had that blank stare most men get when they see a beautiful woman.
I am sure if anyone of them had known Lily Turner was related to Stansfield Turner, the director of CIA, none of them had even thought to be linked with her in any way.
Except I, of course.
I knew who she was.
Yes, Lily Turner wasn’t a Musalmān Beauty.
But her Ammī was a Saůūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān.
Only her father was a Baptist as President of USA, Jimmy Carter, was.
Moreover, he was related to Stansfield Turner, the director of CIA.
The drinks came and we chatted while the waiter went to put the order in.
“Lily Turner, I must say you look beautiful tonight. I feel very lucky to have bumped into you,” I said.
“Well I had thought you didn’t like it. You never mentioned it when I showed up at your door. It seemed everyone was staring at us as we came down,” she said as her eyes locked with mine as she sipped her drink.
“I’m sorry, it seems I have been a little behind the power curve since you came up to the room,” I said smiling.
“Oh really, and here I thought you were a man who likes to be on top; of my game I mean.” She was quick witted and seemed to enjoy teasing me.
This was turning out to be a long night, and I was going to have to watch what I said from now on.
The dinner was just as good as the desk clerk said it would be.
Lily Turner enjoyed a bottle of wine while watching the nightlife start to come alive.
“Well DURGESH, that was a very nice dinner and I know I have sort of picked on you most of the night but I hope you can forgive me,” she said as she touched my hand.
“I will if we don’t have to call it a night just yet. I was thinking maybe we could enjoy each other’s company for a while longer.”
Lily Turner leaned over the table.
Her breast resting on her arms which I could not avoid as I glanced down quickly.
“Well now that I know I’m forgiven what would you like to do to me; I’m sorry, with me?” Lily Turner asked seductively.
“If it’s not too much trouble, would you like to go to a club or bar or something like that?” I was as smart as a sixteen year old during prom night.
Well, I was myself twenty-eight then.
“Consider me yours for the night then.” She still had that little grin on her face.
I helped her up from the table.
After leaving the waiter a healthy tip for leaving them alone, we strolled up the boardwalk.
As I held her hand in mine, I felt a sudden surge of excitement flow through me as we looked for a nice place to stop.
We came upon a little club, we could hear the steel drums ringing out inside, so we turned to enter the club.
I went to get a few glasses of juices while Lily Turner went to find a quiet spot.
I found her in a corner booth waiting for me.
“You picked out such a good spot, I could just kiss you!”
She just smiled as I sat down and scooted over next to her.
The music was just my style up beat and swing like.
She loved to dance.
Her Ammī, Al Saliħah Al Rashīd, had been an instructor when she was younger.
When she was growing up, she lived in Hawaii for a while and learned how to swing her hips.
Lily Turner just kept it up, and now she could dance the best.
Her job kept her from doing it as much as she’d like.
Lily Turner knew what she was doing when it came to dancing, it would be nice to show off.
“Lily Turner, I was thinking, would you like to dance?”
“Well I would, but I’m still waiting. It’s been almost five minutes and you still owe me a kiss for getting the table,” she said.
Without even blinking, I leaned over and softly touched her lips.
She slowly parted her lips and allowed my tongue to touch hers, as I gently touched her face, softly holding it in one hand.
It lasted only a short time.
As I pulled back, she opened her eyes and looked at me.
“That was very good. You could make a girl weak in the knees with kisses like those.”
If given the chance, I was going to do just that.
We got up and went to the dance floor.
I took her hand in mine and asked,
“Are you up for this?”
She just smiled and those eyes were sparkling bright.
I started to spin her around, doing little swing moves.
Lily Turner just kept up, and followed my lead.
‘This girl can dance,’ I thought to myself.
The music ended and as the band took a break I escorted her back to the table and sat down beside her.
Then I put my arm around the back of the booth, just behind her shoulders.
I was sophisticated, confident and smart about all of this.
I just met this woman and she was having a drastic effect on my behavior.
“You dance very well Durgesh darling. I didn’t think men knew how to dance like that. The way you use your hips is impressive,” Lily Turner said.
“Thank you. I like to dance and have had some good teachers along the way,” I told her, hoping not to sound over confident.
We enjoyed each other’s company for quite sometime, talking about our job and business and learning more about the things each other liked.
We danced the evening away but it was getting late.
I decided to call it a night.
I didn’t want to press my luck, since I was actually enjoying myself, so far.
“Well Lily Turner; how about I walk you back to the hotel? We wouldn’t want to wear ourselves out the first night; now would we?” The drinks were having some effect on Lily Turner and it was starting to show.
“You know DURGESH, with a nice erection for me like you have; I think I’d follow you most anywhere.”
With a quick kiss on her lips as a ‘thank you’, we got up and started the walk back to our hotel.
I loved the way her dress moved with her body.
The grace and style of beautiful women always intrigued me.
Moreover, I was never ashamed of it that I was an extremely hyper sexual male.
Why should be I, moreover?
The Beauties of every cast and creed loved my company very much.
In most of the cases, they themselves proposed to have sex with me.
So, why the hell should I be ashamed of it?
Even if it was really shameful, the dazzling Beauties themselves must be ashamed of it.
Why should I?
I only obliged them.
Wasn’t I required to do even that to their proposals as a general courtesy too?
The persons who still criticized it were actually jealous of me, not sincere.
They criticized me because they weren’t as lucky in getting the similar proposals from dazzling Beauties, as I was.
I sympathize with them.
The damn-fools didn’t even know they were themselves responsible for what they were getting.
They didn’t have proper Bhogyantrānk.
Neither they ever tried to increase it.
Most of them didn’t even knew what it was, neither tried ever to find out.
“Since I picked you up at the start of the evening I think it’s only fair that I take you back to your room first Mr. Durgesh,” she said in a sultry tone.
The ride in the elevator was short lived.
It seemed she was pressing herself up against my arm with those wonderful breasts of hers, even though we were the only two in it.
Finally, we arrived at my door.
I took my key out to inserted it in the lock, but she took it out of my hand.
“Allow me, Sir.”
Lily Turner opened the door and walked in first, looking around the room jokingly, as if she was watching out for my safety.
“I was just making sure everything was in order. Can’t be too careful these days,” she said.
“You are such a considerate date to take the trouble of ensuring my safety is taken care of, Lily Turner.” I said smiling at her.
She slowly moved in front of me, locking her beautiful eyes with mine.
Lily Turner placed her hands on my hips, looking up at me, and then she herself pulled my body against hers.
“So tell me, does the hot tub work or is that just for show if you have a woman in your room?”
Smiling at her and looking straight into her eyes, I said,
“I really haven’t tried it yet, but as far as I know, all the equipment in this room works very well,” I said with a little bit more of a hint to it.
I kissed her soft Baptist lips as I wrapped my Hindu arms around her gorgeous Baptist back, moving my hands over her sensuous Baptist body.
We melted into each other’s arms, kissing like two teenagers hungry for each other.
Okay, okay, we were in our late twenties.
“Wow, you kiss extremely well when you get into it! You really know how to do things to a woman’s heart rate,” Lily Turner said seeming a little out of breath.
I continued to run my Hindu lips and tongue over her beautiful Baptist neck.
Using my teeth I softly nibbled her neckline.
“What can I say, I like to please a Baptist woman and make sure that she enjoys the things I do.”
“Baptist woman? Haha! You liar!”
“What do you mean?”
“Your father, Vishvās Shakr Mānav, is a great Hollywood tycoon. So, don’t think you are yourself too unknown. You love Musalmān Beauties more, not us Baptist Beauties, I know.”
“Yet, it’s a truth that I love this Baptist Beauty.”
Lily Turner winked at me.
“Your Musalmān Beauties may listen to what you are telling me.”
“Let them.” I also winked at Lily Turner.*
Dr. Shāhidah Ashraf smiled.
“I don’t think our government understands why Durgesh visits us usually when some important guest of honor visits us.”
Lily Turner retorted.
“Oh, don’t tell us we understand our problems more than even our government does.”
Dr. Shāhidah Ashraf laughed,
“Well, young ladies, I never claimed such an absurdity.”
Dr. Åārifah Mustafā laughed too.
Dr. Shāhidah Ashraf retorted once more.
“Only because Durgesh is neither the President nor the Prime Minister of India, his importance isn’t less than them. His Svarūpé Avasthānam has made him the most important man on the entire globe.”
“If it is true.” Lily Turner said critically.
Lily Turner was smiling bitterly.
“Well,” Dr. Åārifah Mustafā, Secretary to Secretary of State, Cyrus Vance, said gravely at length, “even Evelyn Carter isn’t sure of Durgesh’s Svarūpé Avasthānam. He can very well play some diplomatic political game himself.”
“Hindu Vishv Underground may still exist somewhere.” Dr. Åārifah Mustafā, Secretary to Secretary of State, Cyrus Vance, said, “And if it is so, USA has to be more cautious and more vigilant in protecting her own interests.”
Lily Turner watched both of them gravely.
Durgesh was a very complex man.
Yes, he was born on 1949, and as such, he is only twenty-eight now.
It was the underground organization actually that caused the independence of India.
No Vyom is there anywhere.
Durgesh is playing his deepest political game resorting to these spectacular theories of Utmost Ultramodern Science.
Lily Turner watched both Dr. Åārifah Mustafā, Secretary to Secretary of State, Cyrus Vance, and Dr. Shāhidah Ashraf, the recommended Chief of Staff of White House, gravely.
“Evelyn Carter must be made to understand that she has to convince our President of the immense importance of Durgesh.”
“How?” Dr. Shāhidah Ashraf, the recommended Chief of Staff of White House, asked, “how can she convince President, Jimmy Carter, that Durgesh has attained his Svarūpé Avasthānam ?”
Dr. Åārifah Mustafā, Secretary to Secretary of State, Cyrus Vance, said.
“There’s a cabinet meeting scheduled before Evelyn Carter has lunch with Durgesh. Our Evelyn Carter is especially invited in that cabinet meeting as a special privileged person.”
Both Lily Turner and Dr. Shāhidah Ashraf, the recommended Chief of Staff of White House, looked at each other.
“Well?” both of them asked Dr. Åārifah Mustafā simultaneously.
“We can pound the facts, and our goal, in her head before that.”
“All right,” said Lily Turner, “let’s be sure we have it all exactly together before we try to brief her.”
She twisted toward her assistant.
“Wājidah Altāf, you have copies of our memorandum on Svarūpé Avasthānam and Hindu Vishv Underground. Want to pass them out?”
Wājidah Altāf stood up.
No more than five feet two, Durgesh had said, with a tremendous pair of boobs for one so medium.
Lily Turner pictured Wājidah Altāf with me, as I liked to see her, nude and acrobatic.
Lily Turner suspected there must be something more behind my Musalmān Beauties obsession.
It couldn’t be sex only.
She knew I was more under the ground than I was on it.
Lily Turner had observed previously when Wājidah Altāf was handing a memorandum to me; she squeezed my Uncut Hindu Penis deliberately being cautious of Lily Turner, Dr. Shāhidah Ashraf and Dr. Åārifah Mustafā that they couldn’t see it.
Lily Turner knew by her own experiences that I loved my Uncut Hindu Penis squeezed seductively and invitingly by not only Musalmān Beauties but by Lily Turner too.
I was an incurable sexiest Hindu she had met and heard of anywhere.
Almost every country knew I was the democratic head of Hindu Vishv Underground before it ‘dissolved into Vyom’.
Yet no country was there that did deal with me indirectly, instead of dealing with me directly.
They believed their beautiful young ladies could get from me more for the respective countries than their politicians could.
Wājidah Altāf handed the memorandum to Dr. Shāhidah Ashraf, the recommended Chief of Staff of White House, and Dr. Åārifah Mustafā, Secretary to Secretary of State, Cyrus Vance.
Lily Turner deliberately encouraged her American Musalmān girlfriends whether Wahābī, Sunnī, Shiå or Aħmadī.
She had reached to the decision that it was needed to keep me under her control more effectively.
She couldn’t forget the pleasure on my face and in my eyes, when I fixed my eyes on their undulating backside.
‘Unforgettable cushions of love’, I had commented to Lily Turner once, ‘when I hold each buttock in one palm.’
Remembering my wild reactions, Lily Turner was beginning to get wet.
Lily Turner didn’t get wet very often even with her husband, but always even remembering me.
She knew Evelyn Carter also had the same reactions.
These Vedic Monotheist Hindus, they are sexiest even than the rest of the Hindus.
She controlled herself and brought up sharp info the reality of the morning.
“Ved Nagar,” announced Lily Turner, “Let’s get right into it.”
“All set,” said Dr. Åārifah Mustafā, Secretary to Secretary of State, Cyrus Vance.
Lily Turner sat back a moment.
“Let’s ignore the intermediation of Evelyn Carter for a moment. Does the President know anything about it?”
Dr. Shāhidah Ashraf, the recommended Chief of Staff of White House, leaned forward.
“A little. Mr. President thinks he has other more important things to know about quite in detail.”
Lily Turner nodded.
“Then you have to request Evelyn Carter to brief Mr. President thoroughly, simply, but thoroughly.”
Dr. Åārifah Mustafā, Secretary to Secretary of State, Cyrus Vance, said,
“We’ve got two opportunities. I’m meeting with Evelyn Carter shortly in the Oval Office. Then again after that at a full cabinet meeting.”
“And Evelyn Carter meets with Durgesh at noon.” Lily Turner said thoughtfully.
“At twelve thirty,” said Dr. Shāhidah Ashraf, the recommended Chief of Staff of White House, “for lunch and talk. I’ll be in attendance and so will be Dr. Åārifah Mustafā, Secretary to Secretary of State, Cyrus Vance.”
“Very well,” said Lily Turner, “Right off you should prepare the stage, Dr. Shāhidah Ashraf. Locate Ved Nagar to Evelyn Carter for Mr. President.”
“I think Mr. President knows where it is.”
“Make sure.” Said Lily Turner, “Be as precise as possible. Emphasize that Ved Nagar isn’t less important than Vatican and Makkah Mukarramah. Instead, I think, in view of Svarūpé Avasthānam of Durgesh, Ved Nagar is even far more important than Vatican and Makkah Mukarramah.”
Dr. Shāhidah Ashraf, the recommended Chief of Staff of White House, nodded gravely.
Lily Turner said.
“Dr. Shāhidah Ashraf, they are trying to put their own person as Chief of Staff of White House. We want you there permanently.”
“Isn’t it a matter to be decided by Mr. President himself?”
“Of course it is, of course it is.” Lily Turner smiled appreciatively, “Of course, Mr. President himself would take the final decision. But we have to see he must be properly advised of the pros and cons of the matter. Shouldn’t we?”
Dr. Shāhidah Ashraf, the recommended Chief of Staff of White House, smiled suavely.
“Yes, I think so.”
“Mr. President has got to know the immense importance of Ved Nagar. Ved Nagar isn’t a country. But it has Durgesh as its Mayor. Remember Durgesh was the democratic head of Hindu Vishv Underground that he claims to dissolve into Vyom.”
“Do you suspect that Ved Nagar is actually Hindu Vishv Underground now in the open?” Dr. Shāhidah Ashraf, the recommended Chief of Staff of White House, suddenly asked gravely.
“Can you guarantee it can’t be?” Lily Turner watched her scrutinizing sharply.
“Well,” Dr. Shāhidah Ashraf hesitated somewhat.
“Yes, come on. Tell me. Can you guarantee it can’t be?”
Dr. Shāhidah Ashraf shook her head,
Lily Turner looked at Dr. Åārifah Mustafā, Secretary to Secretary of State, Cyrus Vance, Dr. Shāhidah Ashraf, the recommended Chief of Staff of White House, and Wājidah Altāf.
“Mr. President has got to know the importance of the fact that Durgesh is the Mayor of Ved Nagar. Evelyn Carter must be made to understand how it will complete our defense perimeter.”
“I’ll take care of that,” promised Dr. Åārifah Mustafā, Secretary to Secretary of State, Cyrus Vance.
Lily Turner was uncertain,
“What Evelyn Carter achieves with Durgesh is vital to our interests.” She began thumbing through the papers on the desk of CIA Director. “At the same time, Evelyn Carter must be made aware of what kind of resistance she can expect from Durgesh.”
“Because Evelyn Carter isn’t a Panjvaqtah Namāzī American Musalmān Beauty?” Dr. Shāhidah Ashraf, the recommended Chief of Staff of White House, teased Lily Turner.
“I don’t know.” Lily Turner winked at her, “maybe it’s Evelyn Carter’s own incompetence.”
“As a young American Beauty?” Dr. Åārifah Mustafā also winked at Lily Turner.
Lily Turner laughed.
“Do you expect much resistance from Durgesh?” Dr. Shāhidah Ashraf, the recommended Chief of Staff of White House, asked gravely.
“I can’t say.” Lily Turner found the sheet of paper she had been hunting. “Akhilésh M. Āgnéý, our CIA station head at Ved Nagar, gave me a rundown on personal views of Durgesh about Evelyn Carter.”
“And you believe them?” Dr. Åārifah Mustafā said sharply.
“Well, I do understand both Durgesh and Akhilésh M. Āgnéý, CIA station head at Ved Nagar, might be playing their own game. But what the hell another alternative we have?”
“Remove Akhilésh M. Āgnéý, CIA Station Head at Ved Nagar, from that very important post.” Dr. Shāhidah Ashraf, the recommended Chief of Staff of White House, advised curtly, “Some American citizen must be there, not an Indian.”
“Well, yes, our previous CIA Station Head at Ved Nagar, Della Turner, recommended Akhilésh M. Āgnéý for that post, but we should never forget that he is Sarvochch Dévarshi in Ārsh Sadan of HVSI.” Dr. Åārifah Mustafā also said.
“What do you want to say?” Lily Turner asked them curtly, “Akhilésh M. Āgnéý can deliberately deceive us?”
“Not deliberately, not deliberately.” Dr. Åārifah Mustafā, Secretary to Secretary of State, Cyrus Vance, raised her right hand to keep Lily Turner in her pants, “but you can’t guarantee the first loyalty of the Vedic Monotheist Hindus is to USA.”*
Lily Turner said gravely.
“I’ll give you, however, the essence of the sketch Akhilésh M. Āgnéý, CIA station head at Ved Nagar, provided to us. Durgesh doesn’t differentiate Evelyn Carter from his other Musalmān Live in Relationship Partners. However, there are natural scientific differences among Evelyn Carter and Durgesh’s other Musalmān Live in Relationship Partners. Durgesh can’t help us in this matter.”
Dr. Shāhidah Ashraf, the recommended Chief of Staff of White House, and Dr. Åārifah Mustafā, Secretary to Secretary of State, Cyrus Vance, looked at each other.
Dr. Åārifah Mustafā, Secretary to Secretary of State, Cyrus Vance, smiled,
“Lily, you were asking me once, why there’s restriction in Islam in Al Qur’an Al Karīm 2: 221:
‘Wa lā tankiħū almushrikāti ħattā yu’minn’
‘And do not marry polytheistic women until they bring īmān.’
― Al Qur’an Al Karīm: 2: 221”
“Now you are talking of scientific and natural differences between the Muslimāt and the non Muslimāt.”
“It’s what Durgesh believes in, not I.” Lily Turner smiled condescendingly, “So don’t try to impose what Durgesh believes in, on me. Moreover, I didn’t ask about this restriction in Al Qur’an Al Karīm 2: 221 only. According to Al Tārīkħ Al Islam, the entire Musalmīn were expressly ordered to divorce their entire wives who weren’t Muslimāt and refused to surrender to Islam. A large number of Non Muslimāt were forced to be divorced their duly married Musalmān husbands who were not Musalmīn when they married them. Wasn’t it a great injustice to them?”