Gotrbhid Mahā Bhārat
Shūdrasý tu Savarñaiv Nānyā Bhāryā vidhīyaté
‘Jāti Pānti Poochhé Nahin Koī,
Hari ko bhajé so Hari kā Hoī’
1/18: Ādi Parv
I smiled at Dashrath Bhārgav.
“But Dad, what’s wrong in it, even if I can’t return or enter Chaturvédī Brahm Ayodhyā Creations for fourteen years?”
Dashrath Bhārgav looked at me as if he had lost everything whatsoever he had.
“You should have asked Sumant why he was sent to bring you here, instead of any lady robot. Should you haven’t, Durgesh?”
Prime Minister, Sumant Chaturvédī, looked gravely at Dashrath Bhārgav.
Then he looked at me,
“Durgesh, my dear boy, you are my son in law too. Aren’t you? I thought it was better to bring you myself here instead of some bloody lady robot that doesn’t have any human heart.”
Kaikéyī Mukherjī smiled cunningly.
“Son, Durgesh, your father in law, Dashrath Bhārgav is afraid of me very much that my son Bharat Chaturvédī may let me establish Communism here.”
Dashrath Bhārgav looked at me,
“Param Purush, now even you can’t say I am wrong. You always favored Kaikéyī Mukherjī even on Kaushalyā Mukherjī and Sumitrā Chatterjī. Now you can see yourself what Kaikéyī Mukherjī is doing. I agree she could not influence you. But she could have certainly influenced Bharat Chaturvédī if we were not vigilant enough.”
Prime Minister, Sumant Chaturvédī, immediately seconded Dashrath Bhārgav,
“Mr. President is right, son. The first lady of Chaturvédī Brahm Ayodhyā Creations, Kaikéyī Mukherjī, does not deserve this honor. She has herself proved it now.”
I looked at Prime Minister, Sumant Chaturvédī, Dashrath Bhārgav and Kaikéyī Mukherjī, all the three present there with me.
I understood it very well that despite my continuous constant nonstop attempts, I could not replace Dashrath Bhārgav here as I had successfully in Bhārgav Brahm Ayodhyā Creations.
Dashrath Chaturvédī helped me there unknowingly in amending the ever ancient time cycle of ending Trétā Yug.
But Dashrath Bhārgav here, in Chaturvédī Brahm Ayodhyā Creations, was more prudent.
It was not easy to replace him.
Dashrath Bhārgav tried to save me here more prudently, even at his own cost.
The problem was his less knowledge and experiences that he could not help.
He was more prudent than Dashrath Chaturvédī.
Even his intensions were better.
But due to these better intensions themselves, he had, he never tried to protect himself.
He tried to protect me instead.
Even then, it was better Dashrath Bhārgav was not in panic or depression as my original body, projected from my Kashyap body was in the ending Trétā Yug.
“Dad, Ārý Sumant, I brought Justice Hémā Bhārgav back to Bhārgav Brahm Ayodhyā Creations and successfully changed the time cycle there. Hémā Bhārgav helped me there successfully because President Dashrath Bhārgav was prudent enough to let his daughters study the time cycle of ending Trétā Yug.”
Dashrath Bhārgav smiled ruefully,
“No, my son, my son in law, it was not actually my prudence that helped you there. It was Padminī Bhārgav’s prudence instead that you always criticize as being a communal prudence.”
“Oh, come on, Dad, Mr. President, there are infinite Brahm Ayodhyā Creations now. The ever devotional traditional Brāhmañs are keeping the time cycle of ending Trétā Yug alive projecting it ever more everywhere than any other society.”
Prime Minister, Sumant Chaturvédī, interrupted,
“Pardon me, Vats Durgesh, you almost always blame us traditional Brāhmañs for keeping alive the projections of ending Trétā Yug in almost entire infinite Creations. But tell me one thing. Even if your theory is correct, aren’t our infinite Brāhmañ Creations better than the non Brāhmañ Creations, even if there is chaos here? Aren’t the non Brāhmañ Creations facing even worse chaos than we are? Yes, my childhood friend, President Dashrath Bhārgav couldn’t stop our first lady Kaikéyī Mukherjī from sending you in exile here, but he has successfully helped you here in attaining your Svarūpé Avasthānam, hasn’t he?”
“Of course, Dad, Prime Minister, Ārý Sumant, but is that enough?”*
Kaikéyī Mukherjī looked at Prime Minister, Sumant Chaturvédī, cunningly.
“Ārý Sumant, you don’t need to answer Durgesh here. If you really want to answer him and discuss this ‘very important’ matter any further, please leave Chaturvédī Brahm Ayodhyā Creations with him too for as many days as it is necessary for you. Don’t worry, you can return to Chaturvédī Brahm Ayodhyā whenever you want to. At present, I don’t want to listen to any more discussion between Durgesh and you.”
Dashrath Bhārgav whirled furiously at his Prime Minister, Sumant Chaturvédī,
“Sumant, my ever best childhood friend, can’t you see she is afraid of herself?”
“Afraid of herself, Mr. President?” Prime Minister, Sumant Chaturvédī, looked at Dashrath Bhārgav quite surprised.
“Sure, certainly, why not?” Dashrath Bhārgav said sarcastically, “Your first lady, Kaikéyī Mukherjī, knows very well that it’s not Rām Chaturvédī she had brought up here. He has attained his Svarūpé Avasthānam now.”
“Svarūpé Avasthānam, hell,” Kaikéyī Mukherjī laughed smirking Dashrath Bhārgav, “You have simply kidnapped my son, Rām Chaturvédī, and Durgesh has taken his place. That’s why my husband Dashrath Chaturvédī was sent to Bhārgav Brahm Ayodhyā Creations and you were brought here. What do you think, Kaikéyī Mukherjī was born yesterday? I want Durgesh in exile from Chaturvédī Brahm Ayodhyā Creations, not because I want my son Bharat Chaturvédī to head Chaturvédī Brahm Ayodhyā Creations, but because I want to destroy HVSI Creations’s conspiracy against us traditional Brāhmañ Creations.”
Dashrath Bhārgav knew very well who was to be exiled actually.
Durgesh was almost in every household of United BrahmKanyā Brahmāñī Brāhmañ Creations.
Entire infinite Brahm Ayodhyā Creations were not out of United BrahmKanyā Brahmāñī Brāhmañ Creations.
If Kaikéyī Mukherjī really wanted to exile Durgesh from Chaturvédī Brahm Ayodhyā Creations, it served no purpose at all.
Durgesh was still there in almost every household.
So what was actually Kaikéyī Mukherjī after?
Did she really believe in what she claimed?
She really believed Rām Chaturvédī hadn’t attained any Svarūpé Avasthānam?
There wasn’t any Svarūpé Avasthānam at all?
It was only some ingenious political strategy of the Vedic Monotheist Hindus and the ever shrewdest Bachhalyās?
But even Pātanjal Yogdarshanam talks of Svarūpé Avasthānam.
Dashrath Bhārgav married his daughter Sītā Bhārgav with Rām Chaturvédī.
If Rām Chaturvédī is really kidnapped, is his daughter now wife of Durgesh, instead of Rām Chaturvédī?
Dashrath Bhārgav knows very well he hasn’t kidnapped Rām Chaturvédī.
How the hell can he?
Kaushalyā Bhārgav was stunned.
“What? Kaikéyī Mukherjī has asked for your exile from Dashrath Bhārgav, for fourteen years? But how can she?”
“I damn care, Mātr’shrī.” I said in my Rām Chaturvédī body, “I am going.”
“Rām, it’s not Trétā Yug now. Neither you are Lord Rām.”
Sītā Mithiléshvarī Rāvañi entered there smiling,
“He was himself Lord Rām, mātéshvarī,”
“Sītā Mithiléshvarī Rāvañi,” Kaushalyā Bhārgav said somewhat exasperated, “It was only a political strategy our Jan Pravād Vibhāg, our rumors section spread everywhere prudently to take advantage of it and you know it. You are yourself not born in any non-political family.”
Sītā Mithiléshvarī Rāvañi Bhārgav smiled ironically,
“Svarñ Lankéshvar Brahm Samrāŧ Rāvañ Paulastý Bhārgav? He had abandoned me, mātéshvarī.”
“Forget it, Putrī, daughter in law,” Kaushalyā Bhārgav said, “Brother Svarñ Lankéshvar Brahm Samrāŧ Rāvañ Paulastý Bhārgav has declared now that it was only his political strategy then, to get rid of some political problems he was facing then.”
“Mātéshvarī,” Sītā Mithiléshvarī Rāvañi Bhārgav smiled ironically, “I have come here to take you with us.”
Kaushalyā Bhārgav was surprised immensely,
“Wherever Durgesh is going in his Rām Chaturvédī body.”
“Sītā, I can’t leave Chaturvédī Brahm Ayodhyā, and you know it.”
“No, I don’t know,” Sītā Mithiléshvarī Rāvañi Bhārgav said doggedly, stubbornly, “will you please tell me kindly, mother, why the hell can’t you leave this bloody wretched Chaturvédī Brahm Ayodhyā? What the hell is here for you? You are not even first lady here.”
I looked at Sītā Mithiléshvarī Rāvañi Bhārgav.
In her original physical body we were in Chaturang Shāshvat Maithunyog.
It was her projected etheric body.*
Laxmañ Chaturvédī was doggedly against it,
“No, Bhaiyā, we won’t leave. We have to destroy, to amend this bloody wretched time cycle.”
“I never told you to leave your fatherland, Laxmañ,” I smiled.
“You know me better, Brother, Bhrātr’shrī. I was never a nationalist, confined to my nation only. Of course, I love my nation, even more than the so called nationalists do. Who the damnfool says Vibhīshañ didn’t love Lankā? It’s only the ever unjust anti-Hindu anti-human interpretation of our ever human Hindu history.”
“The ever anti human nationalists that always want to spread their legs out of their own confined nation, and want to attack other nations inhumanly, use this disguise to fulfill their own dirty wretched vested selfish interests.”
“I’m proud of you, Laxmañ.” I was overwhelmed, “Now, I believe your own Svarūpé Avasthānam has itself occurred, almost completely.”
“Well,” my younger brother in my Rām Chaturvédī body, Laxmañ Chaturvédī, hesitated somewhat, “I don’t think so, brother. I think the process is still continued.”
“You don’t think you are Laxmañ originally, even now?”
“No, brother. I think I’m Prakāsh instead, originally.”
“I see,” Urmilā Mithiléshvarī Bhārgav looked at her Chaturvédī Brāhmañ husband, Laxmañ Chaturvédī, then she looked at me, “Bhaiyā, Brother, my theory is correct.”
“What?” Laxmañ Chaturvédī almost jumped, “I’m becoming Sarvochch Brahmarshi, Om Prakāsh? Brother, Bharat Chaturvédī is becoming Financial Administrator of HVSI Creations, Ved Prakāsh?”*
Mantharā Bhārgav was shrewd enough that she managed Urmilā Mithiléshvarī Bhārgav not only to romance with me, but even make love to me, when she was not married to Laxmañ Chaturvédī.
It was in my original Durgesh body.
I never knew then that I was Rām Chaturvédī too, originally, Laxmañ Chaturvédī was Prakāsh originally and Bharat Chaturvédī was Ved Prakāsh originally.
I didn’t only love Urmilā Mithiléshvarī Bhārgav but we even made love with each other.
Urmilā Mithiléshvarī Bhārgav, naturally revolted when her father, Kushdhvaj Bhārgav, informed her to marry with Laxmañ Chaturvédī.
“What the hell, Dad, Pitr’shrī, how can I? You know I love Durgesh, he is my boyfriend. Yet you…”
“Well, I told President Dashrath Chaturvédī,” President Kushdhvaj Bhārgav, Sankāshý Bhārgav Creations smiled, “He is thorough gentleman. Neither President Dashrath Chaturvédī, nor his ever righteous son, Laxmañ Chaturvédī, has any objection. They understand it’s normal nowadays that…”
“Well, I have objection and it’s not normal for me.” Urmilā Mithiléshvarī Bhārgav interrupted her father, furiously.
President Kushdhvaj Bhārgav, Sankāshý Bhārgav Creations, smiled patiently.
He knew it was not an easy task.
Sītā Mithiléshvarī Rāvañi decided too late.
She wasn’t as modern as to have any boyfriend, but his daughters, Māndavī Mithiléshvarī Bhārgav, Urmilā Mithiléshvarī Bhārgav and Shrutkīrti Mithiléshvarī Bhārgav never lived in Trétā Yug, as Sītā Mithiléshvarī Rāvañi Bhārgav did.
She imitated almost everything Brahm Jagdambā Sītā Rāvañi Paulastý did.
Māndavī Mithiléshvarī Bhārgav, Urmilā Mithiléshvarī Bhārgav, and Shrutkīrti Mithiléshvarī Bhārgav, all the three were my own girlfriends in my original Durgesh body and we had sex also.
All the four of us.*
Not only Prime Minister, Sumant Chaturvédī, but even Sītā Mithiléshvarī Rāvañi Bhārgav and Laxmañ Chaturvédī marveled at the inside of the unique spaceship especially designed for me only.
There were similar spaceships that were especially designed for, Prakāsh, Ved Prakāsh, Udaý and Shlésh.
The ships were named ‘Sarvochch Brahmarshi’, ‘Arth Prashāsak’, ‘Brahmarshi 3’ and ‘Brahmarshi 4’.
Only the man, the ship was especially designed for, could pilot it, none else.
The Spaceship was not new however to anyone of us.
Even Prime Minister, Sumant Chaturvédī, had traveled in it with me and his numerous Chaturvédī Brāhmañ Brahm Jagdambā daughters.
However, these Spaceships needed seven ashvinātam pairs too, one ashvinātar pair and at least two normal ashvinā pairs more.
These ten pairs supplied these Spaceships the required Bio Electricity duly converted into EV diamagnetic force.
The utilization of space was ingenious.
Padminī Bhārgav had asked.
“Can’t even HVSI design such a Spaceship without any necessity of ashvinātam pairs?”
I had laughed,
“Ask or suggest it to Prakāsh. I never interfere with production in any manner whatsoever. The communists did it irrevocably erroneously and lost their administrative powers within 72 years only. I never want to repeat what the damnfools did.
4. On History
6. On Hinduism
7. On Islam
Ultimately, Kħālidah Jibrān smiled at me,
“For what?” I feigned surprise.
Hell, it is never good to humiliate a lady whose subconscious is as deepest in love with me as Kħālidah Jibrān was.
Without immense deepest love for me in her heart, even if she was never aware of it, Kħālidah Jibrān could have never fucked me whole night, so wildly, passionately, affectionately and savagely, as she did, after all.
Kħālidah Jibrān looked at me gravely,
“You know for what.”
“No, I don’t.”
“I know you are kind enough not to humiliate me more than I have already humiliated myself whole night. Please, forgive me. I am not a slut, even though I behaved like one, with you.”
“Well, it was what you wanted to do with me, as soon as you saw me first time.”
Kħālidah Jibrān was suddenly horrified,
“Allah, nooooo! Never. I never thought of you in this way.”
“Oh, come on, young lady. You are a D. Lit. Don’t talk nonsense. You understand inherent psychology as much, as I myself do. Why do you hate your husband?”
“Allah, noooooooooooo! I never hated Nādir Shāh Åbdālī.” She was more horrified now.
“You have always hated him,” I said gravely, “You still hate him, moreover.”
Kħālidah Jibrān was looking at me incredulously.
“Oh, come on, Papaji. It was only a female animal, not me. I shouldn’t have taken that wine.”
“Are you sure, it was only a female animal in you, and wine?”
“Oh sure, you don’t think so?”
“This bedroom has five video cameras and transmitters so that Nādir Shāh Åbdālī could watch us from where he was.”
Kħālidah Jibrān laughed ironically.
“So you know that too?”
“What do you think I am? A damn fool? Nādir Shāh Åbdālī deliberately suggested you to let me sleep here. He was watching us whole night, alive.”
“You know it all, and still ask me why I hate the bastard?” Kħālidah Jibrān laughed bitterly.
“I see. So, you were not intoxicated? It wasn’t any accident? It wasn’t an effect of wine? You did it deliberately?” I asked her savagely.
“I need you to fight with my ever criminal husband. He is an agent of India.”
“That’s right. He sends the military and political secrets of Pakistan to India.”
“I can’t believe you.”
“Because you are an Indian, and you think every politician of India is stark white.” She said bitterly.*
I watched her patiently.
“Not exactly,” I said, “We may have less of the dirty politicians in India than you Pakistanis have here in Pakistan, but no country, including India, can ever claim we haven’t any criminal politicians at all.”
“Thank you. Most of you Indians never admit it.”
“Well, I try to be truthful.”
“And, that’s the reason this ever ardent patriot of Pakistan, loves you.” She smiled.
“I can’t believe a Pakistani ardent patriot that is herself an agent of Pakistan, against India.”
“Not against India, against the dirty Indian politicians who act against Pakistan. We are a separate autonomous country now. Why the hell even after more than sixty years of our partition they still don’t acknowledge it?”*
Nādir Shāh Åbdālī had had an evening, a night, and part of a morning to get over what he saw whole night.
Allah, Kħālidah Jibrān was immensely crazy to fuck Durgesh.
Well, almost his every Musalmān houselady was.
Durgesh had an infinite lust for extremely beautiful Musalmān houseladies and other working Musalmān Beauties as well.
He could never believe his ardent patriot Panjvaqtah Namāzī Pakistani Musalmān wife could even ever fuck Durgesh.
But she did.
He met Durgesh in Ved Nagar.
He had to.
Kħālidah Jibrān had suspected his unpatriotic activities to Pakistan.
She was an ardent Pakistani.
She even refused to agree with Durgesh that Partition of India was a blunder in 1947.
At least, the changing quality of light within corridors, squares and parks of the Administrative Residential Sector of Ved Nagar, made it seem that an evening, a night, and a part of the morning had passed.
He left his diamagnetic EV scooter in a scooter cubby outside the City limits.
It had more than enough EV charge now.
After all Kħālidah Jibrān had fucked Durgesh whole night.
Nādir Shāh Åbdālī still didn’t believe that diamagnetic EV scooters were charged when they were in the EV force field of some Musalmān Beauty and Durgesh fucking nonstop for a considerable time.
They said the Panjvaqtah Namāzī ardent Musalmān Cunt served as a Rheostat when Durgesh Shaktimān Uncut Hindu Penis enters and moves into it, acting as an electrified magnetic bar.
With every movement of Durgesh’s Uncut Hindu Penis into an ardent Panjvaqtah Namāzī Musalmān Cunt, the lines of force of Durgesh and his Panjvaqtah Namāzī ardent Musalmān sex partner changed.
It produced the EV charge that recharged the diamagnetic EV scooters.
Nādir Shāh Åbdālī never believed this nonsense.
Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan was crazy if she really thought the Musalmīn would believe this garbage.
It was only they wanted to show, ostensible, not truth.
The actual science behind it was only known to Durgesh and HVSI Group of Companies.
They were not damn fools enough to tell it to everyone.*
Nādir Shāh Åbdālī wasn’t afraid of anyone.
His political opponents had succeeded in removing him from Pakistan.
He thought of Ved Nagar with its diamagnetic EV ground cars, hover cars and anti-grav gyros.
Nādir Shāh Åbdālī locked the cubby and fingerprint-sealed it.
He moved under the first of the tall bridge like structures that supported the upper City.
The utmost richest City of the entire Multiverse, they called Ved Nagar.
Nādir Shāh Åbdālī never believed what the Bachhalyās and the Vedic Monotheist Hindus ever said.
The ever dirty, ever sexiest liars.
The Bachhalyās and the Vedic Monotheist Hindus were actually the persons behind the screen that always defeated every military campaign and/or intellectual movements that win almost every country wherever they went, except India.
The Hindus were too shrewdest and smart ever to talk about their real power behind the screen, the Bachhalyās and the Vedic Monotheist Hindus.
They always talked about Brāhmañ, Xatriý, Vaishý and Shūdr, never about their real power behind the screen, the Bachhalyās and the Vedic Monotheist Hindus.
Even most of the traditional Hindus were not aware of this ever closely guarded political secret of Hindus.
The Upper City, in Ved Nagar, was exactly the name implied.
It was built, the entire City, Ved Nagar, Trantor, was built in countless stories, as if it was not a City at all, it was a building, a Mansion, only.
They claimed the stories in which Ved Nagar was built were actually infinite, in infinite realities.
The bloody liars.
Perhaps they never told truth.
Everything they had was infinite.
Nādir Shāh Åbdālī smiled sarcastically.
Durgesh had infinite bodies, hahaha.
Durgesh had infinite Musalmān wives, everyone of them being beautiful beyond imagination, what a sick fantasy!
Durgesh had infinite Brāhmañ wives too.
Thanks Allah, thanks God, Durgesh didn’t have infinite Christian wives, infinite Jew wives, infinite atheist wives.
Everyone of them was only countless.
But Durgesh’s ever nonstop sexual intercourse with everyone of them, was infinite, no exception.
After all, they were not enjoying nonstop sex actually.
They were running the Multiverse, keeping it alive.
Of all the fantasies!
Every story, every layer, every tier, of Ved Nagar was divided rigidly by a horizontal layer of fifty square miles of Hirañý metal, utmost hardest metal ever found by humankind, resting upon some countless, not infinite again, thank God, countless steel girdered pillars.
Most of the Ved Nagar was not only inaccessible to everyone, it was even invisible to them.
Allah knows better even if it existed there or not.
Hindus were utmost expert in spreading rumors benevolent to them.
Not all of them, but the Bachhalyās of them, headed them, in all of these ever dirtiest political games.
That was why Hindus, or India, could never be defeated to the extent to destroy Hindu culture altogether, as the other cultures were destroyed completely by Muslim invaders and imperialists.
The Bachhalyās and the Vedic Monotheist Hindus called it ‘Jan Pravād Dharmyuddh’, whatsoever the hell it meant.
Above, in the sun, were the Brahmarshis.*
Nādir Shāh Åbdālī knew his way.
He walked confidently.
It was a good move to see Durgesh himself.
Kħālidah Jibrān might have more power than him in Pakistan, but Durgesh had his power everywhere.
It maybe, of course, that Pakistani patrollers can get him, but as long as Durgesh himself is with Nādir Shāh Åbdālī, they couldn’t harm him even a bit.
Yet, he avoided the passersby, as a precaution.
They surveyed his Pakistani national dress with interest.
The sun was out now.
The Multiverse had infinite creations with infinite realities.
The sun was pouring through the spaced openings in the Hirañý metal above to form strips of light that made the intervening space all the darker.
He plunged through the bright strips, in a rhythmic, almost hypnotic fashion.
The Musalmān Beauties and the beautiful Musalmān houseladies were on their knees and elbows on the strips.
Durgesh was fucking almost all of them, from their extremely glorious behind.
They absorbed the warmth and moved as the strip moved.
Nādir Shāh Åbdālī knew now he was going up.
He was standing before a structure that filled the space between four square placed pillars.
It was an elevator that lifted to the upper level.
There were the same elevators everywhere between two levels.
Ved Nagar really was a dream City.
At first, Pakistan tried her best to oppose the development of Ved Nagar.
But it was the internal matter of India.
As soon as the UPA-2 government resigned and NDA government came in administration after Midterm 2012, Pakistan immediately realized the supremacy of Ved Nagar.
Extremely beautiful Pakistani Musalmān houseladies invariably started to purchase real estates in Ved Nagar under this or that pretext.
Kħālidah Jibrān herself had such properties here.
Basic chemicals and raw food staples were shipped into Lower levels of the City, but finished plastic ware and fine meals were matter for Upper City, exclusively occupied by Multiversal administrative staff of Ved Nagar.
Nādir Shāh Åbdālī signaled the elevator.*
He was cautious enough of Pakistani Patrollers.
They still are here in Ved Nagar too.
Ved Nagar had its an integral part in Pakistan too, of course, with the express permission of Pakistan.
Not exactly, it was actually a request from Pakistan herself.
Well, it was true however.
Truth is stranger than fiction, after all.
Nādir Shāh Åbdālī had been in Ved Nagar for many years.
Ved Nagar was a miraculous City.
Countless non Hindus still hated Ved Nagar.
They thought, and it was deliberately taught to and told them that the Hindus were still Kāfirs.
No Musalmān should believe any Hindu ever.
Nādir Shāh Åbdālī knew there were some anti Hindus still now, as there were some anti Musalmīn too.
So many attempts were there to blast Ved Nagar by terrorist Pseudo Musalmīn suicide bombers, but the Ved Nagar administration was always proved to be more efficient.
It always arrested every suicide bomber before they could do anything.
No, they were not punished by death sentence.
They were sent to time travel instead to watch the golden period of Islam when Ħuzūr sallallāhu ålahi wa sallam and Kħulfa-e-Rāshidūn razī Allāhu tålā ånahunn themselves were there in person.
Ved Nagar administration argued let them watch themselves what the true Islam is.
The Pseudo Islam of post Yazīd Malåūn era could be more effectively destroyed from their brain in this way.
It may cure their terroristic tendencies so inherent in them.
Trantor/Ved Nagar was the center and breeding place of the ever shrewdest ever smartest Hindus, the Bachhalyās and the Vedic Monotheist Hindus.
Nādir Shāh Åbdālī learned to bear in silence.
He ought not forget what he had learnt now.
Of all the times, not now while Pakistani patrollers were after him.
The foolish operators of those patrollers were too prejudiced to understand what was in the favor of Pakistan actually, and what not.
Yes, the patrollers couldn’t harm any humankind.
They were mere humanoid robots.
But there were some stupid Pakistanis too that always harmed Pakistan, thinking they were benefiting her.
That was the real problem.
The humanoid lady robot operator of the elevator looked disgusted, but it was for a moment only.
It smiled at once.
“Only you, sir?”
“Only me,” Nādir Shāh Åbdālī too smiled in return.
He stepped in.
“Your ID card, sir.” The beautiful humanoid lady robot operator again cooed.
Nādir Shāh Åbdālī smiled and produced the standard document folder every person authorized to go to the Upper level had to present.
No possibility of presentation of any forged document.
A human operator could be cheated, but not a humanoid robot.
It couldn’t be bribed too.
Ved Nagar administration was ever efficient.
The utmost efficient administration the entire human history had ever produced.
It was almost faultless.*
Kħālidah Jibrān greeted Al Safiyah Al Ghaus with her usual surface cordiality.
Their first meeting had been a long time ago.
Nearly a Standard Year had passed.
Kħālidah Jibrān had tried to pay every possible attention to Al Safiyah Al Ghaus’s story, but her adamant opposition to Al Muħammad Al Qāsim and his family persons was something even Kħālidah Jibrān could not digest.
She could not understand why Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan was as friendly to Al Safiyah Al Ghaus as she was friendly to Kħālidah Jibrān herself.
Couldn’t Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan understand Durgesh is an ever incurable humanist?
Couldn’t she understand Durgesh is an ever incurable Multiversalist as well?
Even entire womankind can’t make Durgesh to oppose any victim/victims ever.
Kħālidah Jibrān didn’t know what Prakāsh, Ved Prakāsh and Udaý would do in the similar circumstances, but she definitely knew what Durgesh would.
Kħālidah Jibrān could not believe Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan didn’t.
Yes, Kħālidah Jibrān was an ardent Pakistani.
What’s wrong in loving one’s own country?
Can’t a person be a Multiversalist humanist as well as an ardent patriot to her own country?
Doesn’t Ammī Ħuzūr, Dr. Al Kħadījah Al Wahāb, love India and Saåūdī Årab both equally?
Don’t Saiyadah Fātimah PhD and Kħadījah Muħammad both love India and Saåūdī Årab equally too?
Doesn’t Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan love India and Saåūdī Årab equally as well?
And isn’t it a fact that Ammī Ħuzūr, Dr. Al Kħadījah Al Wahāb, Saiyadah Fātimah PhD, Kħadījah Muħammad and Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan, all the four love Saåūdī Årab more still now?
Isn’t it a fact Durgesh loves India more, even though he is an ever incurable Multiversalist humanist?
Then why the hell Kħālidah Jibrān could not love Pakistan more, even though she is a Multiversalist humanist too?
Al Safiyah Al Ghaus looked at Kħālidah Jibrān patiently,
“ACP Suraiyā Jamāl informed me that you were also a daughter in law to Durgesh before you gathered your courage, planned and made love to him, without caring for his pre consent even. I congratulate you.”
“Thank you.” Kħālidah Jibrān smiled, “ACP Suraiyā Jamāl was interested in me, to the extent, I never knew.”
“She was too a daughter in law to Durgesh once,” Al Safiyah Al Ghaus smiled cunningly, “Durgesh raped her on her own husband’s request.”
Kħālidah Jibrān was grave now.
“She blackmailed her husband to do so?”
“I don’t know the details, sorry.”
“How do you know Al Muħammad Al Qāsim and Muħammad bin Qāsim are still in Ved Nagar?” Kħālidah Jibrān suddenly asked.
Al Safiyah Al Ghaus smiled.
They both were nude.
As usual, I was fucking both of them in my two separate bodies.
Despite her nonstop sexual intercourse practice with me now, Kħālidah Jibrān didn’t believe I actually had my infinite bodies.
She tried her best to crash the mystery, but she was still unable to do so.
The most probable explanation to her was I was using my identical humanoid robots.
Kħālidah Jibrān was not satisfied entirely with this explanation even, but it was the best she could do at present.*
Nādir Shāh Åbdālī paused on the curved ramp that led to the main entrance.
He could not help except to praise the Vedic Monotheist Hindus and the Bachhalyās that they had ultimately succeeded in hyperspace netting the entire Multiverse.
Of course, they loved to educate everyone despite the countless fatwas of countless anti education Mullahs and Maulavīs that the library the ‘Kāfirs’ had made available thus, was mostly anti Islam.
Nādir Shāh Åbdālī was honest enough to admit that the anti-education Mullahs and Maulavīs, even if they were countless, were ever dirty liars.
The most books in the library were not even had any concern whatsoever with Islam.
Moreover, to view and read something critical to any religion or ideology, it was necessary to get prior permission of the Human librarian.
Mostly there were humanoid robot librarians, lady robots mostly.
The color scheme of the ramp gave the illusion of steps, giving the library the proper air of archaism that traditionally accompanied structures.
Nādir Shāh Åbdālī was all praise for the Vedic Monotheist Hindus and the Bachhalyās, despite the entire fatwas of anti-education Mullahs and Maulavīs, that Vedic Monotheist Hindus and the Bachhalyās were at least quite sophisticated men.
He was not alone.
Countless others unbiased Musalmīn that were pro education also praised the Vedic Monotheist Hindus and the Bachhalyās for it.
Education, even the utmost highest, was never made so easily available in any era.
The main hall was large, warm softly, and full of the readers that could not manage to get this luxury in their own homes.
The lady robot librarian behind her desk, looked up and rose.
“Sir,” she cooed, “if you don’t appreciate a lady robot attending you, a male humanoid robot can be arranged to attend you.”
Nādir Shāh Åbdālī smiled,
“Sorry for my fellow Musalmīn, they are finicky even in the libraries. I am normal. It’s normal for me to have a lady robot attendant.”
“Thank you, sir. Actually your name…”
“I know, I know. Most of my fellow Musalmīn insist on a male robot attendant. But actually they are not the one to be blamed even then. We Musalmīn have a large number of anti-education Mullahs and Maulavīs. They have made the life of average Musalmīn hell by announcing very irresponsible fatwas every now and then. They have made Islam a house of glass that can be broken by anything whatsoever.”
Lady robot smiled cordially.
She seated herself and plucked a metal silver from a slot.
Nādir Shāh Åbdālī took it.
He placed his right thumb firmly upon it.
The lady robot librarian took it back and put it in another slot.
A green light appeared and shone constantly.
“Room 786, sir.” She cooed.
Nādir Shāh Åbdālī smiled,
4. On History
6. On Hinduism
7. On Islam
She was a little worried too.
Soon the shaking and shuddering stopped and the flow of juice reduced to a dripping.
Zubaydah Bābar attempted to stand up but her Musalmān legs were like rubber.
I grasped her under an arm and helped her turn around and sit on the back of the couch.
“How do you feel? Is that what you wanted?” I asked Zubaydah Bābar.
Zubaydah Bābar looked at me, pulled me to her and kissed me.
“That was exactly what I wanted. It was the best orgasm I ever had.”
Nishāt Nazli was still staring at her friend.
“Wow, you really liked that. I mean I really bit down hard. Didn’t it hurt?”
I answered for Zubaydah Bābar.
“Of course it hurt. Zubaydah Bābar likes a little pain with her pleasure. Don’t you, Zubaydah Bābar?”
Zubaydah Bābar nodded her head and a sheepish smile crossed her awfully stunning immensely pretty, immensely smart, Panjvaqtah Namāzī Pakistani Musalmān face.
“I like it best when it hurts a little. I guess I’m weird.”
“I bet you like to be tied up too, and maybe some spanking or something.”
Now Zubaydah Bābar really started to blush.
“I never tried it, but it sounds like fun.” She admitted.
I helped her stand.
“Come on, Nishāt Nazli; let’s help her to my bed. She’s a little wrung out. Then we can see about her fantasies.”
Nishāt Nazli looked a little fearful.
“You’re not going to hurt me like that. Are you?”
“Not unless you want me to.” I told her as we helped Zubaydah Bābar to the bedroom. “Everybody has fantasies of some sort. Some are more mundane than others are. Some are outright weird and dangerous. Zubaydah Bābar’s are just a little rough. However, she has to be careful whom she acts them out with. The wrong person could really hurt her. She is a masochist. She likes pain. If she were to pair up with a hard-core sadist, he could really hurt her or maybe kill her if he really has a problem. Therefore, Zubaydah Bābar, promise me you won’t go indulging your fantasy with just anyone. Make sure you know them really well and preferably make sure there is a third person involved to put a stop to it if it starts to get out of hand.”
Zubaydah Bābar just nodded.
“I know it’s dangerous and I only let it go like that once before. I … I probably wouldn’t have let it happen today but I trust you. I know that Durgesh wouldn’t hurt me.” Zubaydah Bābar smiled at me.
I smiled back as we lay Zubaydah Bābar on the bed.
I crawled in beside Zubaydah Bābar and kissed her gently on the lips.
Nishāt Nazli sat on the edge of the bed and I looked at her.
“So Nishāt Nazli, what kind of fantasies do you have? What do you dream about that gets you really hot? If I can help, I will. If it’s too far out for me, then maybe we can get close.”
Nishāt Nazli blushed and looked away.
“I’ve already had most of my fantasies, like we did the other day. You know with you and Zubaydah Bābar, a three way. I also … well we’re living one now, all of us running around the house naked and a Hindu mature man chasing us around and screwing us.” Nishāt Nazli giggled.
“Hindu mature man?” Zubaydah Bābar smiled cunningly, “Have you noticed, here in Ved Nagar, it’s quite normal. Isn’t it?”
“What do you mean?” Nishāt Nazli looked at Zubaydah Bābar questioningly.
“Hindus here, are enjoying marital relations and live in relationship with modern young Musalmān Beauties more, than anywhere. Haven’t you noticed it? In a recent survey, here at Ved Nagar, 90% mature Hindus are found having marital relations/live in relationships with the ultramodern PhD Musalmān Beauties aged 28 to 35, while the Hindus are mostly aged 50 and above.”
“Long live Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan.” I said curtly.
Nishāt Nazli twisted herself to me.
“You mean Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan has done it?”
“What do you think? It’s natural?”
“Why not?” Zubaydah Bābar said, “I asked Nasīm Muåāwiyah why she prefers you. She says she wants a man for her, thoroughly experienced, strong, capable, not a boy that is as inexperienced as she herself is.”
“You are repeating only what the young Musalmān Beauties life partners of 90% mature Hindus of Ved Nagar said in that survey.” I said bitterly.
Zubaydah Bābar and Nishāt Nazli both looked at each other and smiled.
“Don’t you agree with them?” Zubaydah Bābar asked me somewhat uncertainly.
“Well, it’s their life and it’s their decision.” I said noncommittally.
“But you don’t appreciate it, do you?”
“I think there’s another view also expressed about it.”
“Of Jamīlah Aurangzeb’s, your former live in relationship partner’s?”
“She is still the Attorney General here at Ved Nagar.” I said gravely, “Isn’t she?”
“Sure,” Bābarah Åālamgīr interfered entering there and joining us, “our Mayor is the most lenient man in the history of entire humankind. Everyone advised him to take action against the present Attorney General, Jamīlah Aurangzeb. Yet, he denied all such suggestions.”*
The visit had been quite unexpected.
Jamīlah Aurangzeb had forgotten that she had made the appointment.
She had forgotten to cancel it.
She should have canceled it after she’d promised to have dinner with the Mayor.
Now, Jamīlah Aurangzeb was trying to get it over with as quickly and gracefully as possible.
Yet, Jamīlah Aurangzeb didn’t want to hurt the man sitting opposite her.
Imām Muħammad Ħasan was a great man, as far as she knew him.
He was one of the most respected men here at Ved Nagar.
Nafīsah Salmān always tried to disgrace him either this way or that, but Durgesh had suddenly granted the request of Sarvochch Brahmarshi, to make Imām Muħammad Ħasan the executive head of Ashvinātam, the residence of the Mayor of Ved Nagar.
Nafīsah Salmān laughed on it ironically.
“Prakash succeeded ultimately in pleasing his younger most successful Al Sadar Al Jamhūriyat Al Årabiyat Bhābhījān, Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan, the new President of former Saůūdī Årab. Nafīsah Salmān Bhābhījān is not as important for Sarvochch Brahmarshi now, as she was once. I’m surprised at even Durgesh surrendered to Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan. I never imagined it even.”
Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan laughed.
“You must not be as jealous to your own daughter, Ammī, as you are now. Durgesh surrendered to me? Hahaha. Sarvochch Brahmarshi succeeded in pleasing me ultimately? Does he even need it ever?”
At another time, Jamīlah Aurangzeb could have really enjoyed talking with such a man of principles that he even sacrificed his position in Al Jamhūriyat Al Årabiyat’s National Council.
They called it that.
In imitation of Ved Nagar’s Council?
But Ved Nagar wasn’t a country.
Al Jamhūriyat Al Årabiyat was.
Jamīlah Aurangzeb couldn’t enjoy however it now.
Not tonight, with the heap of papers on her desk still to be read, with the long tense evening in the Ashvinātam.
Well, she was capable enough not to feel awkward facing her former live in relationship partner.
It would have been normal if only her daughter, Bābarah Åālamgīr, hadn’t exaggerated it.
She was still making it a great issue.
“It’s normal, Bābarah.” Jamīlah Aurangzeb had tried to explain it to her daughter, “I needed Durgesh once as much as you need him now. You may think it was my obsession to him. You may think I needed extraordinary sex then. Now you are yourself an adult. You can understand it now thoroughly. Why the hell are you exaggerating it?”
Bābarah Åālamgīr was furious.
“I am exaggerating it?”
“Certainly not. Durgesh is exaggerating it.”
“That you are his stepdaughter?” Jamīlah Aurangzeb smiled ironically.
“Am not I?”
“Certainly not. A stepdaughter relationship is a marital relationship, not a relationship that comes out of a live in relationship.”
“I agree with you.” Bābarah Åālamgīr smiled, “live in relationship doesn’t generate any marital relationship because live in relationship itself isn’t a marital relationship. You and Durgesh were never married. So, there isn’t any harm if I replace you myself as Durgesh’s new live in relationship partner.”
“That’s right. That’s the legal status of this relationship here in Ved Nagar.” Jamīlah Aurangzeb said.
Bābarah Åālamgīr beamed at her Ammī.
“That’s the legal opinion of the Attorney General of India?”
“Attorney General of Ved Nagar.” Jamīlah Aurangzeb smiled at her daughter, “Ved Nagar legally now somewhat enjoys the special status like Jammu and Kashmir. It has its own Attorney General. Ved Nagar is too advanced in technology that the rest of India can’t maintain same legal system. The Government of India has to allow Ved Nagar to have its own legal system and its own Attorney General, as Ved Nagar refused to separate itself from India.”
Bābarah Åālamgīr laughed.
“Ved Nagar hates separation ab initio. It wants to bring the entire infinite creations, instead, under one Federal Government with utmost possible autonomy to every member state.”*
Jamīlah Aurangzeb watched Imām Muħammad Ħasan.
“What do you think of your husband, Maulānā Aurangzeb Åālamgīr, Attorney General of Ved Nagar?” Imām Muħammad Ħasan asked Jamīlah Aurangzeb casually.
Jamīlah Aurangzeb, the Attorney General of Ved Nagar, watched Imām Muħammad Ħasan, scrutinizing him now.
What was he after, actually?
She smiled, casually herself.
“What do I think of my husband, Maulānā Aurangzeb Åālamgīr?”
“Sure, that was my question.” Imām Muħammad Ħasan smiled shrewdly.
Jamīlah Aurangzeb immediately thought of the physical Maulānā Aurangzeb Åālamgīr.
No doubt, her husband was very impressive among Musalmīn with his bearded face.
Even the persons, who did not hate terrorist Musalmīn to the extent Dr. Ali Sina, his co-authors and his followers did, respected Maulānā Aurangzeb Åālamgīr very much.
Yet, the Attorney General of Ved Nagar, Jamīlah Aurangzeb, knew very well, what her husband, Maulānā Aurangzeb Åālamgīr, was actually.
She smiled ironically.
Perhaps, Imām Muħammad Ħasan was right.
Her husband, Maulānā Aurangzeb Åālamgīr, was perhaps fooling even Durgesh successfully.
Was it her own mistake?
She shouldn’t have asked him for divorce.*
Maulānā Aurangzeb Åālamgīr was a blustering, loud mouthed, braying, harsh, and almost as tall as Durgesh, with a rasping, rough, voice.
His eyes were small squinting, and gimlet in a small round head set atop a short thick neck on a brawny, strong, expanse of chest.
It was however, his exterior.
It wasn’t as important as his interior was in her opinion.
Should she confirm Imām Muħammad Ħasan’s doubts about her husband?
“Frankly,” Jamīlah Aurangzeb said, “I think Durgesh and you both know about my husband even more than me. Durgesh respects you more and his faith in you is stronger than even Durgesh’s faith in Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan and Nafīsah Salmān.”
Imām Muħammad Ħasan smiled.
“That’s right. Yet you are his wife.”
“So what? Maulānā Aurangzeb Åālamgīr isn’t one of the persons who have more faith in his wife/wives than in the persons more reliable to him.”
Imām Muħammad Ħasan kept smiling.
“How many wives he has?”
“Three more I think, according to Muslim Personal Law.”
Imām Muħammad Ħasan smiled cunningly.
“Maulānā Aurangzeb Åālamgīr obeys Muslim Personal Law?”
Jamīlah Aurangzeb watched Imām Muħammad Ħasan prudently.
“He has to, if he wants to keep Muslim opinion with him.”
“It isn’t any Islamic country.”
Jamīlah Aurangzeb retorted.
“Ved Nagar is worse in some matters.”
Imām Muħammad Ħasan couldn’t believe Jamīlah Aurangzeb.
“Ved Nagar is worse in some matters?”
“Sure, why are you so surprised?”
“They say Ved Nagar is the best place to live at, for Musalmān Beauties.” Imām Muħammad Ħasan smiled shrewdly.
“They are right. Yet, even the best place to live at, for us Musalmān Beauties, is being hounded by the shrewdest Pseudo Musalmīn now.” Jamīlah Aurangzeb retorted once more.
“You mean you Musalmān Beauties aren’t safe from Pseudo Musalmīn terrorists even here at Ved Nagar?”
Jamīlah Aurangzeb watched Imām Muħammad Ħasan.
“Ved Nagar has an utmost dangerous policy.”
“And what’s that, if I may ask the Attorney General of Ved Nagar?”
Jamīlah Aurangzeb again watched him scrutinizing.
“Ved Nagar believes in ‘Imām Nārīm Sukr’té dadhāt’ and ‘Indro nirjyotishā tamaso gā aduxat’.”
“And it’s dangerous?”
“Sure it is.” Jamīlah Aurangzeb, the Attorney General of Ved Nagar, said academically, “Ved Nagar is an ideal state established by Durgesh, Prakāsh, Ved Prakāsh and other Vedic Monotheist Hindus…”
“I don’t think so.” Imām Muħammad Ħasan smiled.
Jamīlah Aurangzeb, the Attorney General of Ved Nagar, looked at him quite surprised.
“You don’t think so?”
“No. For your kind information, Jamīlah Aurangzeb, the Attorney General of Ved Nagar, the Musalmān Beauties having marital/Sexual/Love/live in relationships with the Hindus are more in numbers than Hindus even that established Ved Nagar. Moreover, I am also one of the persons that are responsible for establishment of Ved Nagar.”*
Jamīlah Aurangzeb was dumbfounded.
She watched Imām Muħammad Ħasan incredulously.
“Youuuuuuuuuuuuuu? You are one of the persons that found Ved Nagar?”
Imām Muħammad Ħasan watched Jamīlah Aurangzeb shrewdly.
“Why are you so surprised?”
“I thought you are a communal Musalmān.”
Imām Muħammad Ħasan smiled.
“If you are a communal Musalmān, why the hell you were one of the persons that found Ved Nagar?”
“Either you aren’t a communal Musalmān or you aren’t one of the persons that found Ved Nagar.”*
I looked at the pile of paperwork on my desk and rubbed at my eyes.
It had been a really long day, and only midway through what was bound to be a long week.
It had begun with my friend Aħmad Åbdullāh’s death two days ago, and since then the Island had been a hive of activity getting things prepared.
In a couple of days Aħmad Åbdullāh’s children would arrive on the Island, having just found out that they were triplets given up for adoption, and they’d be meeting here for the very first time.
On top of that, I had a burial to organise for Aħmad Åbdullāh on the Island.
Add in organising supplies and planning for every contingency, and it was no wonder I felt exhausted somewhat.
It was two in the morning and high time I had some stress relief.
I got up from my desk and moved to the door of my office, part of my home on the Island upstairs from the clinic, and headed for the exit, moving quietly down the stairs, as was my habit.
Once outside, I smiled.
I’d always loved the cool breeze that caressed the Island through the night.
I turned left and took the path down to the beach, taking a right between two large bushes on the narrow path the kitchen staff used to bring supplies into the kitchens.
A couple of turns and I was moving around the edge of the building where the Island’s food was prepared and stored, unstaffed at this time of night.
I knew if anyone spotted me s/he’d just assume I was going for my habitual late night snack, but I knew different.
I bypassed the main doors to the kitchen and entered the small courtyard that served the dual purpose of somewhere to store the trash and somewhere the chefs and porters could sneak out to for a smoke.
Casually I glanced around.
Seeing no one, I slipped over to the backdoor of the pastry kitchen and entered a code in the keypad, a different code from the one normally used to open the door.
A quiet bump sounded next to one of the bins and I moved to the corner, reached down and pulled the handle that was now protruding from the flagstoned yard.
A small hatch appeared with a ladder heading down, barely visible in the moonlight.
I quickly slid myself into the narrow passage and closed the hidden hatch above me, seeing the dim lights illuminating the twenty-three rungs below me.
Reaching the bottom, I turned around and punched another code into the wall and the small box beside it opened.
I pressed my hand to the small screen inside the box and the door, beside me, swung open.
I smiled in anticipation.
I had a lot of catching up to do.
I entered the saferoom, or as I thought of it, the ‘Bunker’ where I could retreat to if the Island was ever attacked.
I ignored the open plan living area and kitchen and moved straight to the door on my left, a control room where I could make contact with the outside world if need be, but my focus wasn’t on the emergency facilities.
I moved straight to the console housing the covert CCTV system that Aħmad Åbdullāh had painstakingly built in secret over the last fifteen years.
My friend’s words came back to me, as they always did when he looked at the setup.
“There’s no point in being trapped in here. Much better to see what’s going on outside. Then you retain an advantage the other side doesn’t even know about. Information is power.”
I smiled and moved to the large leather desk chair facing the bank of fifteen screens.
Three large screens, a dozen smaller, all assigned letters from A to O.
The one hundred and thirty eight cameras hidden around the Island were numbered, making the system incredibly simple to operate.
Simply type in the letter for the screen, then the camera number, hit enter and that’s what you saw.
The whole system was set up on a motion-activation principle, immediately discarding data that had nothing happening and that suited my purposes perfectly.
I settled my fingers on the keyboard, typed A68 and hit Enter.
The first of the three large screens flickered into view, a camera situated in the bedroom of Aħmad Åbdullāh’s favourite PA, Al Kħadījah Al Muħammad.
She was one of my favourites too, a hot, toned Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saůūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān blonde with a bundle of intelligence and determination.
It wasn’t her intellect that interested me at present though, as I watched the live feed from her vacant bedroom.
My memory provided me hundreds of images of her sleeping in that very bed.
I felt the familiar stirring in my Hindu groin and smiled.
Time to move the recording back.
My fingers found the small dial next to the keyboard, punched in the camera number and then rotated it back.
The simple system allowed me to review all recorded footage from that particular camera and I was viewing it in reverse.
A couple of chambermaids darted around briefly at high speed, and then the footage caught up to Al Kħadījah Al Muħammad undressing, and then sleeping.
The footage continued in reverse at high speed, skipping past hours of her lying still.
She’d been asleep for five hours or so when I saw her leap out of bed, naked, and grab a towel, then disappearing backwards into the bathroom.
I reset the dial, my left hand coming to rest on my belt, and as the footage began to play on the screen, Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan unfastened my belt and trousers.
She had joined me in the meantime.
Al Kħadījah Al Muħammad appeared from the bathroom, her skin flushed from the shower, wrapped in a fluffy white towel.
Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan pulled down my fly and slid her hand in my trousers.
Al Kħadījah Al Muħammad opened her towel.
I saw her side on as she lifted the towel, her body taught and firm, her breasts pert and round.
Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan slipped her hand around my Uncut Hindu Cock, slowly stroking me as I watched Al Kħadījah Al Muħammad dry herself.
She moved too quickly for me though, drying herself rapidly then slipping under the sheet on her bed, settling down to go to sleep.
I frowned and punched in B69, bringing up the footage from the en-suite bathroom in Al Kħadījah Al Muħammad’s room.
I punched 69 in next to the dial and rolled it back, seeing her in a high-speed blur in the shower, moving it back to play as soon as the maid appeared who’d cleaned the bathroom earlier.
While Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan stroked me in anticipation, the maid finished her work, the lighting changed and Al Kħadījah Al Muħammad appeared.
Dressed only in a black thong, she walked up to the sink, her gorgeous Musalmān breasts on display.
she brushed her teeth.
I zoomed the camera in on her ever-erect Musalmān breasts.
Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan was stroking my Uncut Hindu Cock as I watched them jiggle back and forth with every motion of her arm.
“Come on, you hot Musalmān Sex goddess,” I muttered. “Get in the damn shower.”
Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan smiled and squeezed my Uncut Hindu Cock eloquently.
The teeth brushing continued for another minute.
Then Al Kħadījah Al Muħammad disappeared off screen.
I zoomed the view back out, seeing her step into the shower cubicle.
The water began immediately and I slowed the footage down as she stepped out the cubicle to remove her thong.
In slow motion, Al Kħadījah Al Muħammad inserted her thumbs in her waistband and bent over, sliding the black material down her hips, thighs and finally to the floor, and with a casual flick of her foot, the thong ended up back in the bedroom.
Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan’s grip tightened on my Uncut Hindu Cock.
Al Kħadījah Al Muħammad always did this before she went in the shower.
I zoomed in a little closer.
Al Kħadījah Al Muħammad stood up straight and stretched, her arms rising high above her head, her ever-erect Musalmān breasts jutting out.
I groaned, squeezing my lips in anticipation of what came next.
Her right hand slid down over her taught, flat stomach, sliding down over her shaved skin until her middle finger made contact with her Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saůūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān clitoris.
“Go on, you fucking Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saůūdī Årab Wahābī hot Musalmān Sex goddess,” I muttered as I watched.
Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan laughed and took my Uncut Hindu Penis into her extremely beautiful Saůūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Panjvaqtah Namāzī mouth.
She started to suck me devotedly.
Al Kħadījah Al Muħammad’s middle finger rubbed her Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saůūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān clit up and down a couple of times, then in slow-motion, she moved it down her slit, rubbed up and down once, then plunged her middle finger deep inside her extremely beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saůūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Pussy.
“Fuck that extremely beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saůūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Cunt, you extremely beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saůūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān ever hottest sex goddess,” I growled.
Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan whispered,
“Fuck me, imagine you are fucking the bitch Al Kħadījah Al Muħammad, instead of me.”
“Why the imagination? You are far more beautiful than Al Kħadījah Al Muħammad.”
“Thank you.” Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan put her palm on my chest and pushed me back gently.
I lay on my back now.
Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan immediately straddled on my standing perpendicular Uncut Hindu Cock.
It disappeared into Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan’s extremely beautiful Saůūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān young Cunt, gradually, entirely ultimately.
Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan winked at me.
“Happy, Durgesh darling, méré Hindu Piyā, Hindu Al Buůūlatul Muslimāt, hum Musalmān ħasīnāon ké Hindu Kħasam, Hindu husband of us Musalmān Beauties?”
“Sure, my dear ever young Musalmān lady.” I myself returned her wink lewdly, “What the hell more my Uncut Hindu Cock demands after all?”
“A Panjvaqtah Namāzī Musalmān Cunt around it.” Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan laughed suggestively.
I pulled her on me and kissed vehemently.
We both were nude now entirely.
Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan was a nudist feminist.
To meet her on her own ground, I had to be myself a nudist manist, nothing less.
Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan wanted wildest animal sex.
She was a strict One Man Woman.
It was natural that I had to provide her the wildest animal sex she loved very much.
Well, contrary to the general outlook, I never thought Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan was wrong in her desire however.
Her body needed it.
She was rightfully getting it from me.
It was her fundamental woman right on her man.
It was her fundamental human right on her man.
There wasn’t anything wrong in it.
4. On History
6. On Hinduism
7. On Islam
Imām Muħammad Ħasan wasn’t even in the least surprised when he found not even a single hand rose in his support.
It couldn’t be achieved only in a single year.
Not only Imām Muħammad Ħasan, Al Sadar Al Jamhūriyat Al Årabiyat, Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan, herself too knew there were so many illegal militant organizations of Pseudo Musalmīn working clandestinely in former Saůūdī Årab, present Al Jamhūriyat Al Årabiyat.
It was a backbreaking job.
Yet, it didn’t mean anything.
She looked comfortable and friendly.
It was appropriate for the job Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan had entrusted to her.
“Your friend has gone crazy.” Imām Muħammad Ħasan said gravely, “Her success has gone over her head. It isn’t easy for everyone to digest her/his incredulous miraculous success.”
“No one in the Executive Council agreed with you.”
“They’d kill her.” Imām Muħammad Ħasan burst out.
“If they could have, they would have already.”*
Bābarah Åālamgīr paused before answering.
“At first I thought it was a vacation fuck, but I’m starting to wonder now if both of them are seeing more, and just don’t want to admit it yet. Have you noticed the way she looks at me, and the way she’s suddenly getting all domestic with cooking and all. Did you know she did my laundry today, without me knowing? I teased them both about getting me a new Ammī. Isn’t it interesting? A new Ammī of my own age, I mean. My childhood friend is my new Ammī. I think that maybe we just might, in time. I didn’t realize it at the time, but Durgesh was really hurt by the whole Live in Relationship Partner thing. I can’t see him running back into it or any kind of commitment.”
They lay there quietly for a while.
Zubaydah Bābar started to purr, to hum, in response.
“You know Zubaydah Bābar hasn’t had her orgasm yet. What do you say Nishāt Nazli? Wanna gang up on her? I’ll take the bottom, you take the top, and then we’ll switch.” Bābarah Åālamgīr winked at Nishāt Nazli impishly.
“Sounds like a plan to me.” Nishāt Nazli laughed.
They both moved into position to give pleasure to their friend, Zubaydah Bābar.*
“You are becoming over cautious, Abbū. Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan is now our administrator. She has proven to be more successful and smarter than we are. Congratulations, you’ve succeeded in making your daughter even more than what you wanted to make her when you were only a Mukħtār at Tabah. Only she has gone too far ahead. We don’t know now exactly in what the more Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan is capable. Durgesh has made her a living legend. I don’t know Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan is really a reincarnation of Kħātūn-e-Jannat Ħazrat Saiyadah Fātimahrza or not. But I’m certain most of us suspect now that she may be. Moreover, they believe she has also attained her Svarūpé Avasthānam as Durgesh has.”
Imām Muħammad Ħasan retorted.
“If there is actually a stage of human evolution that’s called Svarūpé Avasthānam.”
“I see. You don’t believe in Svarūpé Avasthānam at all, do you?”
“I’m not a sucker enough to do so.” Imām Muħammad Ħasan said curtly.
“Not on the cost of her very life, no.” Imām Muħammad Ħasan said furiously, “She doesn’t understand she is playing with dynamite. Running the seven movements Hindu Lund Muslim Choot International Club, Cuckold Your Musalmān husband, Ashvinātam Gangbang Club, Al Jihād fil Durgesh fī sabīlillāh, Jet Musalmān Beauties Squad, Durgesh Farīdah Jalāl Sheikħ Sex Therapy and Durgesh Åāýéshah Siddīqah Social Service, was one thing and establishing an Ashvinātam Ummat-e-Muslimah is quite another thing. They won’t let her do it ever.”
“I see.” Imām Muħammad Ħasan said sarcastically, “Am I under arrest in that case?”
“I request you not to make my job difficult.”
“We know you think no ideology is finished forever really. It may lose its political power only.”
“That’s not what I think, that’s the truth, damn you.”
Imām Muħammad Ħasan watched her sternly.
“You bunch of fools, only because you’ve succeeded in abolishing the age old kingdom of Pseudo Musalmīn from Saůūdī Årab only, you think all the rest of the Pseudo Islamic Countries would also surrender to you in establishing your dream Ummat Ashvinātam Ummat-e-Muslimah? All right, there is no use in arguing with you. How do you intend to treat me, now?”
“Okay, shall I stand you a drink?”
“Later, perhaps, but for now, please sit down. I’m still your niece.”
“I request you again not to make my job more difficult.”
“They killed every Musalmān woman however smart, however intelligent she was, whenever she tried to rule them. They managed even to bring Ummil Mominīn Ħazrat Åāýéshah Siddīqah razī Allāhu tålā ånhā when even Kħātūn-e-Jannat Ħazrat Saiyadah Fātimahrza revolted. They never allowed even Kħātūn-e-Jannat Ħazrat Saiyadah Fātimahrza to be the Kħalīfatul Musalmīn.”
“Sure, so far.”*
It was not till midnight that two guards came to remove Imām Muħammad Ħasan from what was, he had to admit, a quite luxurious room.
It was as luxurious as the rooms found only in Ved Nagar.
No other city and/or country could even dream to afford such luxurious rooms.
The room was at Security Headquarters.
It was luxurious, yet locked.
A prison cell?
Are we really as resourceful now as we can afford such luxurious prison cell now?
Imām Muħammad Ħasan wondered.
He had over six hours to second-guess himself bitterly, striding restlessly across the floor for much of the period.
Why did he trust even now Nafīsah Salmān?
Hasn’t she cuckolded him?
Yet, he was over self-confident.
Imām Muħammad Ħasan believed he was far smarter than he really was.
And his over confidence is still continued.
His optimism is incurable.
Why shouldn’t he trust Nafīsah Salmān even now?
Actually, Imām Muħammad Ħasan was neither terrorist, nor criminal.
He only acted to deceive Nafīsah Salmān to be so.
Durgesh was right.
Durgesh was almost always right.
What a man!
What a miraculous man.
What a wonderfully intelligent man!
It served other purposes.
None could understand Durgesh’s planning.
Only his Pitr’shrī and then his own younger brother could understand Durgesh.
His Pitr’shrī explained it to his younger brothers and cousins.
He made Durgesh to explain it to Prakāsh.
Wasn’t it incredible that Prakāsh was so convinced and so dedicated that he sacrificed his entire life, his entire career, to the mission?
The extent Prakāsh believed his elder brother!
The extent Prakāsh had faith in him.
He sacrificed his career as a potential mathematician.
He sacrificed his career as a potential scientist too.
A great sacrifice of course.
He said he couldn’t manage both his study of science and the HVSI administration entrusted to him.
He decided he had to sacrifice his career in mathematical science so that he could make the dream of HVSI come true.
A great decision at that time.
They worked hard 24x7x365
And now they are as successful as none else.
Imām Muħammad Ħasan was inspired from it.
He found to his extremely pleasant surprise his daughter Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan extraordinary brilliant.
Suddenly Imām Muħammad Ħasan found a guard was addressing him repeatedly and absolutely engrossed in his nonstop chain of thoughts, he hasn’t even heard him.
“Yes, please.” Imām Muħammad Ħasan addressed the guard.
“You will have to come with us, Councilman,” the senior of the two guards said with unemotional gravity.
His insignia showed him to be a lieutenant.
He had a scar on his left cheek.
He didn’t look tired at all even now.
Imām Muħammad Ħasan didn’t budge.
“Your name, lieutenant.”
“I am Lieutenant Salāħuddīn Ayyūbī, Councilman.”
“I try to live the great name. Thank you, Councilman.”
“How?” Imām Muħammad Ħasan said ironically, “By breaking the law?”
“You realize you are breaking the law, Lieutenant Salāħuddīn Ayyūbī. You can’t arrest a Councilman.”
“We have our direct orders, sir.”
“You know very well that doesn’t matter. Did you fight for establishment of this kind of Democracy? She promised us a Democracy. Didn’t she? Yet, if it’s the Democracy what the hell was different in the kingdom of Assaåūds?”
He didn’t even try to answer him.
Imām Muħammad Ħasan continued furiously.
“If it’s really a Democracy, how the hell you can be ordered to arrest a Councilman? Don’t you understand that you’d be liable for a court martial as its result?”
The lieutenant smiled cunningly.
“Who said we are arresting you, Councilman?”
“I see. So you are also involved in her game she’s playing?”
“Okay. I won’t argue with you. If I’m not under arrest, I don’t have to go with you anywhere.”
“We have been instructed to escort you to your home, sir.”
“Well, it happens that I know the way myself.” Imām Muħammad Ħasan said sarcastically, “I wasn’t born yesterday. I don’t need your damn escort.”
Lieutenant Salāħuddīn Ayyūbī managed to feign gravity, yet respectfully still now,
“We have to protect you too, en route.”
“From what? From whom?”
“From any potential mob that may gather.”
“Al Sadar Al Jamhūriyat Al Årabiyat is the most popular individual here now. You’ve opposed her openly in the Executive Council itself. There may be some over enthusiasts to harm you, sir. The possibility cannot be ruled out absolutely. The government has to provide you enough security to protect you from any potential harm from such over enthusiasts.”
“I see. So you are too deeply involved in her games? To which of her seven movements do you belong, Hindu Lund Muslim Choot International Club, Cuckold Your Musalmān husband, Ashvinātam Gangbang Club, Al Jihād fil Durgesh fī sabīlillāh, Jet Musalmān Beauties Squad, Durgesh Farīdah Jalāl Sheikħ Sex Therapy and Durgesh Åāýéshah Siddīqah Social Service?”
Lieutenant Salāħuddīn Ayyūbī smiled.
“I don’t know what you are implying, sir, Councilman.”
“With all due respect to you, sir, I can’t and won’t stop you from any loud thinking whatsoever you please, Councilman.”
“You are a major shareholder of that movement yourself, Councilman. What do you think; you don’t belong to that movement even having such a large investment in it?”
“Allah, I’ll be damned.”
“I beg your pardon, sir.”
“Nothing. Never mind.”
“You, being the major shareholder in Hindu Lund Muslim Choot International Club movement, need more protection from Pseudo Musalmīn than even you imagine, sir.” Lieutenant Salāħuddīn Ayyūbī said with prodigal sweetness and respect, “It is one of the main reasons we’ve waited for midnight. And, now, sir, for your protection we must ask you to come with us. May I say, not as a threat but as information rather, that we are authorized to use force if necessary.”*
Only HVSI manufactured Eīshān Vaigyānic Whips till last year.
Having monopoly in it, HVSI had made grand money by selling them in international market.
Now, HVSI had lost its monopoly.
Imām Muħammad Ħasan rose with whatever dignity he could muster even now.
“Okay, Lieutenant Salāħuddīn Ayyūbī, to my home, then. Or will I find out that you are going to take me to prison instead?”
“We have not been instructed to lie, to you, sir.” Lieutenant Salāħuddīn Ayyūbī said with a pride of his own.
It didn’t mean he never lied to anyone.
For the second time in a week, he had lied to Jamīlah Bū Pāshā even about his hours, to get away from home early.
Suddenly he felt furtive, secretive, and uneasy about so naturally― well, almost.
Imām Muħammad Ħasan became aware that he was in the presence of a professional man.
He would require a direct order before he would lie.
And even then, his expression and his tone of voice would give him away.
“I ask your pardon, Lieutenant.” Imām Muħammad Ħasan said, “I didn’t mean to imply that I doubted your word.”
A ground car was waiting for them outside.
The street was empty.
There was no sign of any human being, let alone a mob.
Even then, the lieutenant had been truthful.
He had not said there was a mob outside or that one would form.
He had referred to ‘any mob that may gather.’
He had only said ‘may’.
Imām Muħammad Ħasan could not have twisted away and made a run for it.
The car moved off.
Imām Muħammad Ħasan said,
“Once I am home, I presume I may then go about my business freely― that I may leave, for instance, if I choose.”
“We have no order to interfere with you, Councilman, in any way, except insofar as we are ordered to protect you.”
“Insofar? What the hell does that mean in this case?” Imām Muħammad Ħasan was again furious.
Yet, as soon as he expressed his fury, he realized immediately that he was wasting his energy in vain.
Lieutenant Salāħuddīn Ayyūbī had to do what he was instructed to.
He couldn’t disobey Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan, his daughter.
Why the hell can’t he understand his daughter is more powerful now?
He knew very well how dangerous the job, he was entrusted to, was.
The message Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan wanted to send to the Pseudo Musalmīn, was if I can’t spare my own Abbū to differ with my dream project Ashvinātam Ummat-e-Muslimah, how the hell you think I would let you do it?
Lieutenant Salāħuddīn Ayyūbī said gravely.
“Sorry, Councilman, sir, I am instructed to tell you that once you are home, for your own safety you may not leave it. The streets of Dārussalām are not safe for you. I am responsible for your safety, sir. You are not only a Councilman, you also the father of our Al Sadar Al Jamhūriyat Al Årabiyat.”
Imām Muħammad Ħasan smiled sarcastically.
“So, my own daughter has put me under house arrest?”
“I’m not a lawyer, Councilman. I don’t know what that means.”
Lieutenant Salāħuddīn Ayyūbī gazed ahead straight.
Yet, his elbow made contact with Imām Muħammad Ħasan’s side.
Imām Muħammad Ħasan could not have moved, however slightly, without the lieutenant becoming aware of it.
Even the White House couldn’t match it in its grandness and luxuries.
“I’ll get out first, Councilman. We will escort you in.”
“For my safety?” Imām Muħammad Ħasan smiled ironically.
There were two guards waiting inside the front door.
A night light was gleaming, but the windows had been opacified.
Moreover, it was not visible from outside.
Then he dismissed it with an inward shrug.
If the Executive Council itself could not protect a Councilman from the ever aggressive Al Sadar Al Jamhūriyat Al Årabiyat, in the Council Chamber itself, then surely her own residence could never serve him as his castle.
“How many of you do I have in here altogether? A regiment?” Imām Muħammad Ħasan asked heatedly.
“No, Abbū.” Came a voice, soft, melodious, yet steady and powerful simultaneously. “Just one person you are already habitual of, aside from those you are already acquainted with, for the last year at least. And I have been waiting for you, long enough.”
“Time enough, Abbū, don’t you think, for us to talk person to person?”
Imām Muħammad Ħasan stared.
“All this rigmarole to―”
Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan interrupted him in a low, yet forceful voice,
“Quiet please, Abbū. ―And you four, outside. Outside! ―All will be well in here.”
The four guards saluted and turned on their heels.
4. On History
6. On Hinduism
7. On Islam
Durgesh Farħānah Al Åbbās
Satī Dāxāyañī Brahmāpautrī herself was behind it.
I was exasperated,
Satī Dāxāyañī Brahmāpautrī laughed,
“Sālī.” I gritted my teeth.
“I can’t help it, Pitr’shrī. Durgesh is always against my best decisions.”
I watched her gravely.
“Haven’t you learned any lessons even now, Satī?”
Satī Dāxāyañī Brahmāpautrī retorted,
“What’s there to learn?”
“I requested Ārsh Sadan, not compelled ever.”
“Didn’t you fight the issue until the entire Ārsh Sadan didn’t agree with you?”
“That’s my fundamental political right. Can you deny it, my dear Bachhalyā husband?”
He was smiling sophisticatedly.
“Don’t enjoy her idiosyncrasies, Param Brahmarshi.”
“I object on the word ‘idiosyncrasies’.” Satī Dāxāyañī Brahmāpautrī smiled cunningly.
Satī Dāxāyañī Brahmāpautrī retorted,
“Benefits of Shāshvat Satyug? What are they, Bachhalyā Piyā?”
“Call me ‘Durgesh’.” I admonished her curtly.
“I love to respect my husband.” Satī Dāxāyañī Brahmāpautrī smiled, “It’s not good manners to call one’s husband by his name.”
“Well, that’s what I think.”
“Sālī, come to the point.”
“It’s bad manners to abuse your wife when her father is present.”
“You are again enjoying her naughty activities, Bhagvan.”
“She calls me ‘Bachhalyā Piyā’ on your support.”
“Well, I don’t think there’s anything wrong in calling you ‘Bachhalyā Piyā’.” Satī Dāxāyañī Brahmāpautrī smiled impishly.
I smiled too.
Sālī was hiding behind the mask of marital relationship between us.
Her real father was Prajāpatipati Dax Brahmāputr.
But Param Brahmarshi was Gr’harshi of our entire family including Tārxý, Shésh, Balrām Bhrātr’shrī, Bharat, Laxmañ, Shatrughn, Prakāsh, Shlésh and Ved Prakāsh.***
“‘Bachhalyā’ was my birth Gotr in the ever last Kaliyug. It causes me to remember my ‘Pashu Janm’, my animal birth. Isn’t it denying my Dvij identity?”
Satī Dāxāyañī Brahmāpautrī laughed triumphantly.
“No.” I said, “I hate this ‘Pashu Janm Sambodhan’, this ‘Animal Birth Address’, for me.”
Satī Dāxāyañī Brahmāpautrī smiled,
“That’s another matter.”
“How? They are Musalmān. Therefore? They make Ashvinātam Sharīr Yantrs with you. Therefore?”
“I never blamed you so.”***
When Muħammad flew into Miami, all he seemed to see from the air was water.
It was everywhere.
It was the encroaching sea at the coast, and inland ribbons that sliced the landscape to pieces.
Much of the downtown Miami was protected, of course, but outlying districts, even just blocks away, were flooded.
Muħammad was mildly shocked.
But the place still worked.
He was unable to understand why so many Musalmīn of India still loved to vote Congress.
It had to resign.
Being a time traveler himself, Muħammad had never seen so many foolish Musalmīn anywhere.
“I haven’t objection that Zaynab Bājī has chosen a Hindu his Live in Relationship Partner, Abbū.” His youngest daughter Saiyadah Fātimah Muħammad PhD had complained, “Durgesh is not only a Hindu. He is a black magician as well.”
“What nonsense are you talking, Saiyadah Fātimah Muħammad? Muħammad was furious.
“Abbū, he is fucking infinite Musalmān Beauties.”
“Nonsense. You are a PhD. Shame to you.”
“Abbū, Zaynab Bājī claims she has seen him so.”
“Fucking infinite Musalmān Beauties?”
“And you believed it?”
“You must be crazy, Saiyadah Fātimah Muħammad PhD.”
“Is Kåbah Sharīf itself infinite?”
Muħammad had silenced his daughter.
But he knew it was possible.
Yes, his eldest daughter, Zaynab Muħammad Åbdullah, was right when she argued,
“Abbū, if Måraj is possible, why what I saw is impossible?”*
Two years ago, I bought Farħānah Al Åbbās her first car; a sporty little red convertible.
I swam deep into my thoughts.
I could bring up the day I handed the keys to my Live in Relationship Partner Al Jamāl Annisā Al Islam’s daughter, Farħānah Al Åbbās, as if it was on a Rolodex.
Two years ago in the mild stages of spring, Farħānah Al Åbbās blew out the candles on her eighteenth birthday cake.
The very breath that Farħānah Al Åbbās breathed was my breath.
That very breath she exhaled over eighteen candles was the day I felt myself.
I would be sixty-three on my upcoming birthday, by no means ancient.
But my Live in Relationship Partner Al Jamāl Annisā Al Islam’s daughter, Farħānah Al Åbbās’s declaration of youthful independence became my silent resolution of long experiences.
And I was having no trouble admitting it.
Why should I?
I was still everyoung.
Wasn’t I, still fucking extraordinary young Musalmān Beauties, even teenagers too?
My age was increasing but so was my bubbling Hindu youth as well.
None knew I was a Parahuman however.
They thought I was a normal human being.
Well, how could they differentiate?
We try to explain the things we can’t deny.
But, naturally, we use our own knowledge and experiences for it.
They took my Parahumanism as an exception to normal humanism.
The exceptions were not unusual.
It helped me in keeping my real identity to myself and to the persons who understood it.
I trusted them.
No use to tell my real identity to the persons I didn’t trust ab initio.
It couldn’t solve any problem.
On the contrary, it could increase my problems instead.
Naturally, I was not stupid enough to do so.
It seemed like only a few, short years ago, I was driving my first car.
The others were surprised that it was not any great occasion to me.
We felt happier when we accomplished something in our Shaktimān or Bhogchakr.
To the most of non Hindus it was extraordinary.
They criticized Hindus,
Saiyadah Āmnah smiled,
“When we say ‘razī Allāhu tålā ånhā’, do they understand? When we say ‘nauzbillah’ do they understand?”
“Every religion has its own terminology based on its own particular philosophy of life and vision.”
Muħammad couldn’t say anything.
Saiyadah Āmnah, his Ammījān, smiled,
“Hindus believe that to every action of a person, there is either Shaktipāt or Shaktixaý. The amount of energy in any person at any moment is his/her Shaktimān.”
“I see, and Bhogchakr?” Muħammad smiled ironically.
One more religious nonsense.
But Hindus’ own religious nonsense is also not less entertaining.
“The Hindus believe that the entire infinite creations are made by Allah for our human beings consumption.
Every person thus, according to Hindus, has his/her own Consumption Cycle. They call it Bhogchakr in their religious language, Sanskr’t.
“We all have our own religious idiosyncrasies.”
Åbdullah Hāshmī smiled,
“Not because their so called Eīshān Vigyān, Ammī.” Muħammad retorted.
Saiyadah Āmnah chuckled,
“How do you know, my dear son?”***
My mind dove deeper into my past memories as I took my exit to the office.
I had given up my spot in the two-car garage to my Live in Relationship Partner Al Jamāl Annisā Al Islam’s daughter, Farħānah Al Åbbās’ car.
It seemed ridiculous to have a convertible car sitting outside in the elements and my fifteen year old Chevy Silverado had seen better days.
Farħānah Al Åbbās had definitely benefited from her Ammī’s beauty.
Al Jamāl Annisā Al Islam and I had gotten off to a rocky Live in Relationship, in our first few years.
From the normal “settling in” phase to various arguments, it took us many years to straighten out our problems with each other.
But after the newness wore off, our understanding for each other grew.
I had tried so hard to keep the peace with my Live in Relationship Partner; something easier said than done.
I knew when I met her that she would be hard to handle.
Musalmān women as beautiful as her don’t come around often, and I was surprised when she agreed to a first date with me.
I knew what I had.
But I also knew it would take me controlling my temper to keep her.
I tried as hard as I could to make my Live in Relationship with Al Jamāl Annisā Al Islam work.
I had to.
Being a Hindu it was my duty.
Not only it, being a good human being even, I had to adjust with Al Jamāl Annisā Al Islam.
I wasn’t a plaster saint, by any means.
Everyone knew it.
Al Jamāl Annisā Al Islam was also included in this everyone.
During our first few years of Live in Relationship, I had openly met several young Musalmān women on the internet.
There was something in the over possessive attitude of Al Jamāl Annisā Al Islam that I felt somewhat imprisoned and even tortured by my new Live in Relationship.
The only distraction from that was in the safety of the anonymous interest of another Musalmān Beauty.
A Musalmān Beauty I had no ties or resentment toward.
I even met a few of the young Musalmān women in person.
Some would be only for brief talks, leading to more, but most were simply for my sexual unions.
I always let my temptations take me all the way, bravely.
I was a hyper sexual, a Parahuman.
I needed those Musalmān Beauties not only for my sexual satisfaction, but for my own survival as well.
Ordinary human beings couldn’t understand it very well.
But how could I help it?
By sacrificing my own life, my own existence?
I was not such a sucker, neither had I wanted to be, nor prepared to be, ever.
I never agreed I was wrong.
Why should have I?
I always used to have intercourse with other Musalmān Beauties other than my Live in Relationship Partner, Al Jamāl Annisā Al Islam.
It’s not that I wasn’t sexually attracted to my new Live in Relationship Partner, back then.
Eīshān Param Brahm Paramātmā, she was gorgeous.
Tall and sleek, she had the body of a competent Musalmān seductress.
Her breasts perked high in her tight, little tops.
I always loved the cuteness of a big-chested Musalmān Beauty.
They just always gave me a warm, sweet feeling; making me smile in satisfaction.
Her legs were something to be appreciated; long and tone, always silky smooth and tan.
She had one of those big gorgeous Musalmān asses that I would imagine a sexy heiress to the families fortune having.
Tight, round, almost giving off a conceited vibe, like it was actually saying, “I’m better for you”.
She had that nice, deep line running from the small of her back up between her shoulders and slender arms and fingers.
Her hands and feet were dainty, something I always loved about her.
Her hair was long and dark, absolute perfection and her eyes matched it in color and luster.
With full, pouty lips and a small, up-turned nose, she was constantly viewed by other people as stuck-up, vein or a bitch.
Al Jamāl Annisā Al Islam had everything and I knew it.
But after our Live in Relationship, her looks became horribly skewed as I realized her communal mood swings, controlling attitude and just a general idea that I would wait on her, hand and foot, took its toll on my attraction to her.
I found myself not very anxious to have sex with her and I knew, this happening this early in a Live in Relationship was not a good thing.
Al Jamāl Annisā Al Islam was only two years younger than me.
I found younger Musalmān women more open to my intentions.
Al Jamāl Annisā Al Islam was the only exception.
I had never dated a Musalmān Beauty that made me wait for sex.
She was a virgin and intended on staying that way until Live in Relationship.
It was that easy, usually.
Most of the Musalmān Beauties I met only once, and oddly enough, they were perfectly fine with that.
One girl in particular, I met more than once.
At twenty-one years old, slightly thick, with 38DD’s that were spilling over her bra, she was definitely something I never had usually.
Petite Musalmān girls had always been my thing.
The first night I met her, we talked and laughed. something I hadn’t done in a while with Al Jamāl Annisā Al Islam.
I constantly admired her excellent Musalmān breasts.
Almost like an expensive piece of chocolate I slowly peeled her tight shirt upward, my excitement building with every inch of her enormous Musalmān breasts coming into view.
My intentions were hers as well; we had discussed it beforehand.
Her bra forced the top of her Musalmān breasts out over the edge.
She smiled at my overwhelming interest as she unhooked her bra, squeezing her massive Musalmān tits together, with her arms, as she let the straps fall from her shoulders.
Slowly she pulled the cups away and relaxed her arms back to our resting position.
The result was her gorgeous round globes were swaying and knocking together like a desk novelty.
I smiled teasingly at the sight.
I took my time with something as if, a well-endowed rack.
Light touches and strong squeezes excited me more then I knew possible.
Pressing them together, letting them sway, light squeezes turned to lustful squeezings.
I could feel her chest heaving, her breathing becoming louder, stronger.
Then a thought quickly came to me.
“Would you mind if I tit-fucked you? I want to do it to you more than before,” I asked, looking up at her from between her cupped breasts.
“Sure,” Åāýéshah Muħammad panted. “It looks like you’re having a lot of fun. Who am I to deny you, plus, this feels really good!”
I rose and straddled her waist, watched her palm the sides of her breasts, pressing us tightly against each other.
The sight alone made me drip precum.
My unquestionable Hindu arousal for this curiosity, the feeling of firm, huge Musalmān breasts sucking tightly on my naked Uncut Hindu Dick, the unbelievably Musalmān softness of them pressing against my Hindu pelvis overwhelmed me.
I tit fucked Åāýéshah Muħammad for almost half an hour.
She held it into her mouth, briefly gave it an accepting look, then looked me directly in the eyes and guided it into her mouth.
“Durgesh darling, méré Hindu Piyā, Hindu Al Buůūlatul Muslimāt, hum Musalmān ħasīnāon ké Hindu Kħasam, Hindu husband of us Musalmān Beauties! Has anyone ever told you your Hindu cum is very sweetest?” Åāýéshah Muħammad teased me, swirling her tongue in her mouth; enjoying the remnants of her fresh oral sex with me.
“Actually, I’ve heard that a few times,” I smirked, still teasing her.
As she stepped out of my truck, she waved ‘Allah Ħāfiz’, ‘goodbye’ and we went our separate ways. Durgesh felt the bliss rising deep within me.
I talked to her on the phone, as well as on the internet after that, and met her on three other encounters.
One meeting I pulled up to her car, Åāýéshah Muħammad got out and climbed into my truck.
Åāýéshah Muħammad swallowed, primed my leftover Hindu cum to the tip of my Uncut Hindu Cock, licked it off, zipped my pants back up, looked at me, smiled and said ‘Allah Ħāfiz’ once more.
That meeting was my favorite; to-the-point, raw, it was cut-and-dry and required no build-up.
Another time Åāýéshah Muħammad knelt down in a parking lot and sucked my excited Uncut Hindu Cock in full view of anyone deciding to park in the lot.
When Åāýéshah Muħammad could sense I was close to cumming, Åāýéshah Muħammad e held out her palm and gently massaged my Uncut Hindu Cock to orgasm.
She cupped her hand in front of the tip and let my warm, sweet Hindu juice puddle into it.
Åāýéshah Muħammad Hāshmī then rose up and began licking small quantities of it from her hand until all traces were gone.
My satisfied Uncut Hindu Cock began throbbing with each fast-paced heartbeat, as I watched her lap my most primal of Hindu fluids up like a hungry kitten.
Muħammad Abdullah turned his car onto the gravel road and drove up the hill toward the clubhouse.
The brick building was about 2 miles up the road, in a little forest of pine trees.
It could not be seen from the road.
And unless you knew it was there, you wouldn’t even know it existed.
A generous patron had donated the somewhat isolated land and building to the local Explorer troop some years ago.
Even though it had been built in the 1940’s, the Explorers had taken good care of it, and it was very nice.
The grounds were well-kept with a nicely-trimmed lawn and a picnic area.
Inside, there was a meeting room, a kitchen, a bunk room, and a full gym with weight machines, a large mat room for boxing and wrestling, and a large shower area.
The Explorers were a group of teen-aged Hindu boys who were interested in going into law enforcement or fire-fighting careers.
They worked with local agencies to learn about the job and would meet at the clubhouse on Tuesday nights to discuss what they had learned and plan events and fundraisers.
Other than that, the Hindu Lund Muslim Choot International Club house was mainly a place for the guys to hang out and work on projects or work out in the weight room.
The leaders would come in most evenings and open the place from 6 pm to 8 pm if any of the guys wanted to work out.
But the weight room could get pretty crowded at times.
And the guys would sometimes have to wait awhile for their turn.
That was why Muħammad Abdullah had driven up there that night.
At the meeting the night before, I, one of his fellow leaders, had mentioned to him that I was going to stay late the following night and had told Muħammad Abdullah that he could come and work out if he wished.
Muħammad Abdullah’s school schedule was fairly light the following day, and he thought it would be great to be able to get in a workout without having to wait around for machines to open up.
As he neared the clubhouse, he saw that my car was parked in back, but no one else was there.
The outside light was on, as were the lights inside the gym area.
Muħammad Abdullah parked his car and walked over to the building.
It had been a warm spring day, but a cool breeze had begun to blow through the pines.
It was very quiet up there.
The only sound was the wind blowing through the trees.
Muħammad Abdullah breathed in the pine-scented air and enjoyed the moment.
It felt like he was way out in the country.
He had dressed for his workout in a t-shirt and some loose nylon running shorts.
Underneath his shorts, he was wearing a jockstrap and could feel the breeze blow up his shorts and across his butt.
He liked wearing a jock because of the way it snugly held his cut Musalmān nūnī and balls, while allowing him to feel otherwise naked underneath.
He walked into the gym and saw me sitting on the floor, stretching.
I was one of the older leaders.
I was 62 years old, 6′ 5″ tall, and weighed about 250 pounds, all solid muscle.
I constantly worked out and was very strong.
The sexiest men in entire infinite Creations and infinite time dimension too.
Muħammad Åbdullah was suggested so many times to reconsider what his system of life should be for his future life.
Not even if his Musalmān friends were terrorists themselves.
How can he fuck the women he called Ammī once?
How can he fuck the women he called Bājī once?
How can he fuck the girls he called sisters once?
How can he fuck the women he called Bhābhījān once?
Muħammad Åbdullah would prefer even to die instead.
To hell with such Sukr’ts.
Might is always right.
That’s what Hindus actually believe in.
The Bachhalyās were always immorals.
The ever immoral Bachhalyās were the first who started incest.
Moreover, they argued it moral, religious and legal too.
Ultimately Lord Parashu Rām had killed the immoral Bachhalyās consecutively for twenty one times, in twenty one Brāhm Kalp Cycles.***
I reveled in her complete raw sexual cravings, her uninhibited urges to milk my wanting Uncut Hindu Cock of every single drop of my nature.
But what was so intense to me was I had no idea who this Musalmān Beauty was, and she knew nothing of me.
“Allah, God, that tastes so good,” Åāýéshah Muħammad Hāshmī grunted.
I moaned, dazed from the delight.
Each encounter was something new and different.
A drastic change from the already staleness, sexually, I had already become accustomed to.
On our last encounter, I went to her house to see her.
She was like nothing I had ever met.
She stopped at nothing to amaze me.
She knew nothing would come of our meetings, but I felt, something inside her loved the attention.
I followed her upstairs to her bedroom, admiring the thigh high stockings and very short miniskirt that left nothing covered.
This, she knew, was one of my fetishes.
We had discussed some very, very sexy ideas and fantasies in our little chats.
She stripped away my pants along with my boxers.
“I love sitting on your Hindu lap Durgesh darling, while you fuck Åāýéshah Muħammad Hāshmī.” she winked at me as she peeled her spaghetti-strapped top up over her head, her large melons dropping and swaying from the release.
Her nipples softly slipped across my skin and then pressed against my Hindu chest.
The slushing noises of all those juices being forced in-and-out, up-and-down, back-and-forth was enough to bring me over the edge.
“Hold on Durgesh darling, I’ve got to go get something,” Åāýéshah Muħammad Hāshmī said as she rose up off me.
Cautioning my mind back in reality, I was cautious as I stared at her bare Saůūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Choot release itself from me.
Strands upon strands of her natural lubrication clung to my Uncut Hindu Lund, refusing the separation.
Well, the refusal was inevitable ultimately.
It all had made its own infinite time cycle repeating itself again and again.
Musalmān Beauties had to fuck me consequently.
Even they couldn’t resist the temptation.
Their Musalmān Cunts demanded my Uncut Hindu Lund uncompromisingly.
I watched, bewildered, as clear droplets of desire splashed silently, from deep within her, against my lurching Uncut Hindu Cock.
I had rarely, seen a Musalmān Beauty so wet, even while I always fucked infinite of them actually.
Wasn’t it something special?
Certainly it was.
Her short skirt was lowering a little with every step.
Walking back into the room, Åāýéshah Muħammad Hāshmī again straddled my hard Uncut Hindu Cock.***
It all made sense now.
Jamīlah Bū Pāshā could feel me — feel a man nearby.
The voices and images that had bombarded her made sense now — and they had washed away her old reality.
All Jamīlah Bū Pāshā remembered was being sucked up by the blue light into the Posthuman warship, and the gas she and the other Musalmān Beauties had been subjected to….no, not gas exactly, the were tiny particles like…dust or…spores.
Jamīlah Bū Pāshā knew that now.
Finally, all of it made sense.
She had eons worth of memories; the biologically—encoded memories of a great race, an ancient race.
The body of knowledge that filled her brain overshadowed all ethical, political, or religious beliefs; her race—memory was all.
Jamīlah Bū Pāshā had awakened at long last from a prison of petty, weak, female morality and anxiety, and Jamīlah Bū Pāshā knew what Jamīlah Bū Pāshā had to do.
Again, and again.
It was not a means to an end, reproduction was the end.
It would be beautiful; she was beautiful.
Jamīlah Bū Pāshā had been given a gift when the Posthumans sprayed her with their spores; Jamīlah Bū Pāshā knew that she did not need to age, she need not fear rejection.
Jamīlah Bū Pāshā knew that Jamīlah Bū Pāshā had a choice of any man… she was erupting with the power of limitless seduction — no matter a man’s station, commitment or preferences — Jamīlah Bū Pāshā could have me…Jamīlah Bū Pāshā could possess the best men…but… but…she didn’t want the best man…
No, she wanted…all Hindus!
All of them!
She would spread her legs, shake her extremely beautiful gorgeous glamorous excellent exquisite perfectly round firm Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saůūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān ass for any chance to copulate with a Hindu.
She laughed when Jamīlah Bū Pāshā realized that normal Musalmān Beauties would be selective for the most suitable Hindu.
What mattered was breeding!
When Jamīlah Bū Pāshā had been human; Jamīlah Bū Pāshā had wanted only to attract the right Hindu; now Jamīlah Bū Pāshā could attract any Hindu, and wanted them all!
They thought she was an Egyptian.
‘Pāshā’ was an Egyptian surname.
Well, only her Abbū was an Egyptian Årab Musalmān.
Jamīlah Bū Pāshā closed her eyes, and felt a sweet sensation.
It was an aura that teased her senses like electric sugar.
Jamīlah Bū Pāshā could see glowing blue threads in the air,
Many of them with a common root — but with a few wild branches.
The glowing threads that waved and wandered in front of her seemed to radiate that energizing sweetness.
She grasped a tangential strand, and gained a flash of images — massive lovely Musalmān breasts, platinum blond hair, metal studs and piercings, a extremely lovely Musalmān feminine shape.
Jamīlah Bū Pāshā was dimly aware of her flesh flowing, bones popping, chest expanding.
And in a flash, Jamīlah Bū Pāshā knew that Jamīlah Bū Pāshā had become the very soul of desire!
The sweetness grew more intense, and was accompanied by a sense of invincible power.
Jamīlah Bū Pāshā was desirable now, a perfect match…but….for what?
For a Hindu…Jamīlah Bū Pāshā could practically smell his anti-Islamic Hindu lust.
It was not the nature of the Hindu himself, but the strength of his Hindu libido that drew her.
It made no difference what he looked like.
Jamīlah Bū Pāshā knew that Jamīlah Bū Pāshā would spread herself for any Hindu even…Hindus from other planets?
Yes…yes…their Hindu libidos captivated her, made her wet, made her pulse flutter with longing.
There was a time when Jamīlah Bū Pāshā would have rejected a Hindu based on meaningless emotional impulses!
She scoffed at the human woman she used to be, Jamīlah Bū Pāshā was…. yes, a Musalmān Beauty.
She embraced the term as normal, natural.
Jamīlah Bū Pāshā had reached the inevitable evolution of the female Musalmān organism — absolute promiscuity.
She looked forward to impregnation — Jamīlah Bū Pāshā knew that Jamīlah Bū Pāshā could give birth offspring quickly, easily, without pain or risk of injury — in her new, advanced body Jamīlah Bū Pāshā realized the process would be highly pleasurable!
And imagine, Jamīlah Bū Pāshā had been afraid when the Posthumans had first captured her!
“Hindus,” she breathed.
Jamīlah Bū Pāshā was one of them now.
They were her people, her species.
It was human Musalmān Beauties that were Posthuman now.
Her new sisterhood ruled this planet.
And they would steal every living Hindu away from their own Musalmān Beauties.
But that had already been done.
Only a tiny handful of Hindus in the most remote places on Earth could have possibly escaped the Great Harvest.
Jamīlah Bū Pāshā knew that ships had even combed the Kalahari Desert and Amazon rainforests, to capture every possible Hindu to ejaculate into Musalmān Cunts for the Ashvinātam Empire.
But there was one left.
Durgesh must have somehow escaped.
He had a cunning, powerful mind, but his lust for fucking Musalmān Beauties nonstop was strong.
That was what drew her, the greater the Hindu’s lust, the more her own Panjvaqtah Namāzī Musalmān sexual craving was fed — and Jamīlah Bū Pāshā knew Jamīlah Bū Pāshā had taken the shape of a deep—rooted desire.
Jamīlah Bū Pāshā was drawn to me like a magnet, from my Hindu sperm; Jamīlah Bū Pāshā would derive both pleasure and sustenance, from her Panjvaqtah Namāzī ardent Saůūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Cunt.
Durgesh would gain a potent addiction.
She loped forward to follow the strands of desire across the stripped soil where blue moss from the Hindus Homeworld had been planted.
Jamīlah Bū Pāshā was not sure.
Hindus lived originally in Vyom, an immensely unapproachable Space with equally immensely unapproachable time dimension.
Their President, Durgesh, lived in still more immensely unapproachable Space, Param Vyom, the Absolute Space.
It was said that no man except Durgesh himself could stay male in Param Vyom.
He would immediately be transformed into an extremely beautiful woman, if he even enters there somehow.
What a security system.
There was a ship; it was a small shuttle made from rough, bluish—purple crystalline blocks.
Not Hindus Manufacture.
Her race memory told her that it was made by an ingenious, telepathic species smarter on average than humanity, but far less fertile.
Nonetheless, the Hindus of that race could not restrain themselves from the limitless sexual indulgence the Hindus promised — and had thus become one more planet of lesbian savages and stud—slaves.
Now, there were Hindus who had added that race’s genius and greater telepathy to the gene pool at large; making them all the more capable to conquer Trio Arabia Creations.
“Ashvinātam Intelligence is limited; Ashvinātam Lust is eternal.” Jamīlah Bū Pāshā droned, her race memory feeding her a popular Hindus maxim.
The mating instinct was a weakness shared by the smartest, strongest, toughest species — none could resist The Ashvinātam Empire.
And the leaders of this planet had been so eager to ejaculate their freedom and power into the accepting Musalmān Cunts of the First Wave agents.
This ship’s presence here was a mystery.
A mystery that Jamīlah Bū Pāshā would explore after she’d gotten a Musalmān crotch full of sweet, virile, human Hindu Semen.
A mystery that was fleeting, it seemed.
The bluish blocks began to fracture, crack and smoke.
In a few moments, it was clear that somehow, the ship was disintegrating from some reaction inside its own structure.
The blocks fragmented and faded into sandy debris, flowing downwards into a pile around the crash site.
Beneath the blocks oozed a substance that resembled molten metal that flowed in steely rivulets.
In less than a minute, evidence of the Posthuman craft had vanished, and what remained could easily resemble the melted wreckage of any human-manufactured aircraft.
And in the center, stood the Hindu.
I was wiry, of medium height for my species, not bulky, but with a hint of lean muscle.
Clean shaven, my black hair resembled a spiky crew-cut, and there was a fierce gleam of Uncut Hindu Cock—sure certainty in my smoldering eyes.
And my rod… my Hindumeat stood poised, half-erect as if ready at any moment to surge into steely rigidity.
My sausage—like Uncut Hindu Cock throbbed, seeming to beckon her forward.
Knots of desire twisted in her gut, and her Panjvaqtah Namāzī ardent Saůūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Cunt began to quiver with the raw instincts that burned in her Musalmān blood.
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