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35053668-Empire-of-the-Soul-Paul-William-Roberts

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148<br />

EMPIRE OF THE SOUL<br />

years. But <strong>the</strong> newly white beard, which was eerily similar to his<br />

fa<strong>the</strong>r’s, lent him a more venerable Eastern-sage appearance. He<br />

now looked much more in character for <strong>the</strong> role he was about to<br />

play on <strong>the</strong> world’s stage: messiah <strong>of</strong> <strong>the</strong> New Age.<br />

One small restaurant I entered contained clients who all wore <strong>the</strong><br />

orange and <strong>the</strong> beads. My first thought, however, was that this implied<br />

<strong>the</strong> restaurant served food acceptable to Western stomachs. I took<br />

my Western stomach in, searching for somewhere to sit. The<br />

proprietor propelled me toward a table with one spare seat next to<br />

two young women and a man – all orange, all beaded. They seemed<br />

delighted by this intrusion and introduced <strong>the</strong>mselves: Ma Rukmini<br />

– blonde, probably Californian, spaced out; Ma Tantra Ananda –<br />

dark, gypsylike, Brooklyn accent; Swami Hariprasad – a youthful<br />

Robert Stone, prematurely balding, a beard at least ten inches long<br />

but containing fewer than a hundred hairs in total.<br />

They behaved like people who had recently smoked a bale <strong>of</strong> pot.<br />

What did <strong>the</strong>y recommend one eat here?<br />

‘Near Bhagwan,’ Ma Tantra informed me, in a dreamy tone illsuited<br />

to Brooklynese, ‘everything is good.’<br />

Her companions nodded pr<strong>of</strong>oundly.<br />

I ordered whatever <strong>the</strong>y had ordered and asked about <strong>the</strong>ir<br />

experiences with <strong>the</strong> bhagwan.<br />

‘Love,’ Ma Rukmini replied, making <strong>the</strong> word sound more like<br />

‘loot’. ‘Bhagwan gives us so much love.’<br />

Swami Hariprasad was a little more explicit, announcing in an<br />

accent as bland as <strong>the</strong> Midwest that had probably produced it that<br />

<strong>the</strong> bhagwan had put him in touch with energy he’d been repressing<br />

all his life. I finally gleaned from this that he’d been getting laid<br />

more in Poona over five months than he had back in Omaha over<br />

<strong>the</strong> preceding fifteen years.<br />

I dug into my fried flatbread and some kind <strong>of</strong> curried mush<br />

composed mainly <strong>of</strong> potatoes. As conversation progressed I gradually<br />

deduced that Swami and <strong>the</strong>se two Mas had been enjoying threeway<br />

sex – a novelty that was ‘opening up <strong>the</strong>ir chakras to <strong>the</strong><br />

kundalini energy’ rising brainward from its lair in <strong>the</strong> base <strong>of</strong> <strong>the</strong><br />

spine.

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