Author: R.

Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at oneadayuntilthedayidie.com. I’m your host, Laurence Simon.

This is Weekly Challenge, where I post a topic and then challenge you to come up with a 100 word story based on that topic.

The topic this week was LODGE.

We’ve got stories by:

• John
• Jeffrey
• Richard
• Zackmann
• Dionysis Clowes
• Serendipity
• Tom
• Munsi
• Jeff
• Spate
• Tura Brezoianu
• Chelsea
• Lizzie
• Julie
• Danny
• Norval Joe
• Singh – Available in separate post
• Planet Z

The next 100 word stories weekly challenge is on the topic of MONSTER.

Finally, if there are any errors or corrections, please let me know, and I’ll fix them as soon as possible.

JOHN MUSICO

Lost Tooth Returns Home, by John Musico

When we were kids; I tripped and hit my teeth on my brother’s head. Half my front tooth broke off. We searched for my tooth but it was lost. The trauma left me growing up like a jack o lantern and my brother with a permanent knot on his scalp. Years later I got a phone call from him. The lump on his head burst and out came the missing tooth. He mailed it to me. I still wear my long lost tooth around my neck. I’m planning to switch it out with the artificial cap I had eventually gotten.

JEFFREY

Stuck for Words
by Jeffrey Fischer

He felt the words lodge in his throat. “I’m s..s…” was all he could get out.

His girlfriend fumed. Just like him, to gag on a simple apology. Why couldn’t he say he was sorry? She certainly had apologized when she didn’t live up to the standards of two people in love. A little make-up sex from time to time helped, too.

“I’m s…so….” There he went again! Now the guy was getting purple in the face. What a diva! She felt herself starting to get mad. Maybe she needed to rethink her future with him, if this was the way it was going to be.

His head crashed into the table and his body went limp. He didn’t seem to be breathing.

Hmm, she thought. In retrospect, perhaps his gestures *did* look more like a man choking than a man trying to apologize. Live and learn.

The Lodger
by Jeffrey Fischer

Frank looked at the appalling mess around him. Bedclothes were strewn about, paper had been shredded and tossed around the apartment like confetti, and an acrid smell that he couldn’t quite place permeated the room.

Then it came back to him. He had fallen in love at first sight and readily agreed to the suggestion that she spend the night. “Just overnight,” he said. “I’m not looking for a permanent lodger.” After sharing a meal, there was a playful romp. Later, when they were both tuckered out, they fell asleep, snuggling.

Now, in the cold light of day, he wondered if he had done the right thing. The beagle puppy thumped her tail enthusiastically as she looked expectantly at Frank. Probably waiting for more food, he thought. While he waited for his friend to pick up his dog, Frank found that dog urine indeed permanently stained the carpet.

RICHARD

#1 – George’s Story: Part 56 – Board and lodging

Rasputin sneered down at George, “Good! For a moment, I thought you might be trying to leave us.”

George smiled nervously at the giant.

“Actually, I was thinking it was maybe time to move on… if you don’t mind that is?”

Rasputin sneered again: “Is not possible! We stick together – you will lodge here with us – there is strength in numbers.”

George’s frustration mounted – again, he tried to ‘feel the force’ inside him – “But what exactly are you hoping to achieve here?”, he blurted out.

Rasputin smiled: “Simple. We drink tea, and we wait… for the end of the world!”

#2 – Complaints Department

‘Press one to make a purchase; two for payment enquiries; three to lodge a complaint’

I pressed three and was surprised to be put through, almost immediately to a cheerful and sympathetic customer service advisor.

“I’d like to lodge a complaint”, I explained.

“Oh, I’m so sorry – I hope you haven’t been inconvenienced?”

She was very friendly: we ended up chatting for a while – in fact, by the end, we had the stirrings of a beautiful friendship.

To tell the truth, we got on so well it would have been a shame to spoil it by complaining.

So I didn’t!

# 3 – Initiation

The lodge initiation ceremony seemed a little over the top, but I didn’t want to make a fuss, so I went along with it, without comment.

Even when they made me roll up my trouser leg, slipped a noose around my neck and held a knife to my chest, I just closed my eyes and waited for it to all be over.

Things became a little clearer in the bar afterwards, when I asked a fellow member where they kept the vases.

“Oh, we’re the Freemasons,” he said, “I think you want the flower arranging group… they meet next door!”

ZACKMANN

I am so glad that Cliff, I mean Munsi convinced us to have our club’s convention in Muncie. All the votes are in. The change has been approved. I don’t think I like the idea of changing the name of the club to The Order of Munsi and calling everyone Munsi but must ask for help removing the log lodged in my own eye out before I consider taking any sliver out of Munsi Munsi’s eye. New business, someone review contracts with me to see if I can return everything with the The Order of John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt letterhead.

DIONYSIS

Hunters

“I remember my mother used to say, every Spring, It’s time for little animals to come out of their ‘lodges.’ Then we’d all go traipsing off through the countryside to see the small mammals coming out of their ‘lodges.’” He stopped whispering and looked at his hands in the murky light of the cellar.

We listened — we always listened now. Nothing. We’d been holed up in there for three days; we’d barely just escaped from somewhere, always, since it started.

Then we heard the pad of tiny feet, a few, then a thousand, scurrying, scratching, and we knew.

SERENDIPITY

For the bullet to lodge where it could cause no damage at all, other than a superficial flesh wound, was not only extraordinary, it was downright annoying!

I could scarcely believe what had happened.

Months of preparation and meticulous planning had gone into this operation, despite which, a complete fluke meant the only damage done amounted to a moment of shocked surprise, followed by a small, and barely noticeable, trickle of blood and a host of secret servicemen running about like maniacs.

I sighed, then shrugged, and proceeded to empty all the remaining bullets in the clip into his chest.

TOM

A Well Defined Relationship Part 48 and 49

“Lord Vader long range scans have detected a bowing in the time-space
fabric.” “Yes, Colonel Lucas, I’ve just now felt a radical shift in the
force. Direct the Death Star to this point in the Delta Quadrant.” When
the sphere came out of hyperspace it was greeted by a single Federation
Starship glowing like the backend of a supernova. “Remove THAT from my
sight.” “Yes Lord Vader.” The Death Star aimed, pulsed and fired.
“Mister Sulu Pike Maneuver, Chekov full power to the shields. Duke a
little help here.”
“Got it pilgrim.”
“Captain, shields at 10,000%” cry the ensign

The boys from the Acorn Lodge arrived in front of the porch with a
collection of ceremonial armaments most hadn’t been fired since the clone
wars. “Better get these all oiled and tested. Don’t want any
self-inflicted wounds,” said Banister. “What are they wearing on their
heads?” ask Timmy. “Those are Acorn Nuts, a rather arcane fastening
device,” said the senator. “Looks pretty stupid.” “Don’t be so quick to
judge, Master Parsons, the member of the Acorn Lodge come from the fifth
highland regiment,” said the doctor. Now it was Timmy’s turn to look
pretty stupid.” “Sorry,” said the boy

MUNSI

My Living Situation

By Christopher Munroe

I’m looking for my fifth apartment of this year.

The first and third evicted me with illegally short notice, without benefit of warning or reason. The second and fourth were friend’s places, where I gratefully crashed while seeking somewhere permanent.

Hopefully five will be the charm, I could use a place to call my own. It’s been too many years since anywhere’s genuinely felt like “home” to me.

But there are times I worry that this is simply my lot in life, to move endlessly from apartment to apartment, never grounded.

Travelling without rest, never settling down.

The Artful Lodger.

JEFF

A Job in a new town

By Jeff Hema

Mom hooked me up with a hotel with bare bones service, but I wouldn’t have needed her help if it were not for the real estate agency’s red tape.

The guy expressed with gravitas that if one document was missing, I wouldn’t have the keys to the apartment.

The first night at the hotel veered onto an acrimonious experience: when I awoke in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom, the key was lodged in the door, and there was no phone to contact the owner.

I had to do it in a bowl to relieve myself.

SPATE

Hash – Part 5

The steel bar telegraph went crazy after Davidson’s encounter with Hercules.
Bigger than the daily numbers lottery; this wager was electric. betting on
when they would break Davidson.

Everyone wanted in; even the punks, diaper snipers, and cheese eaters in
protective segregation. The syndicate went into overdrive.

Bets were lodged through the gang heads and the block kings; funneled to The
Reckoner’s personal accountant; who now held book on almost every stamp,
cigarette, fuck mag, and piece of illegal contraband in the joint.

Most of the cons were pulling for Davidson but betting against him. They
knew the odds.

TURA

Lodge
——–
The snowstorm had sprung up unexpectedly during my hike. I could only press on, trying to find a way off the mountain. Every time I fell down, it was harder to get up.

A building loomed out of the blinding snow. A hunting lodge, deserted at this season. With my last strength I found my way inside, and half collapsed in front of the roaring fire.

It seemed odd for there to be a fire going, I thought, as I drifted off to sleep.

They found me before I froze to death, lying in the snow on an empty mountainside.
——–

CHELSEA

Cold

You all know that feeling in the back of your throat that signifies the start of a cold. Telling you that there’s a foreign creature living and breeding inside your body and there’s little you can do now to stop it.

You drink the OJ, take the Cold FX and pray to every deity you can think of to fend off this cold. But in the end you know the truth, this creature has lodged itself inside your body. Set up camp and made you it’s home for the next week, and all you get out of it is misery.

LIZZIE

“You didn’t feel someone pushing you?” asked the surgeon, checking the exams. The strange object had lodged itself near the spine.

“No…” replied the young man. “It hurts… Can you remove it?”

“I’ll try,” said the surgeon.

The young man added hesitantly, “Odd thing… I also hear strange noises…”

The surgeon frowned.

Well, the operation went fine, yet the young man now heard voices.

In his office, the surgeon opened a sphere and typed “Subject intercepted test messages. Receptor fixed,” and added, “Begin countdown.”

Days later, Earth was not Earth anymore. It was a forced labor colony, one of many.

JULIE

Your ex-wife calls me now.

She has heard me read my poems,

She wants to meet for drinks.

Your sister is our sister.

Strangely, I like her.

I wanted to dislike her.

Prettier than I,

Tinier, more fashionable—

She took you from me.

But, we are equally talented.

I forgive her.

Blonde only children, us both.

Both of us, bonded through you.

Equally blonde, evenly matched,

Oddly paired.

And now

That you’ve flown to the wide sky

We remain.

And you, my dear

If you are lodged

In my soul

I guess,

After all this time,

You may stay.

DANNY

There seems to be an overwhelming need for lodges and secret societies in the cartoon world. The Flintstones have the Water Buffalo Lodge. The Simpsons have their secret underground society The Stone Cutters. Even SpongeBob Squarepants got into the act when Squidward tried to join the Lodge of a secret society, until SpongeBob and Patrick got him kicked out. Television popularizing lodges without providing much detail to their purpose or beliefs. These cartoon lodges, all in plain sight for quite some time, but never really talked about. It seems cartoons, like the one percent, are conspiring their evil against us.

NORVAL JOE

Dergle thought he must be dreaming. A stylized image of a dachshund was etched into a brass plate on an ancient oaken door. Inside the windowless lodge all conversations stopped as Dergle stepped onto plush carpet of the smoking room. Thirty men, or more, stared.
Glassy-eyed glares from wiener dog hats perched on each head, doubled the oppressive discomfort.
Dergle cleared his throat, pulled his dachshund hoodie over his head, and said, “I think I belong here.”
The Grand Wienie, himself, adorned in black and tan wiener dog mantle, welcomed Dergle to the Mysterious Order of the Unknown Wiener Dog.

PLANET Z

My favorite Irish pub has one of those posters where a pint of Guinness is lodged in an ostrich’s throat.

There’s a whole series of these posters featuring various zoo animals in various states of thwarting zoo personnel and absconding with the famous beverage.

So, when I planned to rob the payroll safe at the Guinness Brewery, my first idea was to release a variety of zoo animals to distract the staff.

They mauled and killed a lot of the staff.

Served them right. The safes were empty. The bastards had switched to Direct Deposit and wire transfers years ago.

Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at oneadayuntilthedayidie.com. I’m your host, Laurence Simon.

This is Weekly Challenge, where I post a topic and then challenge you to come up with a 100 word story based on that topic.

The topic this week was STAR WARS.

We’ve got stories by:

• John
• Tura Brezoianu
• Jeffrey
• Richard
• Lizzie
• Tom
• Serendipity
• Munsi
• Zackmann
• Chelsea
• Spate
• Norval Joe
• Julie
• Dionysis Clowes
• Danny
• Singh
• Planet Z

The next 100 word stories weekly challenge is on the topic of LODGE.

Finally, if there are any errors or corrections, please let me know, and I’ll fix them as soon as possible.

JOHN MUSICO

Star Wars, by John Musico

Every so often, the stars go to war. They and their comrades of their own galaxy travel in a group. They clash with another galaxy. The larger army, using gravity as their weapon, absorb stars from their opponent’s galaxy and become an even larger army.
On closer inspection you will see two individual stars chasing each other round and round while the larger foe steals bits of flesh from the smaller.
These wars last eons followed by periods of peace.
Our own Milky Way galaxy is currently wrestling with a smaller galaxy. It is expected our larger forces shall prevail.

TURA

Star Wars
——–
“Why don’t we film ‘War And Peace’?” I said to my partner in crime.

“It’s too bloody long, that’s why!” he said.

“No, listen,” I went on, “it’s about war, right? Which we’d do in CGI, no actors or film crews needed. And peace, which is tranquil countryside and lovers gazing at each other.”

He considered this. “The plot will need cutting. Let’s say Napoleon’s a provincial rival to the throne. Set it a thousand years ago…”

“You mean, a long time ago in a country far, far away?”

“Exactly!” he said. “And we’d call it…?”

We chorused, “Tsar Wars!”

JEFFREY

War Stars
by Jeffrey Fischer

Just as Hollywood has its stars, and the sports world has its luminaries, so the military has its important figures. Lee and Grant. Pershing. MacArthur. Eisenhower. Under orders from political leaders, they use cunning, strategy, manpower, technology, and, yes, luck to protect the interests of the nations they serve. Failure often has devastating consequences. They do it all for a modest salary. Yet it’s the sports stars and the movie actors who win the big contracts, the endorsements, the public acclaim, while the old soldiers merely fade away.

We live in a strange land.

Star Wars
by Jeffrey Fischer

In 1977, I convinced my mother to see Star Wars, despite her lifelong indifference to science fiction. She patiently sat through two hours of previews, battle scenes, light sabers, political conniving, and awkward romance.

Afterward, as the boys in the audience chattered excitedly about Tie Fighters and the Death Star, I asked my mother her opinion of the film.

“Meh,” she replied. “This science-y fiction, it’s not my style. The whole show was not what I expected.”

“Ma, how could you not know this was a sci-fi epic?”

“It says it’s ‘Star Wars.’ You know, like Battle of the Network Stars. I kept waiting for Nipsy Russel or Paul Lynde, but nothing!”

I saw The Empire Strikes Back by myself.

RICHARD

#1 – George’s Story – Part 55: May the force be with you

Gripped with a new resolve, George’s mind once again turned to his favourite films for inspiration: the strains of the ‘Star Wars’ theme played in his head – ‘I feel the force!’ he proclaimed, to no-one in particular, then drew himself up to his full five feet six, and – with a look of intense determination on his face – threw open the door.

The vast bulk of Rasputin loomed – wookie-like, only with less hair – over him.

“And where do you think you’re going, little man?”

“Umm, I was wondering if there was any chance of another cup of tea?”, he murmured.

#2 – Star Wars

Never was a fan of arcade games – whilst my friends were wasting their hard-earned pocket money on Space Invaders, Pac Man and Phoenix, I stayed home, reading books and building models.

Until one fateful summer holiday, when I discovered Star Wars – for pretty much the whole fortnight I was immersed in a wire-frame world; the voice of Obi Wan, resonating in my ears… “Feel the force, Luke!”

To this day, I remember the thrill of barrelling down that narrow gorge in my X-wing, lasers blasting, to finally score a direct hit on that exhaust port.

Bye bye, Deathstar!

LIZZIE

“I’m dying here,” wailed Peter, an aspiring actor.

“Join the club,” the director replied.

“Star wars?!” Peter insisted.

“That’s where the money is.”

“Insidious and entrapping,” crackled the actor.

The director sneered. “Go on, now. The others are waiting.”

Peter always wanted to be a star, but he had obviously misunderstood the ad looking for actors to feature in a reality show.

“You must choose your battles right, my dear,” snapped the director. “Now, be a darling and move along.”

An axe in hand, the actor dragged his feet towards the helicopter that would take them to a remote island.

TOM

A Well Defined Relationship Part 46

“Captain we are receiving conflicting reading from the planet.” “Computer
take Mr. Spock’s data extrapolate postulations.” “Surface source is a pure
energy field or a raspberry banana split.” “Uhura open communication
channel to the banana spit.” “Captian,” said Spock “Is it not more likely
we are making first contact with a yet undiscovered life force then a 50
foot sundae? “Point taken. Mr. Chekov photon torpedoes.” “Jim I’m a
doctor, not a lawyer, we can’t go all guns a blazing. “Right Bones. Scott
beam that thing to bridge.” When the swish-woo-woo sound stoped the
captain lock eyes with the Duke.

To Boldly Go

I was 12 when Star Trek was first broadcast. Same year as Lost in Space.
It was great to have non kiddie Sci – Fi, stories with deep social impact.
Both shows started out as pretty good works of drama, but by year three
the writing and production was pretty dreadful. At the time despite the
week arrival of pure energy that had never been encounter before, I
remained a diehard fan. That was until the week of What Are Little Girls
Made Of. The female aliens in cris-crossing strap costumes barely covering
their chests, mom pull the plug on that.

SERENDIPITY

‘A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far, away…’

It was a great start, but would the movie really live up to the hype?

It certainly promised a great deal: a scantily-clad, white-robed princess, rescued from a horrible fate by dashing young heroes. Fantastic sets, amazing weapons, bizarre characters and a classic plot – it had everything!

All held together by an old man in a dirty brown cloak, possessing unique skills; and a brooding, evil, masked figure, dressed entirely in black.

A huge budget too, for a porno film – we had very high hopes for ‘Star Whores’!

MUNSI

Vader’s Fist

By Christopher Munroe

The 501st legion descended on Calgary last weekend.

Stormtroopers everywhere you looked, inescapable, swarming every part of Calgary Expo.

They’re an organization here in town, the 501st, and they come every year to enjoy the convention and fundraise for charity.

They wound up raising close to $7000 over the course of the weekend, from what I hear.

The money’s for the Make a Wish Foundation. No clue how they’ll use it, but it’ll involve a budget in the thousands and dozens of imperial stormtroopers.

This story is completely true.

And, for one young Star Wars fan, it will be amazing…

ZACKMANN

“Boy, four billion dollars just doesn’t buy what it used to. I’m not sure it was a good business decision to spend that much and not get the rights to put the original theatrical versions of the original Star Wars movies in theaters and on blu ray.” said Zack

“They might have made their money back doing that.” Dylan agreed.

“Maybe I can’t replace my VHS Star Wars movies with blu ray or DVD but at least I can buy Hot Waffles singing George Lucas Raped Our Childhood on audio CD.”
“Just don’t sing it in the toy store again.”

CHELSEA

Train ride

It happened this time every year. Sitting on the train heading through down town you would see them.

A storm trouper sitting a few rows down chatting with a Jedi knight. Splinter and all four Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles laughing together. Many Doctors and a variety of their companions, even a TARDIS or two.

I love it! Everyone comes out to show their support for the fandom of their choice and the chance to talk to others who love the same things and the chance to meet a personal hero or two.

What could be better than Calgary Comic Expo!

SPATE

Hash – Part 4

The sound was designed to provoke fear. Boots. Double-time. Hard shelled
armor clacking.

The extraction team, those freaking Star Wars storm troopers, helmets and
face shields in place, burst into Davidson’s cell, led by the screw they
called Hercules; the biggest bad ass motherfucker in the system.

He threw Davidson flat to the floor like a slice of baloney.

“No marks. Remember.” one bull interjected.

“I ain’t going to hurt him.”

Hercules leaned over and proceeded to urinate on Davidson.

He shook and zipped, grunting, “Put your damned clothes on!”
Then they left.

“Seven and a wake up,” sighed Davidson.

NORVAL JOE

This was probably the worst day of Fraiser Torquespindle’s life.
Warm swamp water slowly filled the cockpit of his x-wing fighter.
Central Command was going to be warped. This is the second fighter and the fourth R4 Unit he’d lost in the past two weeks.
Alien insects bearing alien diseases danced about him, seaking access to his skin.
A little man with pointed ears poked his head from a hole in the ground and said, “May the force be with you.”
Swamp water inside the cockpit was to his hips as he aimed his blaster at the creature’s wrinkled head.

JULIE

Noroton Bay

The stars are not out tonight.

The tide low, black mud clots,

And the egrets cry for mercy

To the pink clouds—

There is a war no one sees.

It shows,

In my eyes

And the sky

Is purple and red, punctuated

With city lights on the horizon.

Bruised.

I should call a friend,

Join a freaking bowling league.

There is nothing–

But the sea, the sky

And me

At the end of this pier at sunset,

Wishing, wanting, worrying

That hell is real.

DIONYSIS

There’s No I in Star Wars #1

Listen.

Leia just needed to get by Dad. She’d spent the day perfecting her “double rockin’ rolls,” which were absolutely perfect for the Battle of the Bands!

“Hey!” His high pitched whine annoyed her most of all!

“Daddy!”

Mom’s teenage crush was Darth and the Ringtones, and Dad always used that against them: “What is a ringtone anyway?”

“It’s what’s happening, dear!” said Mom.

“I say that sitar music came from a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away! Why do they all wear black? Rebels … ”

Leia slipped out. She didn’t need another sitar war, tonight of all nights!

That’s how it all began.

There’s No I in Star Wars #2

Leia set her alarm for 4:30 am sharp! No way she was going to let that evil old — and besides, she was doing him a favor, with that asthma, or whatever.

The wars for the stair master had started long ago, when Leia swore to get the buns she wanted! But the strange old man laid claim to the good stair master! All far away ….

Leia rolled over and sat upright. 7:30! Sprinting inside she saw a small crowd around the machine. Her nemesis on the floor, ghastly pale. Their eyes met. In that instant he seemed to mutter “father,” and then died.

At last, she thought.

DANNY

It’s official. with the unofficial Star Wars holiday fast approaching, Mark Hamill has just given the thumbs up for the new cast of the Star Wars film, stating he believes the direction the Star Wars saga is going in is in good hands. Don’t give up hope, JJ Abrams only picked the main cast, there are still plenty of bit part to be had if you really desire to be in the new film. I want to be the hologram singer of the Catina band. If I get the part, technically, I don’t even need to show up on set.

SINGH

32.12

In this instalment the bus pilgrimage has taken Yogi and his friend Amrik Singh to their first stope in the foothills of the Himalayas beside the mighty Yamuna River. Here they stop at a place called Paonta Sahib the sight of an historical Sikh temple known as a Gurdwara, established by Guru Gobind Singh, the 10th Master of the Sikh philosophy in 1685. Here at Paonta, meaning ‘foothold’ Yogi hears more about the history and culture of Sikhism.

At Paonta Sahib
the bus wove
tight streets
blaring horns
vans cars rickshaws then
through
the gate of peace
white edifice carved ice palace
the dome a dairy whip cone pink and gold lined
loudspeakers kirtan the word lives
inside outside the marble house of song

“Its a beautiful temple,” Yogi said to Amrik
as they went in. “‘Gurdwara’ we say,
Guru-dwara meaning ‘doorway to the Guru.’”

foot traffic pilgrims river of turbans
beside fast Yamuna foot hill Himalayas
the river roaring upstream downstream
but below the Gurdwara just a trickle of silence

“How can that be?” Yogi asked.

32.13
Amrik told — how the sixteen year old Gobind,
scholar of Persian, Arabic and Sanskrit,
and great devotional poet in Braj Basha
sponsored fifty two others from Benares.
Sanskrit scholars, they translated classics:
the Bhagavatam, Shiv Puran, the Mahabharat
into common parlance. Guru Gobind staged
the first Kavi Darbar –– a poetry gathering
under the full moon. He listened to each
until they shook their poet heads and stopped.
The Yamuna was drowning out their words.
Amrik added, “The Guru listened to their
grievance; the river below the Gurdwara
has been ever silent since that day
and no scientist can explain just why.”

32.14
Since Chandigarh, Yogi had been left alone.
Now Amrik was the diligent tour guide,
strolling the marble precinct of Paonta Sahib.
The air was clean with sweeping clouds of birds.
Striped squirrels ran up trunks of pines.
There was some shift in the Singh. He spoke with purpose,
as if he had an agenda to introduce
this foreigner to the struggles of his people.
“When Guru Sahib reached here on his horse
it halted, and so he stepped down solidly,
planting his foot. Paonta means ‘firm landing.’

“It’s very kind you sharing this,” said Yogi.

Amrik curtly nodded and then went on.

32.15
“Medini Prakash, the Raja of Simour
invited him to stay. This would lead to wars
with other vassal rajahs of Himachal,
jealous of the Guru’s entourage
and seeking favours from the ruling Moghul.
“You see, our Fifth Guru and our Ninth
were martyred by those tyrants. Guru Arjan
was roasted on a big chapatti hot-plate
and died singing one of his sweetest shabads:
My Guru is with me, ever close at hand.
Teg Bahadur was beheaded in old Delhi
while speaking up for five hundred Brahmins,
told to choose — either death or Islam.
These men of peace were fathers to Gobind
who sat down here and wrote his massive book
as big as our own Siri Guru Granth Sahib.”

32.15
By this time, they had found the small museum.
Paintings portrayed the Guru as a rajah
with a plumed turban, and a fine silk dress coat.
“Amrik, why did he not wear holy clothes?
Surely a politician brings on his own storms.”

“Good point, Yogi. It is like this: you see
we Sikhs aren’t beggar monks. We have been told
to live and work and give. Good deeds are all.
I know you have been reading Mahabharat.
It’s the same. The Pandavas were princes
who did their karma following the Dharma.
We are those royal shatriyas who kept
warrior locks and beards as a mark of rank.
Our Guru opened that door to all the castes
and made us in the image of great kings.”

32.16
After seeing the Guru’s worn out kalams,
two nibbed reeds for writing poetry
inside a mounted cabinet, they came
upon another painting in the jungle:
a tiger stealthily leaping from behind
to grip the Guru’s neck. He turns. The tiger’s
head is cleaved with a slash of the Guru’s sword.

“Sher-garh Gurdwara is the place that happened.”

The next painting’s English caption read:
Bangaani, The Battle, 1686.
The hill rajahs’ thirty thousand troops,
plus mercenaries from Afghanistan
fought against four thousand well-drilled Sikhs.
Amrik quoted lines from Guru Gobind
about the conflict, translating in English:

“I lined up my aim at one Khan discharging an arrow.
It pierced him as if a cobra had suddenly stung him.

And each Guru arrow held half an ounce
of gold for the burial of the foe.”

Where did this all happen?” Yogi asked.

“Just fourteen kilometres from here.”

32.17
Finally Amrik brought him to the weapons
antique steel behind prophylactic glass.
Yogi reacted. “But how can these be here
in a holy place, all these blades of death?”

Amrik laughed. “Without the sword, we
wouldn’t have survived. When a tyrant comes
will you lay down, or stand your ground and fight?”

“But what about Gandhi’s non-resistance?”
He’d seen the movie, read the autobiography.

“Satyagraha was guilt strategy.
It worked too well because it shamed the nobler
sentiments of the British; but most forget
eighty percent of those exiled, gaoled or martyred
during Independence were Punjabis.”

As Yogi listened, his flimsy pacifism
seemed hard to justify to history.

Amrik added: “You know, Guru ji then wrote
to Aurangzeb, after the tyrant let his general
brick alive the Guru’s sons, aged seven and nine:

“When every approach has been tried, yet fails,
then the sword must speak for righteousness.

I told this tale the day you came to my shop.”

32.18
By now Amrik Singh was speaking loudly
of Shastra Vidya, the artful science of weapons.
This was the ancient Indian fighting form
practised by rishis, kings and commoners.
“We keep it alive and we call it gatka.”

Yogi scanned the wall as Amrik listed:

“this is khanda, old straight sword of India,
this is talwar, import Persian scimitar,
this is Aaman, nine-layered composite bow,
this is teer, arrow tipped with ironhead,
this is barcha, spear held, javelin hurled,
this is gurj, ball and chain skull-crusher,
this is aara, bendable long snake strip-sword,
this is khatar, hand-thrust chain-mail piercer,
this is bandook, rustic matchlock rifle,
this is chakra, sharp-edged whirling disc,
this is chakri, rotary of chains and balls,
these are dhals, shields steel-made or of leather,
this is bakh nakh, iron leopard’s claw for hands,
this is latti, staff of head-crack ironwood,
this is trishul, trident spikes for the turban,
this is kirpan, last dagger of defence.”

32.19
At the Dastaar Astaan, boys were winding turbans
of every kind of colour and social style.
It was a competition to see how fast
and formed they wound around a long tradition,
dating from Guru Gobind.

“Dastaar means turban,”
Amrik said. “A Persian term. The troops
would have to tie it fast without a mirror
before they rushed to battle.”
“I don’t mean
to be rude, but is it important? Why not go
breezy and bare-headed?” Long-haired Yogi
had to justify.
Amrik was glad,
but did not tell that long flowing kesh
was evidence of bedraggled discipline,
whereas kesh tied neatly in a bun
was a modest way to hide your rishi knot. These were cultural matters that foreigners
couldn’t know. But his audience was captive.

“First, the Guru told us to. For us
that is enough, but there’s other reasons.
We can wind the folds recalling everyday
ten Sikh masters; it is role-modelling.
And the dastaar is the crown of royalty,
authority and power. Is it not regal?
Exchanging turbans is a solemn bond
from State to State, family head to head.
Daily, it restrains our uncut hairs,
most crucial in a knotty spot, a battle;
and before long beards, our extra turban height
the enemy becomes a flock of lambs.
It doubles as towel, or rope, or sheet, and keeps
away mosquitoes and is our dust bandana

while ploughing in the fields. There are so many
applications of the dastaar, as long
as the Silk Road goes on. But finally
it is our sign of being Singhs, our shaan.
That also calls responsibility —
to stand up for the crushed against the tyrant.
A true Sikh must rise tall inside a crowd.

32.20

Ranjit Nagaara, the war drum being beaten
called them to an outside gathering.
“We’re lucky, ” Amrik said, “the old Nihangs
are going to perform some gatka for the people.
“Who are nihangs?” Yogi had to ask.

“They were once the crack troops of the Guru,
following the ideal of a soldier-saint.
Bands of them still roam the countryside,
though many think they are scandalous
anachronisms — medieval, indulgent,
riding their horses and bartering old glory.”

They came in dark-blue, high-wound, heavy dastaars
and matching calf-length chola cotton tunics
tied with orange sashes. Slung with weapons,
they whirled in slashing sweeps with no fear
or hesitation, clashing swords on shields
in rapid-fire blows, then peeled away
like a row of leaping lords, ready to switch
to another weapon – swirling a chakri,
or flashing talwars with both flexible wrists,
crashing their hand-swung gurj–– the ball and chain
and doing bendable feats with javelins,
forcing the tip against the throat’s soft hollow,
then smashing bricks with swords across the stomach.
One blindfolded, carved up watermelons
each between a turbaned head on the ground;
and then, a final coconut on a forehead
was cleaved in half and offered to the crowd.
Yogi thought: the Mahabharata was fought
with like skill. These martial arts endure
as storms of shakti, Indian Shaolin.
At least nihangs have kept the old sword sharp.

32.21
They heard the hunting horn blast from the bus.
Time to board. All took their elephant time
and newcomers climbed — three men in blue
dastaars and white pajamas, looking priest-like.
“Who are they?” enquired Yogi in a whisper.

“A dhaadi jatha. They sing ballads, vars
of the Guru’s lives and our historic struggles.
They must be coming with us to Hemkund Sahib.
Maybe they will sing along the way.
It’s how they earn their roti — from donations
offered at religious gatherings.”
Duty done, Amrik pressed his face
against the pane and did an Indian trick –
snoozing in some weird, bus-yoga posture.

Now they wound back through the skinny streets
until they found the highway signpost turn.
Along the roadside, women in flimsy saris
were crushing rockfall with their big sledgehammers
and carting it off on basket-balanced heads,
an unsung feat, extraordinary endurance.
One struggled to carry her pregnancy as well.
Millions of women had no spare change or time
to take a luxury tour to the Himalayas.

As the pneumatic coach sped on its tyres
negotiating hills and valley bends,
Amrik had not observed the car
trailing like a snake since Chandigarh.

PLANET Z

They announced the primary cast members of the next Star Wars movie, and there’s no sign of Billy Dee Williams.

Sure, he’s old, creepy-looking, and slow. He’s got back problems, too. Looked like he needed a walker on Dancing With The Stars.

But he’s Lando Calrissian. Lando Fucking Calrissian.

How can you have Star Wars without Lando Calrissian?

Are they going to have that Andy Serkis creep pantomime up a digital Lando Calrissian or something?

When it came to signing the contracts, I guess Billy Dee Williams wasn’t part of the deal.

I pray that they don’t alter it further.