Jesus; Mrs. Darling and Charming Oriental

"Congress", "BJP" etc. etc. parties একেই party - N. party. "Himanta Biswa Sarma" was Congress Minister of Assam for 15 years, now he is BJP Minister of Assam. কেৱল নাটক - pathetic farce.

Pathetic overused Nazi game no longer works: "Pakistan" vs. "India", "China" vs. "India", "America" vs. "Russia", "Israel" vs. "Palestine" etc. etc. ad nauseam. Vague meaningless words: "Pakistan", "India", "China", "America", "Russia", "Palestine", "Israel" etc. etc. used by retarded Nazi goons. BSF replaced the Indian Army on India's borders by an Act of Parliament passed several years ago. BSF is full of Nazis who are involved in trafficking of illegal drugs across India's borders with neighbouring countries. Fake videos are made by Nazis, such as shameless fake ISRO videos and CERN videos.

COVID in COVID-19 sounds like GOVIND.

Kishalay Sinha [G] November 13, 2020

"SNAKE" MARGARET

বাঘজানৰ জুই মাৰ্ঘেৰিটাত in Margherita / Margaret ("Snake").

"Snake" Margaret's poisonous clones:

Nazi mass murderer "Dr." Margaret Chan, chief of 100% Nazis W.H.O. for 10 years.

Etc.

NAZI LIARS WEAR INVISIBLE MASKS

All Nazi male and female staff of all Nazi FAKE NEWS TV channels of all countries are extremely evil male and female Nazi liars. The fucking male and female Nazis don't have to wear a facial mask because the Nazi liars constantly wear an invisible mask. (E.g. the NAZI CRIMINAL CHEATS on arirang FAKE NEWS TV channel. The male guy looks like an asianized version of Harry Potter in films. Harry sounds like Hari/Krishna. No wonder. Gandhi sounds like गंदी - no wonder. LIARS.)

Very costly poisonous FAKE "vaccines" containing DEADLY POISONS could be made to kill rich male and female Nazis.

Kishalay Sinha [G] November 13, 2020

Watch and hear the many HELL SCENES available on YouTube.

Guwahati and Bollywood are the world's joint Nazi capitals.

অসমত লুকাই থকা evil Nazi মতা মাইকী চয়তানবোৰ পুনৰ্জন্ম লোৱা অনা-অসমীয়া Nazis of Himmler and Hitler's Germany.

Bollywood is 100% male & female Nazis.

আত্মসমৰ্পণকাৰীবিলাক আচল নে ভুৱা নকল clones?

SWAMI VIVEKANANDA

"হিমন্ত" may be the present "reincarnation" of ORIGINAL Swami Vivekananda. (There are many clones of Swami Vivekananda.)

Nazi f. TV "সাংবাদিক"বোৰ আতঙ্কত আছে । চব মতা মাইকী f. Nazi TV "সাংবাদিক"বোৰক হত্যা কৰাৰ পৰিকল্পনা কৰা হৈছে নিশ্চয়, মই ভাবোঁ । বৰ বেয়া খবৰ for the f. gang of male and female f. Nazi TV "journalists" - অশনি সংকেত (bad sign; অশনি means lightning) for f. Nazi gang of all জ্যেষ্ঠ আৰু কনিষ্ঠ TV "journalists".

Late journalist Parag Bhuyan পঁৰাগ ভূঞা late journalist Parag Kumar Das (former editor of Asomiya Pratidin and manager of Guwahati Stock Exchange) পঁৰাগ কুমাৰ দাসৰ reincarnation আছিল নেকি?

আৰক্ষীক চয়তান Nazi গুণ্ডা গুণ্ডী behnchoot motherchood rendee বোৰে সিহঁতৰ "চাকৰ" বুলি ভাবে নেকি?

চব f. Nazi male female politicians-বোৰক হত্যা কৰাৰ পৰিকল্পনা কৰা হৈছে, I think.

চব f. Nazi male female doctors surgeons pathologists lawyers judges journalists bankers বোৰক হত্যা কৰাৰ পৰিকল্পনা কৰা হৈছে, I am sure. 

মাজুলীত secret underground tunnels আছে - all continuously videoed by satellites. 

কোটি কোটি বছর গাদ্দারি করে treacherous Nazi pr.রা সবাই এখন আতঙ্কে "तेरे मेरे बंधन" আওড়াচ্ছে ।

DD is full of male and female Nazis.

Nazi "my lords" are shitting in their pants in panic because the fucking Nazis can be instantly burned and vaporized by LASER or lynched.

Evil Nazi "Niranjan" should be mercilessly beaten up without delay.

Kishalay Sinha [G] November 11, 2020 

हरिद्वार Haridwar

हरिद्वार Haridwar হরিদ্বার হৰিদ্বাৰ - the secret door (द्वार দ্বার দ্বাৰ) of Hari / Krishna / Ram / Ishwar/ Allah / Bhagawan [the owner of many bhag/vag/v.]* - secret door at the entrance of underground TUNNEL which leads into the interior of Earth, like MANY such secret doors on the Earth's surface.

* Inferred from the two coded songs:

HARE KRISHNA, HARE KRISHNA,

KRISHNA KRISHNA, HARE HARE,

HARE RAMA, HARE RAMA,

RAMA RAMA, HARE HARE.

[Hare = O Hari, Krishna = O Krishna, etc.]

raghupati raghava raja RAM,

patita pavana Sita RAM,

ISHWAR ALLAH tere naam,

sabko sanmati de BHAGAWAN.

Kishalay Sinha [G] November 11, 2020 

Jesus

I suspect that I am Jesus "reborn" and I have been watched with fear by Satan and his gang of Nazis from the moment of My "rebirth" and that Satan and his gang of Nazis have hoped and prayed and are still hoping and praying that I do not know My identity as Jesus or clone of God. I know that all Nazis on and inside Earth can be instantly burned and vaporized by LASER.

Kishalay Sinha [G] November 9, 2020 A.D.

Mrs. Darling and Charming Oriental

His early years were full of promise. He did brilliantly at college. When he was eighteen - a slip of a boy with a heavy moustache - a most important event occurred. The Government of India appointed Malcolm Darling, I.C.S., to be his tutor.

It began doubtfully. He was sensitive, high spirited and suspicious, and Malcolm, who had never met anyone like him either at Eton or at King's College, Cambridge, did not know how to handle him. The very first week there was a hitch. 

Fortunately Malcolm's mother arrived, and she did much to ease the situation. Warm of heart and simple of spirit, Mrs. Darling soon became friends with the charming oriental. He drove her out of an evening in his tum-tum. At first he thought she had been set to spy on him, so he tried to trap her. Having imparted some trifling secrets, he said, 'You will not tell anyone about this, will you?' She replied, 'No, but I may tell my son, mayn't I?' If she had merely said 'No,' he would have continued to mistrust her. As it was he knew that she was 'frank'. Their drives rapidly became intimate. They discussed religion as a rule, but on one occasion the conversation took a more delicate turn. 'That is the house where my father's mistress lived, he built it for her,' he remarked, pointing to a building casually. Mrs. Darling's principles were strict, and she felt that she must not let this pass. 'But you would not do such a  thing,' she said, to which he replied, 'Oh no!' but in an unsatisfactory tone of voice; too self-confident. 'We have a text: He that thinketh he standeth let him take heed lest he fall,' said Mrs. Darling gently. He approved of the text and continued, 'You remember that old man whose hat you admired last night; he has a mistress.' 'But do all the others do it too?' the worried lady gasped, for there had been a large native banquet at which she had enjoyed herself. Once again the answer was not quite satisfactory: 'Oh no - they are more up to date.' On this equivocal note they concluded. But they were friends, and the way lay open for the friendship with Malcolm.

(p. 42-43)

*

And then there are the letters which he himself wrote Malcolm after the tutorship ended - particularly in the years 1908-10. This is a unique correspondence, wordy, sprawling, intimate, and giving a moving picture of his youthful hopes, his nobility, unselfishness, introspectiveness.

"I want my letters to you to be absolutely genuine. I mean letters written as I think in mind at once. When there is another person like a clerk sitting near one, one always ponders a little and then dictates so as to avoid mistakes &c. Then I think the letter is not quite genuine, though the thoughts are, but words and style are not."

Genuineness is achieved. What other prince, in India or elsewhere, could have written as follows? ...

(p. 45)

*

He did keep busy. One side of him was versatile and resourceful. He could make a Durbar speech on the foundation of a Girls' School, and include enlightened remarks like this:

"It is the naturally weak that most require protection. And the greatest protection of all is the protection of an enlightened mind ... One may sympathize instinctively with those who talk of race and nationality, but civilisation, which they often forget, is greater than these."

Or again:

"The germs of the present unrest in India were laid by the benefactor of the human race, education."

(p. 46)

*

Always susceptible to women, he was deeply in love, and his letters reveal his emotions and his joy.

(p. 47)

*

The Times of London duly carried an obituary notice of him. It is a model of ungenerosity and prim indignation and I read it with rage. The rage has subsided, for after all what else could The Times carry? Here was an Indian Ruler who had not been a success, who had given the Government of India trouble, who had not even been frank when invited by British officials to be so. 'He came of an ancient and renowned dynasty, and in the early years of his rule gave some promise of doing well, but an ungovernable temper and self-indulgence led to serious deterioration.'  The progress of the deterioration is traced; his marriage and its failure, the departure of the Kolhapur Princess, his feud with her house, his troubles with his son are all described, not from his point of view, but the point of view of his enemies. There is not one hint that he was lovable and brilliant and witty and charming, and (more exasperating still) not one hint that he was complex. He will go down to history as a failure. That is the sort of thing that does go down to history.

I am not concerned to present him as an object of pity: men have always misinterpreted the past and always will misinterpret it. But I do offer him as a subject for study. From start to finish, from the days when he behaved well and was officially petted down to the days when he misbehaved, he was never simple, never ordinary, never deaf to the promptings which most of us scarcely hear. His religion was the deepest thing in him. He penetrated into rare regions and he was always hoping that others would follow him there. To recall the conversation that we had forty years ago in an upper room at Delhi, he was hopeful that we should all be recalled to the attention of God.

One of the puzzling things about the dead is that it is impossible to think of them evenly. They all go out of sight and are forgotten, they all go into silence, yet we cannot help assigning some of them a tune. Most of those whom I have known leave no sound behind them, I cannot evoke them though I would like to. He has the rare quality of evoking himself, and I do not believe that he is here doing it for the last time.

[evoking himself = reviving Himself. - G]

(p. 174-176)

- E. M. Forster: "THE HILL OF DEVI",  Arnold-Heinemann Publishers (Orient-Mayfair paperbacks), AB/9, Safdarjang Enclave, New Delhi-110016, FIRST PUBLISHED 1953, REPRINTED 1967, First Indian Edition 1977. Rs.6.00

"The Hill of Devi will remain a classic account of a vanished side of India that has never before been so graphically painted." 

          - The Sunday Times, U.K.  

I have also read A PASSAGE TO INDIA by E.M. Forster. A very inspiring novel like Herman Melville's BILLY BUDD, a short, powerful novel.

Kishalay Sinha [G] November 9, 2020 A.D.

PLAYING GAMES

I don't play hard to get. I don't play silly games. I don't have to, coz millions are dying to gain unethical illicit access to Me. (G doesn't mean what they wish it would mean. Who are "they"? Very silly question.)

Kishalay Sinha [G] November 10, 2020

READING ALOUD

"THE READER" by Bernhard Schlink, like J.K. Rowling's "THE CASUAL VACANCY", is a well-written novel, and not a "porn" (short for pornography) book, though it contains some erotic passages, but so does "WOMEN IN LOVE" by well-known British writer D.H. Lawrence, I've heard. Sex is a fact of life, sex is not obscene if we can look at sex with a pure and loving heart. (What?!! Only God can look at sex "with a pure and loving heart"!! But does God have a "heart"? Never mind having a loving heart! What sort of "heart" does He have? A Robotic Unemotiinal "Heart"?)

Excerpts from THE READER:

I DIDN'T KNOW the woman's name. Clutching my bunch of flowers, I hesitated in front of the [building's] door and all the bells. I would rather have turned around and left, but then a man came out of the building, asked who I was looking for, and directed me to Frau Schmitz on the third floor.

I never learned anything about the other people who lived in the building apart from the nameplates under the doorbells. I cannot even remember meeting another tenant on the stairs.

Nor do I remember how I greeted Frau Schmitz. I had probably prepared two or three sentences and recited them to her.

I don't remember what we talked about in the kitchen. Frau Schmitz was ironing; she had spread a woollen blanket and a linen cloth over the table; lifting one piece of laundry after another from the basket, she ironed them, folded them, and laid them on one of the two chairs. I sat on the other. She also ironed her underwear, and I didn't want to look, but I couldn't help looking. She was wearing a sleeveless smock, blue with little pale red flowers on it. Her blonde hair was fastened with a clip at the back of her neck. Her bare arms were pale. Her face as it was then has been overlaid in my memory by the faces she had later. I know that I found it beautiful. But I cannot recapture its beauty.

(p. 8-10)

*

'WAIT,' SHE SAID as I got up to go. 'I have to leave too, and I'll walk with you.'

I waited in the hall while she changed her clothes in the kitchen. The door was open a crack. She took off the smock [she had no bras inside her smock?] and stood there in a bright green petticoat. 

I couldn't take my eyes off her. Her neck and shoulders, her breasts, which the petticoat veiled rather than concealed, her hips which stretched the petticoat tight as she propped her foot on her knee and then set it on the chair, her leg, pale and naked, then shimmering in the silky stocking.

She felt me looking at her. As she was reaching for the other stocking, she paused, turned towards the door, and looked straight at me. I can't describe what kind of look it was - surprised, skeptical, knowing, reproachful. I turned red. For a fraction of a second I stood there, my face burning. Then I couldn't take it any more. I fled out of the flat, down the stairs, and into the street.

I dawdled along. Bahnhofstrasse, Hausserstrasse, Blumenstrasse - it had been my way to school for years. It was all familiar. When my heart stopped pounding and my face was no longer scarlet, the encounter between the kitchen and the hall seemed a long away. I was angry with myself. I had run away like a child, instead of staying in control of the situation, as I thought I should. That didn't mean I had any idea what staying in control would have entailed.

The other puzzle was the actual encounter that had taken place between the kitchen and the hall. Why had I not been able to take my eyes off her? She had a very string, feminine body, more voluptuous than the girls I liked and watched. I was sure I wouldn't even have noticed her if I'd seen her at the swimming pool. And besides, she was much older than the girls I dreamed about. Over thirty?

(11-13)

*

A WEEK LATER I was standing at her door again.

For a week I had tried not to think about her. But I had nothing else to occupy or distract me. 

(p. 15)

*

SHE WASN'T AT home. The front door of the building stood ajar, so I went up the stairs, rang the bell, and waited. Then I rang again. Inside the flat the doors were open, as I could see through the glass of the front door, and I could also make out the mirror, the wardrobe, and the clock in the hall. I could hear it ticking. 

I sat down on the stairs and waited. Nor was I disappointed. I was determined to see her and to wait until she came. Then I heard slow, heavy, regular footsteps coming up the stairs. It was Frau Schmitz.

She had taken off her jacket, loosened her tie and undone the top button

She went to the tub and turned on the tap. The water ran steaming into the tub. 'Take your clothes off carefully.' 

I hesitated, took off my jumper and shirt, and hesitated again. The water was rising quickly and the tub was almost full.

'Do you want to take a bath in your shoes and trousers? I won't look.' But when I had turned off the tap and taken off my pants, she looked me over calmly. I turned red, climbed into the tub, and submerged myself. When I came up again she was out on the balcony with my clothes. Back in the kitchen, she put my things on the chair. Glancing quickly at me, she said, 'I'll bring a towel in a minute,' then took something out of the wardrobe and left the kitchen. 

I was comfortable. It was an exciting kind of comfort and I got hard.  

I didn't look up when she came into the kitchen, until she was standing by the tub. She was holding a big towel in her outstretched arms. 'Come!' I turned my back as I stood up and climbed out of the tub. From behind, she wrapped me in the towel from head to foot and rubbed me dry. Then she let the towel fall to the floor. I didn't dare move. She came so close to me that I could feel her breasts against my back and her stomach against my behind. She was naked too. She put her arms around me, one hand on my chest and the other on my erection. 

'That's why you're here!'

'I ...' I didn't know what to say. Not yes, but not no either. I turned around. I couldn't see much of her, we were standing too close. But I was overwhelmed by the presence of her naked body. 'You're so beautiful!'

'Come on, what are you talking about!' She laughed and wrapped her arms around my neck. I put my arms around her too.

I explored her body with my hands and mouth, our mouths met, and then she was on top of me, looking into my eyes until I came.

THE NEXT NIGHT I fell in love with her. I could barely sleep, I was yearning for her, I dreamed of her.

Did I fall in love with her as the price for her having gone to bed with me? To this day, after spending the night with a woman, I feel I've been indulged and I must make it up somehow - to her by trying at least to love her, and to the world by facing up to it.

(p.19-25)

*

No, said one defendant after another, that is not the way it was. The report was wrong. How could such a false report have been filed? They didn't know. 

Until it was the turn of the plump and vicious defendant. She knew. 'Ask that one there!' She pointed at Anna. 'She wrote the report. She's the guilty one, she did it all, and she wanted to use the report to cover it up and drag us into it.

The judge asked Hanna. But it was his last question. His first was 'Why did you not unlock the doors?'

'We were ... we had ...' Hanna was hoping for the answer. 'We didn't have any alternative.'

'You had no alternative?'

'Some of us were dead, and the others had left. They said they were taking the wounded to the field hospital and would come back, but they knew they weren't coming back and so did we. Perhaps they didn't even go to the hospital, the wounded were not that badly hurt. We would have gone with them but they weren't keen to have so many women along. I don't know where they went.'

'What did you do?'

'We didn't know what to do. It all happened so fast.'

'Did you write the report?'

'We all discussed what we should write. We didn't want to hang any of the blame on the ones who had left. But we didn't want to attract charges that we had done anything wrong either.'

'So you're saying you talked it through together. Who wrote it?'

'You!' The other defendant pointed at Hanna. 

'No, I didn't write it. Does it matter who did?'

A prosecutor suggested that an expert be called to compare the handwriting in the report and the handwriting of the defendant Schmitz.

'My handwriting? You want my handwriting? ...'

The judge, the prosecutor, and Hanna's lawyer discussed whether a person's handwriting retains its character over more than fifteen years and can be identified. Hanna listened and tried several times to say or ask something, and was becoming increasingly alarmed. Then she said, 'You don't have to call an expert. I admit I wrote the report.' [report - F.I.R / First Information Report? - G] 

(p. 124-126, 128)

*

ONCE HANNA ADMITTED having written the report, the other defendants had an easy game to play. When Hanna had not been acting alone, they claimed, she had pressured, threatened, and forced the others. She had seized command. She did the talking and the writing. She had made the decisions. 

Hanna kept struggling. She admitted what was true and disputed what was not. Her arguments became more desperate and more vehement. She didn't raise her voice, but her very intensity alienated the court. 

Eventually she gave up. She spoke only when asked a direct question; her answers were short, minimal, sometimes beside the point. 

I had been a spectator, and then suddenly a participant, a player, and member of the jury. I had neither sought nor chosen this role, but it was mine whether I wanted it or not, whether I did anything or just remained completely passive.

'Did anything' - there was only one thing to do. I could go to the judge and tell him that Hanna was not the main protagonist and guilty party the way the others made her out to be. That her defence had been significantly compromised. That she was guilty, but not as guilty as it appeared.

(134-136)

[HANNA sounds like ANNA in Tolstoy's novel "Anna Karenina" (I have complete English translations and short Bengali and Assamese translations of "ANNA KARENINA"). Hanna's court case reminds Me of prisoner pr. Maslova and her former lover Nekhlyudov, who is a member of the jury in pr. Maslova's court trial, in Tolstoy's novel "RESURRECTION" (I have complete English, Bengali, and Hindi translations). I also have complete English translations and a 4-volume complete translation in Hindi of Tolstoy's "WAR AND PEACE". - G]

LEV TOLSTOI: Resurrection (A Novel), PROGRESS PUBLISHERS, MOSCOW, Translated from the Russian by Louise Maude.

লেভ তলস্তয়: "পুনরুজ্জীবন" (উপন্যাস), 'রাদুগা' প্রকাশন, মস্কো 'Raduga' Publishers, 17, Zubovsky Boulevard, Moscow 119859, Soviet Union [Russian Federation]

लेव तोलस्तोय: "पुनरुत्थान" (उपन्यास), रादुगा प्रकाशन, मास्को, पीपुल्स पब्लिशिंग हाउस (प्रा.) लिमिटेड, ५ ई, रानी झांसी रोड, नई दिल्ली-११००५५ (Leo Tolstoy: RESURRECTION In Hindi) © हिन्दी अनुवाद - प्रगति प्रकाशन

Leo Tolstoy: "War and Peace", translated from the Russian by Constance Garnett, Rupa, paperback, 1315 pages.

LEO TOLSTOY: "War and Peace" [name of the translator not given], [it has a short introduction], WORDSWORTH CLASSICS, Wordsworth Editions Limited, Cumberland House, Crib Street, Ware, Hertfordshire SG12 9ET, ISBN 1 85326 062 2 [very low cost Translated aedition, as far as I can remember], paperback, 981 pages (small print).

LEO TOLSTOY: "WAR AND PEACE", Translated and with an introduction by Rosemary Edmonds, PENGUIN BOOKS, ISBN 0-14-044417-3, paperback, 1444 pages.

LEO TOLSTOY: "War and Peace", A new translation by Anthony Briggs, With an Afterword by Orlando Gives, PENGUIN BOOKS, ISBN -13: 978-0-141-02511-7, paperback, 1358 pages plus.

লিও টলস্টয়: "যুদ্ধ আৰু শান্তি" [abridged], সাহিত্য অকাদেমি ISBN 81-260-0917-9; paperback; ৩৬৬ pages.

लेव तोलस्तोय: "युद्ध और शान्ति" (उपन्यास चार खण्डों में) [in 4 volumes: Volume 1: 573 pages, Volume 2: 544 pages, Volume 3: 573 pages, Volume 4: 485 pages], रादुगा प्रकाशन, रादुगा प्रकाशन, ज़ूबोव्स्की बुलवार, मास्को, सोवियत संघ [Russian Federation]/पीपुल्स पब्लिशिंग हाउस (प्रा.) लिमिटेड, ५ ई, रानी झांसी रोड, नई दिल्ली-११००५५/राजस्थान पीपुल्स पब्लिशिंग हाउस (प्रा.) लि., चमेलीवाला मार्कट, एम.आई.रोड, जयपुर-302001

Recently (two or three years ago), I saw a complete Assamese translation of WAR AND PEACE (যুদ্ধ আৰু শান্তি) displayed in a little roadside bookshop on Rajgarh road (in Bhangagarh) opposite BIG BAZAAR; its price was about 500 rupees; I hope I will be able to buy the book soon either from the little roadside bookshop or will ask the Assamese owner of the bookshop where he got it from or I could it search for the book in bookstores in Panbazar, Guwahati. (This is just bibliomania.)

LEV TOLSTOY: "Anna Karenina",  Translated from the Russian by Margaret Wettlin, [Book One: 584 pages, Book Two: 495 pages], PROGRESS PUBLISHERS, 17, Zubovsky Boulevard, Moscow, USSR [Russian Federation].

LEO TOLSTOY: "ANNA KARENIN", Translated and with an introduction by Rosemary Edmonds, PENGUIN BOOKS, 853 pages.

LEO TOLSTOY: "ANNA KARENINA", The modern American translation, by Joel Carmichael, With an introduction by Malcolm Cowley, BANTAM CLASSICS, 976 pages.

LEO TOLSTOY: "ANNA KARENINA", Translated by LOUISE AND AYLMER MAUDE With an Introduction by JOHN BAYLEY, OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS (THE WORLD'S CLASSICS), 811 pages [begins with quotation: "VENGEANCE IS MINE; I WILL REPAY" - G]

LEO TOLSTOY: "ANNA KARENINA" (THE MAUDE TRANSLATION Revised by George Vivian, BACKGROUNDS AND SOURCES, CRITICISM Edited by GEORGE GIBIAN, CORNELL UNIVERSITY), W.W. NORTON & COMPANY, New York, London; 740 pages, BACKGROUNDS & SOURCES (741-856).

[I suspect that ANNA KARENINA was in fact written in the second half of the 20th century by a ghost writer (maybe female) who exploited the name LEO TOLSTOY as (her) pen name; I find the name Kitty - the lover and then wife of Levin in the novel - very intriguing because My supposedly "late" avaricious "brother" Kirity (=Arjun) was called Kitty at home - I suspect that he is the vicious mass murderer SS chief Himmler/W.F. who got "reborn" as My younger "brother" to spy on Me, and he escaped after his fake "death" in 2006 and reincarnated into Arnab, just as "father" Krishna must have fled BEFORE the death of a lookalike CLONE substitute (who died on his behalf) and then transformed his body into another form. Pathetic. ANNA KARENINA begins with Steve - also the name of Nazi "hippy" Y - Stephen - Peter - Nazi mass murderer Hitler - Satan - SSR - who tried desperately to spy on Me in our shared room in "Ravi Hotel" in Bombay (Mumbai) many years ago. The central characters in WAR AND PEACE are Peter and Andrew - brutal Nazi mass murderers Peter/Alexander/Hitler/PF/Y/SSR/SATAN & Napoleon/Andrew/Joseph Stalin/WF/Z. - G]

[Mukul Deva: POUND OF FLESH (thriller); Amit = "Amitabh Bachchan", SK = KS = "Arnab" and "Shahrukh Khan"/Kr., Pamela (brutally tortured and forcibly made pr.). Reincarnations and many clones of each. - G]

[Samuel Richardson: PAMELA; the main characters in this novel: John [Peter]; his 2 evil "sons"; Mr. B.; Mr. B's "mother"; and Pamela. Mr. B. tries to "seduce" servant Pamela - a baseless canard, a complete lie, if Mr. B. is a representation of Me (My nickname is Bobby) - I never spoke to and I never once touched Nazi double agent honeytrap pr./spy/assassin poison-giver Pamela, "daughter" of Peter/Hitler. EVIL NAZI TRINITY: three top clones of Satan: Peter, Kr., Arnab - Brahma, Vish, Shiv. All three have many evil clones. All male and female Nazis will be culled and purged. Ravan - Brahmin / Brahma / Peter - was "devoted to" Ram; when the Ram Ravan theatrical war नाटकीय युद्ध নাটকীয় যুদ্ধ, after pre-planned kidnapping and molestation of Sita by Ravan/Peter, ended, Sita was accused of marital infidelity and she was taken below the ground and tortured and BURNED IN NAZI UNDERGROUND HELL. See also the snake dance of Debbie [Devi] (YouTube) in front of dark-skinned bare-bodied loongi-wearing sinister males who look like Indians but speak German. Also listen to the piercing shrieking of young "fallen" female angel "Anaina" ("without eyes" - her eyes were gouged out in hell? - Pamela?) - in "FALLEN [FEMALE] ANGEL TALKS OF HELL'S TORMENT" (18:20) / Prophets Among Us (YouTube) - grilled and tortured in Nazi hell by her "father-in-law" Himmler/W.F./"Kirity"/"Arjun"/"Arnab", the "father" of P.F./Hitler/SSR/SATAN, and Kr./Vish etc. - G]

[T.N. is full of top male and female Nazis - Kr. (K.S.), his spouse S.S., Joseph, Mary Joseph, SSR etc. in altered bodies aka reincarnations. Old hat.]

[November 13, 2020]

লেভ তলস্তয়: "আনা কারেনিনা", ২৭৮ pages. [অনেক বছর আগে বইটা কিনেছিলাম, front cover-টা হারিয়ে গেছে, তাই publisher's name আর translator's name দিতে পারছি না; the name of the publisher বোধ হয় "নাথ"; যাক্, সম্পূর্ণ বাংলা অনুবাদটা আছে]

লিও টলষ্টয়: "আনা কাৰেনিনা", অনুবাদক কৃপানাথ বৈশ্য, অভিযাত্ৰী প্ৰকাশন, কমলাকান্ত ভট্ট পথ, চেনিকুঠী, গুৱাহাটী-৭৮১০০৩; ২২৮ pages ["অনুবাদকৰ একাষাৰ (ভাল পুথিৰ পাতনিৰ প্ৰয়োজন নাই) - বিনীত - কৃপানাথ বৈশ্য"]

[I have all of the above books. I don't bluff for God's sake! - G]

*

NEXT MORNING, HANNA was dead. She had hanged herself at dawn.

When I arrived, I was taken to the governor. She asked me about my telephone conversation of the night before and the meeting the previous week. Had I picked up any signals, had it made me fear for her? I said no. Indeed, I had had no suspicions or fears that I had ignored.

'How did you get to know each other?'

'We lived in the same neighbourhood.'

She looked at me searchingly, and I saw that I would have to say more. 

'We lived in the same neighbourhood and we got to know each other and became friends. When I was a young student, I was at the trial that convicted her.'

'Why did you send Frau Schmitz cassettes?'

I was silent.

'You knew that she was illiterate, didn't you? How did you know?'

I shrugged my shoulders. I didn't see what business the story of Hanna and me was of hers. Tears were filling my chest and throat, and I was afraid I wouldn't be able to speak. I didn't want to cry in front of her.

She must have seen how I was feeling. 'Come with me, I'll show you Frau Schmitz's cell.' ...

I went over the bookshelf.

'Did Hanna read these?'

'Several years ago I had to get her a general concentration-camp bibliography, and then one or two years ago she asked me to suggest some books on women in the camps, both prisoners and guards; I wrote to the Institute for Contemporary History, and they sent a specialized bibliography. As soon as Frau Schmitz learned to read, she began to read about the concentration camps.'

Above the bed hung many small pictures and slips of paper. I knelt on the bed and read. There were quotations, poems, little articles, cut out pictures from newspapers and magazines. 'Spring lets its blue banner flutter through the air again,' 'Cloud shadows fly across the fields' - the poems were all full of delight in nature, and yearning for it, and the pictures showed woods bright with spring, meadows splattered with flowers, autumn foliage and single trees, a pasture by a stream, a cherry tree with ripe red cherries, and autumnal chestnut flamed in yellow and orange. A newspaper photograph showed an older man and a younger man, both in dark suits, shaking hands. In the younger one, I recognized myself. I was graduating from school, and was getting a prize from the headmaster at the ceremony. Had Hanna, who could not read, subscribed to the local paper in which my photo appeared? And had she had it with her during the trial? I felt the tears again in my chest and throat.

'She learned to read with you. She borrowed the books you read on tape out of the library, and followed what she heard, word by word and sentence by sentence.'

As she spoke, I had continued to kneel [on the bed in the prison cell to look up at the many pictures and slips of paper that had been hung above the bed by the cell's ex inmate Hanna], my eyes on the pictures and notes, fighting back tears. When I turned around and sat down on the bed, she said, 'She so hoped you would write. You were the only one she got mail from, and when the mail was distributed and she said "No letter for me?" she wasn't talking about the packages the tapes came in. Why did you never write?'

I still said nothing. I could not have spoken; all I could have done was to stammer and weep ...

So she had not left any message for me. Did she intend to hurt me? Or punish me? Or was her soul so tired that she could only do and write what was absolutely necessary?  'What was she like all those years?' I waited until I could go on. 'And how was she these last few days?'

'For years and years she lived here the way you would live in a convent. She was greatly respected by the other women, to whom she was friendly but reserved. Then a few years ago she gave up.'

'Can I see her?'

She nodded, but remained seated. She turned to me. 'Frau Schmitz didn't write anything about why she was going to kill herself. And you won't say what there was between you that might have led to Frau Schmitz's killing herself at the end of the night before you were due to pick her up.' She stood up, and smoothed her skirt. 'Her death is a blow to me, you see, and at the moment I'm very angry, with Frau Schmitz, and with you. But let's go.'

She led the way again, this time silently. Hanna lay in the infirmary in a small cubicle. We could just fit between the wall and the stretcher. The warden pulled back the sheet.

I must not cry. After a time, when the governor looked at me questioningly, I nodded, and she spread the sheet over Hanna's face again. 

(p. 201-207)

[How do you pronounce Schmitz?... I am reminded of repeated reincarnations. - G]

*

...

(p. 22-25)

ADVANCE PRAISE FOR THE READER (on the back cover):

'The best novel I read in 1996 is screaming for a translator. An unforgettable short tale about love, horror and mercy in Germany before and after 1945. Word of mouth about this novel ran all over Europe before the publicity machine caught up'.

- Neal Ascherson in the Independent on Sunday Books of the Year.

*

'A highpoint of the season. An electrifying story, told with both passion and restraint... a must - it is a rarity in contemporary German literature'. 

- Tagesspiegel

*

'Superb...the power of Schlink's book is in evading none of the tensions that emerge from the clash between the present and the past, between love and contempt, the desire to understand and the need to condemn'. 

- Le Monde 

*

'The Reader is one of the most successful, one of the richest, one of the most overwhelming novels I have read for a long time. And, without doubt, will read for a very long time. By virtue of both its moral force and its artistic quality, this novel brings something entirely new and profoundly original to the never-ending labour of grief for Germany's past'. 

- Jorge Semprun in Le Journal du Dimanche

[How is Schl in Schlink pronounced? - G]

[Not having learned German yet, I had to carefully type each letter of the German words above, but typing mistakes may remain. - G]

[Are the rave reviews actually composed by the author/publisher? Is this novel a self-published novel? - G]

[Great female writers such as "William Shakespeare" and "George Eliot" et al (all have gone through numerous rebirths or reincarnations over billions of years and all of them have a vast number of equally s. clones) sometimes use MALE names as pen names, besides acting as GHOST writers for smart real male and female "authors" who may become famous and best-selling "authors" thanks to GHOST writers who are handsomely paid by the publishers of the best-selling books; the smart putative "authors" of best-selling books may get a tiny share of the money but at least the smart putative "authors" become well-known and famous and rich. Of course, God does NOT run after fame and money just as He does not run after s. girls, thank God. - G]

- BERNHARD SCHLINK: "The Reader", Translated by Carol Brown Janeway, QPD (Quality Paperbacks Direct), London, by arrangement with Phoenix House, The Orion Publishing Group Ltd, this edition first published 1998 by QPD [sounds like QED used in geometry theorems], First Reprint 1998, © 1997 Bernhard Schlink; CN 3392 [God knows what CN means! - not cyanide, One hopes, as in potassium cyanide (a potent poison, as every female knows), KCN, where K is the symbol for potassium, CN is the symbol for cyanide, in chemistry. - G]; paperback; 216 pages.

NOTE: I believe that Hanna = Eve (many reincarnations over billions of years and numerous clones).

The erotic scene is wishful thinking.

Hanna reminds Me of the voluptuous and s. "hippie" Ms. Z, a s. honeytrap I eluded in Bombay many years ago. She must be in a s. younger reincarnation at present and with lots of s. clones. S. chameleon who cannot fool God.

I feel sure that all My conversations and My soliloquies and My reading aloud of chapters (from WORD POWER MADE EASY and THE NEW POCKET ROGET'S THESAURUS IN DICTIONARY FORM, by "Norman Lewis") and of complete books (CORRECT SPELLING MADE EASY by "Norman Lewis", and 25 MAGIC STEPS TO WORD POWER by "Dr. Wilfred Funk" - two excellent ghost-written books on words by female ghost writers, I think) inside My shared room in hastily created "Ravi Hotel" in Bombay (to interview Me), where I stayed in the same room with top Nazis for about two earth-shaking weeks (I solved everything in a flash during My short stay in Bombay but kept My earth-shaking bizarre discoveries a profound secret for many years until a few years ago when I started explaining online My  awesome revolutionary discoveries step by step, in simple English) were secretly recorded and studied (I think I had been falsely accused by evil Nazis of having  committed rape and murder, but Indian Army, CBI, and Mumbai police quickly found out that the heinous accusations were shocking LIES) by both Indian and foreign intelligence agencies and police and army (My heartfelt thanks to them all), and s. honeytrap spy Ms. Z must have subsequently got access to all My voice recordings. - G 

An interesting sentence in CORRECT SPELLING MADE EASY by to illustrate the difference between TWO, TO, TOO: 

Two women to one man are one too many.

I saw two mysterious "honey traps" inside and outside "Ravi Hotel": s. Ms. X and s. Ms. Z. I eluded both; I spoke to neither of them. (I speculate that Ms. X = Margaret, and Ms. Z = Mary. Both s. honeytraps are at present in fresh new "reincarnations", and both have many s. clones, I am sure.)

Another interesting sentence I read aloud (from CORRECT SPELLING MADE EASY by "Norman Lewis", if I remember right) - I am recalling from memory:

Let's pretend that My wife's name is Mary, which, by a strange coincidence, it is.

This was not My personal statement but a sentence I had read aloud from the book.

As we moved inside and outside Ravi Hotel, the onlookers on the streets of Bombay (Mumbai) probably thought we were acting in a movie.

Kishalay Sinha [G] November 10/12, 2020

GENOME

Matt Ridley: "GENOME: The autobiography of a species in 23 chapters", HarperCollins Publishers, ISBN 81-87478-41-1; in paperback ; Popular Science; 344 pages

  1 Life 

  2 Species 

  X AND Y Conflict 

  9 Disease 

14 Immortality 

15 Sex 

17 Death 

18 Cures 

19 Prevention 

22 Free Will 

[22 chapters plus X AND Y Conflict: 23 chapters]

Kishalay Sinha [G] November 11, 2020

TREACHERY

Treachery by Adam's first "wife" pr. Lily* and by Adam's second wife pr. Eve** (*Lily = Rad. = Pam = Margaret = "Snake"? **Eve = Eva Braun = Mary = "Meera"? Both have many clones in many different forms.)

King of Denmark murdered jointly by his queen and his brother who becomes the king and marries her; the murdered King is revived and returns as "Ghost" (Hamlet by "Shakespeare")

Oversmart top female Nazis, zero to God.

The f. Nazi pr. speak VERY fluent English. VERY impressive f. pr.

Angela Merkel is Hitler's f. daughter.

Kishalay Sinha [G] November 11, 2020

FEMALE ANGEL TORTURED IN HELL

Fallen [female] Angel Talks Of Hell's Torment!!! REPENT!!! Hell Is Real!!! (18:20)/Prophets Among Us (YouTube)

Kishalay Sinha [G] November 11, 2020 

ADAM URBAS 

Jakob Wassermann*

(p. 256-275)

And then I asked myself: Where, Urbas [Adam Urbas], and when, were your body and soul so scorched in Hell [by Simon/ Peter/Stephen/Steve/Hitler/Satan/SSR] ...

(p. 268)

*

TORTURE BY HOPE

Count Villiers De L'Isle Adam**

(p. 251-255)

"Oh for a voice to speak!" - E. A. Poe, The Pit and the Pendulum.

Far beneath the cellars of the Official of Saragossa, the venerable Grand Inquisitor descended. Followed by a fra redemptor (master-torturer) and preceded by two familiars of the Holy Office holding lanterns, towards a hidden dungeon. 

The lock of a massive door creaked, and they entered. On a heap of straw, fastened by fetters to the walls with an iron ring about his neck, squatted the figure of a man of uncertain age. He was dressed in rags, and his face was ghastly in its pallor.

The prisoner had been tortured every day. Nevertheless, his "stubbornness being as tough as his hide," he had refused to abjure his faith.

Proud of his thousand-fold relationships, he sustained his courage against the most awful of his incessant tortures.

"My son, rejoice, for your present trials are nearly at an end. If, in the face of so much obstinacy, I have had, unwillingly, to employ force, my task of correction has its limits... only God can pronounce upon your soul. Perhaps the Infinite Mercy may shine upon you at the supreme instant. We must continue to hope. Your case is not without precedent... So be it. Sleep, then, this evening in peace. To-morrow you will take part in the auto-da-fe - that is to say, you will suffer the quemadero, the premonitory symbol of the Eternal Flame. Its heat, you know, is distant, my son, and death often takes two, and sometimes three hours to arrive, on account of the wet, frozen cloths with which we take care to wrap the foreheads and breasts of the 'offerings'. There will be only forty-three of you. Bear in mind that, as you will be among the last, you will have enough time to invoke God and to offer up to Him this baptism of fire which is the Holy Spirit. Put your trust, therefore, in the Light, and sleep."

Then it was the turn of the fra redemptor, who begged the Jew in a low voice to forgive him for everything he had had to make him suffer for his redemption. This ceremony completed, the captive was left in the shadows, solitary and doomed.

With his mouth dry and his features ravaged by suffering, the Rabbi pondered on the locked door. "Locked?..." The word awoke a train of thought in the secret, innermost thoughts of himself. And very gently, with infinite precautions, he drew the door towards him. Amazing! ...

Yes, it was a corridor - but immeasurably long! A faint light - a light as in a dream - illumined it. And what a terrifying silence! 

... increased torments if he were caught ... But the former hope whispered in his soul - that divine Perhaps which comforts in the worst distresses. A miracle had taken place. There was no room for further doubt. Worn out by suffering and hunger, he went on - and the gloomy corridor seemed mysteriously to expand. But he, never pausing, stared into the darkness in front of him towards where there must surely be a way of escape! 

Oh, here were footsteps again! The black-and-white shapes of two inquisitors. They were talking in low voices, for their hands made gestures.

... praying to the God of David.

When they reached him the two inquisitors stopped. One of them looked straight at the rabbi! And under this gaze, whose unseeing expression he did not at first realize, the wretched man seemed to feel the hot pincers biting into his poor flesh. Once again he was to become a living wound! But the eyes of the inquisitor seemed to gaze at the Jew without seeing him! ... after a few minutes the two sinister conversationalists went slowly on their way, still talking in low tones, towards the direction from which the prisoner had come. They had not seen him! "Perhaps I am already dead, and so no one can see me?" ... but no! ...

Forward! He must hasten towards the deliverance. Oh, God! if only this door opened on the outer world! He examined the door from top to bottom. Not a lock, not a bolt! A latch! ... the latch yielded beneath his finger; the door slipped open noiselessly before him!

"Hallelujah!" murmured the rabbi.

The door opened on to gardens, under a starry night - on to spring, liberty, life! ... There lay liberty! He breathed the good, the blessed air. He heard in his expanding heart the "Lazarus, come forth!" and, to give thanks to God, he stretched out his arms to the firmament in an ecstasy.

And then he thought he saw the shadows of his arms returning upon him; he seemed to feel those shadow arms surround, embrace him, and feel himself pressed tenderly against some breast.

Horror! He was in the arms of the Gr,and Inquisitor. And while the Rabbi shook with anguish in the arms of the ascetic, with the realisation that every phase of that dreadful evening had been a deliberate torture, a torture by Hope, the Grand Inquisitor, with a look of distress and in accents of poignant reproach, murmured in his ear with the burning breath of abstinence:

"What, my child! On the Eve, perhaps, of salvation ... were you thinking of leaving us?"

(p. 251-255)

(Excerpts from Jakob Wassermann: "ADAM URBAS" and Count Villiers de L'Isle Adam: "TORTURE BY HOPE" in "SELECTED SHORT STORIES OF THE WORLD", Maple Press, H-205, Sector-63, NOIDA - 201307 (U.P.), India; Script Edition - 2010; ISBN 978-93-80005-82-9; paperback; 692 pages; Rs. 195.00)

The writers of short stories in SELECTED SHORT STORIES OF THE WORLD belong to:

ENGLAND

SCOTLAND 

WALES

IRELAND 

INDIA 

My Lord, the Baby by Rabindranath Tagore

The Lost Child by Mulk Raj Anand

Drought by S. Raja Ratnam 

SOUTH AFRICA

NEW ZEALAND

CANADA

AUSTRALIA 

FRANCE 

GERMANY 

AUSTRIA

CZECHOSLOVAKIA

HUNGARY 

RUSSIA 

DENMARK 

SWEDEN 

NORWAY 

HOLLAND 

SPAIN 

ITALY 

PERSIA 

ARABIA 

CHINA 

JAPAN 

USA

Jacob Wassermann: (writer of the short story "ADAM URBAS") - German writer.

Count Villiers de L'Isle Adam (writer of the short story "TORTURE BY HOPE") - French writer.

I wonder if the names of the two authors are fictitious.

*MAPLE PRESS:

Website: maplepress.co.in

e-mail: info@maplepress.co.in 

*

Robert Ludlum: THE LAZARUS VENDETTA (thriller)

Kishalay Sinha [G] November 12, 2020 AD

MY NEW BLOGGER ACCOUNT

I have just created a new Blogger account to post details of My podcasts on Anchor:

kishalaysinha1.blogspot.com

Kishalay Sinha [G] November 13, 2020