The Good Kingdom

"My sisters," she began, her tired voice sounding shrill as she struggled to be heard above the noise, "this man had blasphemed against the goddess Tara and by the ancient laws of our people he must be punished. I see that some of you do not approve of my actions. But I tell you that it must be done. We are not a cruel people, but we are a righteous people who obey the will of the goddess, and it is Tara herself who demands that this man pay for his sins."

It was unprecedented for anyone to interfere with Tara's judgment; she was the divine instrument through which the goddess spoke to our people. However, I found myself in a position where I could no longer stand idly by while the truth was being withheld from my sisters. Without giving it another thought, I strode up to the place where Tara was standing and appealed to the crowd. As soon as the women saw me make such a bold and unprecedented move, they grew silent. Tara glared at me, angered by my insolence.

"How dare you interfere?" she spat. "You have no right to..."

"I have every right," I said. "As leader I have the right to tell my people the truth."

I turned to the crowd."This man," I began, pointing to Jonathan, "is not a blasphemer. Nor is he evil. He is an innocent man, a doctor who has sworn an oath to do no harm to anyone. Yet we are treating him like a criminal, and all because one old woman refuses to accept the truth. I tell you now, as leader of the people, that Jonathan is innocent; his only crime being that he has tried to help us. But Tara, jealous of him and covetous of her own power, cannot suffer his presence because he is a threat to her authority. He is not..."

Suddenly, several of Tara's aides were upon me, dragging me back kicking and screaming toward another wooden pole only a few feet next to where Jonathan was standing.

"What are you doing?" I screamed. "Let me go you fools!"

Chari and Ide came to my aid but they were soon overpowered and were ordered to take their place among the crowd or suffer a similar fate. Astrid, to my surprise, also made an attempt to reason with Helgi and her accomplices, but was told to be silent or she would end up tied to a pole herself.

The crowd reacted to my treatment with stunned silence. Before they had a chance to fully comprehend what was going on, Tara addressed them.

"Francesca has shown disrespect to me and the goddess. As punishment, the goddess decrees that she shall be restrained until the blasphemer's punishment has concluded."

This speech was received with mixed emotions. Several people in the crowd spoke out against Tara's treatment of me but it wasn't enough to quell the desire most of them felt to see justice meted out to the poor doctor.

"I'm sorry, Jonathan," I said to him. "If I could stop this I would, but as you can see..."

"It's all right," he replied, trying to act heroic despite his discomfort. "I think I have enough of the drug inside me to entertain your friends for next few hours."

"Tara will have to let you go after that. Once the punishment is over, the debt to the goddess will be fulfilled and you can go free."

"Free!" he said sarcastically. "If there is one thing I have learned about this place is that I amnotfree!"

Under her supervision, Tara's twelve aides, most of whom I did not know by name with the exception of Helgi, began the masturbation procedure. The first girl removed the leash attached to Jonathan's erect penis and threw it aside. She was a pretty girl, probably a few years older than me, with short brown hair and blue eyes. I could tell that she was enamored of him and must have been longing to touch his body in just this way.

Forbidden to speak to him, the girl masturbated him in a slow, sensuous, and rhythmic fashion, encouraging him to shoot his sperm into the basin, which stood only a few inches away. Her firm grip, and the powerful drug working within him, performed its magic on his huge organ, and he was soon shooting ropes of sticky sperm into the tub. I watched as the spurts splashed pell-mell into the container, creating long viscous streams that coalesced in the bottom of the receptacle, forming a substantial puddle. In all he must have contributed no less than a quart of the milky substance, such was the power of the drug. But she didn't stop there.

Using the sperm that had found its way onto her hand, she lubed up his prick for another release. This time it took him a little longer to achieve orgasm, but it was impressive: more than two dozen long, arcing shots of semen flew into the tub to the great joy and amazement of the crowd. The girl laughed through his entire orgasm, stupefied to see the incredible amount of cream being ejected by the doctor's huge cock.

As soon as he was finished ejaculating, another girl took her place. I knew her slightly. Her name was Joanna and she was a tall, thin, waiflike creature with curly blonde hair and green eyes. She had a reputation for being stingy and somewhat timid, but you would have never guessed that from the way she handled Jonathan's penis.

Her handjob technique—if you could call it that—was rough and tumble. She simply took his cock in her hand and stroked it viciously, while the other hand caressed his balls. He winced a few times when she concentrated too long on the overly sensitized head, but she succeeded in pulling out a massive load of spunk in under a minute. Jonathan groaned loudly as the sperm shot out of his cock in enormous bursts, shooting wildly into the basin and adding another pint of his precious seed to the mix.

Not waiting for his orgasm to subside, Joanna kept stroking him in the same manner until he once again surrendered a thick and creamy load into the tub. And as soon as he had contributed this second pint of sperm, another girl took over. Jonathan looked at me and smiled, letting me know that he was all right. But I could tell that he was suffering under the influence of the drug.

All during this time Tara stood alongside her aides, enjoying the spectacle as the crowd cheered with glee every time another load of Jonathan's man juice found its way into the basin. The third and fourth girl had to wait a little longer for their creamy reward, but Jonathan's prick did not fail them. Huge spurts of white lava bubbled up from the bottom of his loins and shot forth immense cum geysers under the relentless stroking of his captors. And all of it ended up in the basin.

By the time the seventh and eighth girl had finished their struggles to release the remainder of his sperm, I could tell that he was in distress. By now the basin had captured about a gallon of his cum, and he looked at me with a pained expression on his face. I could tell that he was as amazed as I was to see so much sperm—and there was still more to come.

The ninth woman to step up and masturbate him was a chubby brunette with huge tits called Maria. She was a middle-aged woman from the Christian part of the village and it was well known that she loved giving handjobs, having pleasured my own father many times during his short life. She took Jonathan's prick in her fat little hand and jerked it firmly back and forth until a few minutes later she was rewarded with multiple streams of cum that shot up high into the air before reaching landfall in the bottom of the tub. She repeated the procedure and was again rewarded with another bountiful cumshot. The audience was delirious with joy.

The final three girls masturbated the doctor with startling results, considering that he had ejaculated dozens of times and had filled the tub until it was now half full. Incredible as it seemed, I watched his prick erupt over and over again, ejecting vast amounts of sperm into the basin. When the first girl in the lineup moved into position to continue his masturbation, his prick suddenly grew flaccid and refused to respond to any further stimulation.

Seeing that he had no more sperm to give, Tara ordered the aides to throw him into the tub. As they removed his bonds he tried to get away, but a dozen women proved too much for him and they lifted his body in the air and unceremoniously threw him in the frothy liquid. As his body hit the surface of the fluid, the backwash created was enough so that I got completely covered in sperm, which made Tara and everyone else laugh hysterically. As I spit out the gelatinous globs of semen I loudly cursed Tara and her aides for their cruelty. But what I suffered was nothing in comparison to what Jonathan was now being subjected to.

Being thrown into a tub of sperm was not enough for our sadistic mataji. She now ordered her aides to submerge his head in the salty brew.

It was awful witnessing his maltreat knowing that I was helpless to do anything. I watched in horror and they forced his head repeatedly under the surface of sperm, each time holding his head down a little longer until at last he could not prevent himself from swallowing a good portion of his own fluids. When the crowd saw that he was drinking his own sperm they erupted into gales of laughter. The women cursed him generously and threw pieces of rotten fruit at him until at last he was released and forced to stand in the sunlight naked for two hours, his body caked with semen. He received further condemnation by the crowd but for all intents and purposes his punishment was over.

One of the aides released me, and with the help of Chari, Ide, Juliette, and Astrid we took Jonathan to the river where he washed away all the residue of sperm. Dripping with sperm myself, I simply jumped in the water naked to rid myself of the sticky residue. Once we had cleaned ourselves, we didn't wait around to hear Tara's speech, which was to confirm that the goddess had found Jonathan's punishment to be satisfactory. I didn't bother to look at the old woman as my friends and I walked hurriedly away.

For the next week Jonathan was left in relative peace. I ordered no one to bother him and gave him all the time he needed to relax and heal. He had suffered a great indignity, and although he bore no malice toward the villagers or me, he was, surprisingly enough, less disillusioned with Tara. He had admitted to me that she represented everything he found hateful in the conservative, literal, religious zealot, who claimed to have a direct link to the Almighty but was nothing more than a self-appointed moral censor who acted only in her own self-interest. I couldn't say that he was entirely wrong. Until recently Tara had been a kind and loving person, who cared deeply for all of us. Why she had suddenly turned into a staunch religious fanatic was something I could not understand. But he revealed the reason why I should not condemn the old woman.

One day as I was walking with him in one of the many apple groves that dotted the hills on the southern border of the village, and plagued by the incoherent actions of a once astute and moral person, he explained why he could not hate her.

"It's not so hard to understand, Francesca," he said, relishing the scent of the apple blossoms. "Tara is using the drug."

"Is that what you think?" I asked, feeling he must be wrong.

"There's no doubt about it. Most mystics use some form of mood enhancer to intensify their religious experiences. Why should she be any different?"

"But I've never seen her use the Mandukya extract—never."

"That doesn't mean she doesn't take it. If she has been using the drug for years, then it's very possible that it has damaged her brain. I told you that the drug causes neurological disorders, and her wild mood swings are very likely the result of long and sustained use."

"But what benefit would she get from taking it? It doesn't act on women in the same way it does a man."

"There is one benefit—it acts as a euphoric. And many religious fanatics like Tara find that the transcendent state of mind the drug creates is the closest thing to Nirvana."

I stopped walking for a moment, contemplating what he had said.

"If what you're saying is true, then she is suffering from a personality disorder. Isn't that what you called it?"

"Yes," he replied. "But that's not the worst of it. We've got to assume that she has been taking the drug for a very long time, and if so, her life may be in danger. She could die."

"I'm sure you wouldn't mind that happening."

It was a callous thing to say and I regretted the words even as I spoke them.

"Despite what you may think," Jonathan said, "I do not hate her. And I certainly do not want to see her suffer and die. I despise her actions, not her."

"I don't understand why not. She tried to hurt you."

"If she is under the influence of the drug, then I can't hold her accountable for her actions—and neither should you."

"You're a very gracious man, Jonathan," I said taking his hand in mine. "I don't think I could say the same thing if she had treated me the same way she treated you."

We continued to walk hand in hand enjoying each other's company and discussing many things about the outside world. He told me how the American president, a half-black, half-white man he called "Obama," was a servant of the rich and powerful oligarchs that were the true rulers of that country. He said that the merger of state and corporate powers had created a fascist state in which individual freedoms were being destroyed. He talked about increased poverty in that country and in many other countries around the world. I had heard similar talk from my father when I was still a child; how the strong oppress the weak, how the rich exploit the poor...it was nothing new to me. The faces and names might have changed, but the motives were still the same: power, greed, and the desire to dominate others.

"It sounds like a horrible place to live, this America of yours," I said, enjoying the feel of his body so close to mine. "My father was Italian and he emigrated to America when he was my age. The stories he told me are very similar to yours. It seems there is much hatred and discord in your country and the world. I wonder why you would choose to go back to it."

"It doesn't make much sense, does it?" he said good-naturedly. "Who would want to leave Shangri La?"

I laughed at the mention of the mystical, harmonious valley. "Shangri La is a fictional place invented by the British author James Hilton in his book, 'The Lost Horizon'. It doesn't exist."

A look of surprise came across his face. "You know about Shangri La?"

"It was one of my father's favorite books. I have a copy of it in our library."

Jonathan smiled. "I forget that you have acquired many things over the centuries."

"Well, all I can tell you is that Swarga Loka is real. And if you will just let its magic into your heart, then you could find a place for yourself here...with me."

I surprised myself as I spoke those words because I really hadn't admitted to myself that I had fallen in love with him. But I had. And now, as I looked up into his violet eyes, so knowing, so intelligent, and so kind, I found my hand reaching up toward his face to caress it, and my lips obeying the same command to meet his in a gentle kiss.

As I drew away from him, he studied my face as if seeing it for the first time. "You really mean it, don't you?"

"With all my heart."

He suddenly took me in his arms and kissed me passionately. "Have I told you how beautiful you are, Francesca?"

"No, you haven't," I replied, luxuriating in the feel of his tender kisses. "But everyone thinks Astrid is the most beautiful girl in the village. And then you have the triplets to consider."

"I will admit that they are indeed beautiful, but you are beautiful too. And in ways those women could never be."

"If that is how you truly feel, then will you stay with me in Swarga Loka? I know we could be very happy together."

He stopped kissing me for a moment and looked off into the distance.

"What's wrong?" I asked him.

With a heavy sigh he released me and shook his head.

"I'm a doctor. I heal people. That's what I do. The world is full of sick people who need my help. And as much as I want to stay here with you, I know that I would be betraying my oath as a doctor to remain in Swarga Loka."

"Then you still want to leave?"

"I'm not like your father. He was content to live here with you and your mother. But I have a career and my whole life in front of me. I want to make a contribution to society. I want to make a difference."

"I understand," I said, my heart sinking. "You must do what you believe is right."

He thought for a moment and then kissed me again.

"There is another way."

"You want me to come with you."

His face brightened. "Think of it, Francesca! A world you've only read about in books or from the tidbits your father related to you—all second-hand knowledge! If you came with me, I could show you wonders that you couldn't possibly imagine. But it means leaving all this behind—forever."

"This is my home. These are my friends."

"You can make new friends. We can find a new home. It's not as difficult as you think."

"You're forgetting that we would have to contend with miles and miles of frozen wasteland, thin air, and freezing temperatures just to get to the nearest town. We would never make it."

"I made it here! That old song and dance about the goddess allowing a man or two to make it to Swarga Loka every so many years is all a lie, a fabrication invented to keep you and your people in fear of the outside world. Once we reach the town we could send for transportation to the Gonggar Airport at Lhasa. From there we could travel to America or to anyplace you want to go. It's not impossible."

He made it sound so easy. But I knew that his desire to leave, although it was a sincere one, was founded upon wishful thinking. The frozen wasteland had claimed many lives and our chances of success were slim at best. Even if I wanted to leave my home, which I was still not sure of doing, what kind of life would await me in that troubled world outside? America, Canada, Europe...they were all in a state of unprecedented social upheaval. Would my love for him be enough to compensate for all the difficulties I was almost certain to encounter in a totally alien world? And what of my friends? I had known these people all my life. Could I leave them behind, never to see any of them again? It was asking too much of me. Swarga Loka was my home and would be forever. I couldn't dream of leaving it.

"I'm sorry, Jonathan. But I can't go with you."

"Are you sure that's what you want?"

"You have your destiny, and I have mine. It was not meant to be."

"Francesca..."

He tried to kiss me again, but I turned away from him. "No. I will help you to escape if that's what you want. But I will remain here in Swarga Loka."

I turned my face away so that he couldn't see the tears in my eyes. But I knew, even as I uttered those words, that I must help him, even though it meant losing him forever. To keep him here against his will would destroy him as surely as if he had overdosed on the poisonous Mandukya extract. And I could not bear the thought of hurting this man—even if it meant losing him.

************

During the week of Jonathan's recovery, I had barely seen or talked to Tara. On the brief occasions we did meet, it was to discuss mundane subjects related to the administration of the village. She never once mentioned Jonathan's name and I did not mention him either. However, I noticed that there was a marked change in her appearance. She seemed far more frail now, and her complexion had become very pale. She spoke with difficulty and often stopped in mid-conversation to collect her thoughts. Chari told me that she had seen Tara walking home from the vihara speaking in loud, garrulous tones, but no one was with her.

Then, two days later, when I had already told Jonathan that I would not be leaving with him for America, Astrid came running into my lodge to tell me that Tara had collapsed outside the temple of the goddess and was sick with a high fever. I immediately informed Jonathan of the situation and he procured what few medical items he had brought on his journey and accompanied me to Tara's lodge.