- Title: The Murder of a Yoga Guru
- Series: Hannah Brown, Transgender Sleuth
- Author: Yu Sakurazawa
- Transgender Category: MTF
This is the third episode of Hannah Brown – Transgender Sleuth series.
Hannah Brown is the 25 year old transgendered heroine of the detective series. Hannah is 5 feet 4 inches tall, has a commonplace freckled face, brownish black hair and black eyes. Hannah uses her unique identity as an MTF transsexual woman to process information and solve cases. Hannah’s acute observation skills, ability to see connections other people miss and deep insight into human nature make her the perfect detective.
In this episode Hannah signs up for a detoxification and rejuvenation program at a Yoga center which is headed by young charismatic spiritual leader, Swami Sadananda who has 9 million followers. During her stay at the ashram, Hannah becomes friends with a Kiev girl Natalia Adamovicha. Hannah finds Natalia as a transsexual woman.
Natalia leaves for Kiev for an unknown reason suddenly. In the next morning, the devotees of Swami Sadananda find him brutally axed to death.
The Murder of a Yoga Guru
Hannah Brown, Transgender Sleuth
by Yu Sakukrazawa
Chapter 1 – The Disgruntled Manager
Solving two high profile murder cases, excessive job stress and deteriorating relations with my boyfriend made me check into a two week spiritual program in a Yoga Ashram called Ananda Kuteeram (Literally meaning “Abode of Bliss”). It was situated 50 km from Bangalore. It was a center for detoxifying and rejuvenation, spread of 300 acres of beautiful wooded land. The ashram consisted of a main meditation hall, a common yoga hall, a lunch room and segregated dormitories for male and female participants.
The founder of the Yoga Ashram was a young guru called Swami Sadananda, whose organization had its headquarters in Chennai in Tamil Nadu. Swami Sadananda’s organization spanned 20 countries and he purportedly had 9 million followers worldwide.
I currently sat in the huge, high domed meditation hall made of red sandstone, gazing at His Holiness. Apart from me, there were six other people in the room. Swami Sadananda sat on a raised pavilion, with his attractive legs crossed, the way Hindu holy men are often seated. Sadananda’s clean saffron robes complimented the smooth brown color of his skin and the holy sacred thread running diagonally across his bare upper body drew my attention to his strong muscular chest, flat abs and sinewy arms. Swami Sadananda was giving a discourse on expanding one’s horizons and consciousness through control over breathing, so as to experience the complete joy of living. The florescent bulb-adorned behemoth-sized “Om” symbol on the wall behind Sadananda engulfed him like a halo. As he spoke, Swami Sadananda’s almond-shaped eyes shone, his straight nose twitched and red sensual lips parted every now and then into a killer smile, revealing perfect white teeth. I know a holy man has no age or gender, and is supposed to like a father to his acolytes, but I couldn’t control the impure nature of my thoughts. Thirty-five year old Swami Sadananda was the most attractive man I had seen.
As the thought crossed my mind, I felt guilty. Though I was having trouble with Bradley, he was still my boyfriend.
The venerable swami soon moved from “breath control” to “tantric sex”. He said that though he was celibate, he prescribed tantric sex to his followers as a step towards enlightenment. The gathered crowd listened intently. Apart from me, those present in the meditation hall included a Ukrainian woman named Natalia Adamovicha Chaplanski, her brother Mikhail Adamovich and husband, Oleg Chaplinkski. A stylish man, dressed in an expensive Safari suit, sat in the farthermost corner of the hall. He was Diwakar Shetty, the Minister of State for Health. Two of Swami Sadananda’s most ardent devotees, Shiva and Ashok, sat on the floor on yoga mats. They were dressed in similar saffron robes as the guru.
“In tantric sex” the guru was said with elaborate gestures of his hand “we encourage an attitude of deference. In this sexual ritual rooted in tradition, the participants worship one another as an embodiment of deities. They look beyond the physical body and concentrate on sensations and breathing….so that the ultimate aim of the entire joyous act isn’t just an orgasm, but enjoying every moment of divine experience”.
His Holinesses’ almond eyes settled on me. He smiled a low-key, sensual smile. I felt a thrilling sensation in my womb that was sexual, maternal and filial. This was the way I felt when Bradley kissed me. I felt my mind go absolutely blank and felt that I was melding into and merging with the guru, the earth and the entire cosmos. Swami Sadananda had managed to do this without even touching me. He had managed to make me orgasm by the sheer power of his bewitching eyes and killer smile.
“Daughter” he said in a soft, serene voice “please come and sit on your guru’s lap”.
It took me a whole moment to realize that Swami Sadananda was speaking to me. I was taken aback by the unusual nature of his request. But then I remembered that the holy man was asexual and that he didn’t attach sexual connotations to his devotees. I, a grown person, was being beckoned to sit on the guru’s lap akin to a child being invited to do so by its father or mother.
I got up, feeling extremely self-conscious. My olive-green harem pants flapped about my legs and baby-pink t-shirt outlined every curve and contour of my artificially-burgeoned breasts. Though it had been a good three and a half years since I had undergone my final Sex Reassignment Surgery, there were still moments when I felt gawky, unsure and as clumsy as an adolescent.
I slowly walked up to the guru, feeling everyone’s pricking gaze on my neck. Swami Sadananda patted his muscular thighs indulgently, indicating that I sit on them. I gingerly perched myself on the guru’s right thigh, fervently praying I hadn’t got too heavy due to my recent food binges. The swami’s unchanging, benevolent expression confirmed that I was still as light as fluff. He looked deep into my dark eyes with his own mesmerizing ones. His gaze travelled over my hairline that started a little backwards than the average woman’s, flat low brows and slightly big hands and feet.
Swami Sadananda reached out for a bowl containing holy water. He salvaged a table-spoonful from the copper container and poured a considerable quantity into my cupped palms. I knew what devotees were expected to do next. I obsequiously swallowed the yellowish contents. As the pungent waters made their way down, I felt my throat burn. I attributed the burning sensation to camphor, which is a commonly used ingredient in holy water.
Swami Sadananda looked at me approvingly, like a guardian admiring a young child.
“I take it that all is not well in your life?” he asked, his voice sheer sorcery.
“Yes, there is a dearth of peace”, I agreed.
Swami Sadananda’s hands travelled around my lower body, as casually and inconspicuously as only a god man’s can. I felt him explore my groin region with a strange, transcendental yearning in his eyes. Under my buttocks, I could feel his celibate shaft harden. The swami obviously didn’t find what he was looking for, for his arousal soon abated.
Swami Sadananda then took off the necklace of rudraksha (Endnote #1) beads adorning his neck and put it around my own delicate one. “Wear this all the time, even while you’re bathing” he told me dismissively “all your problems will vanish”. He directed me back to my place on the yoga mat on the floor below. The guru’s gaze had suddenly grown impersonal and indifferent. It was obvious that Swami Sadananda had lost all interest in me. I vaguely wondered if I had said or done anything to offend him.
After the short verbal exchange with me, Swami Sadananda went back to his discourse on “tantric sex”. “When the role of the giver is to give in abundance and that of the receiver is to receive, you should stop feeling and acting inhibited” he said “remember that you’re as boundless as the vast blue oceans. You are not inhibited by taboos, be they be social, religious, cultural or personal….”
I felt myself getting woozy, as if I had drunk too much wine. The hall I was seated in started spinning. Swami Sadananda seemed to be suspended in thin air. The pavilion he was sitting on seemed to have disappeared. The swami’s soft, mellifluous voice grew loud, then soft, and subsequently loud again. I vaguely wondered what was happening to me. Was what I was experiencing some sort of an overwhelming devotional frenzy?(that many of Swami Sadananda’s devotees evidently experienced frequently). Or was this the effect of having had only two idlis (rice cakes) for breakfast, instead of my usual boiled eggs, sausage and bacon?
I rubbed my palms together and cupped my eyes with them. The warm darkness of my hands soothed me, promising to soon restore the homeostasis of my body. From seemingly far away, I could hear Swami Sadananda droning on about the hazards of treating tantric sex as a new fad or your partner as the latest sex toy.
The next few sequence of events transpired so quickly, that I wonder if I got the order right. A jowly, prematurely aged man in his early 50s, with murderous eyes and a prominent pot belly barged into the meditation hall. He was all over Swami Sadananda; nipping, scratching, slapping and biting every bit of exposed skin he could find. “You filthy son-of-a-bitch!” the man spluttered angrily “you sadist in a saffron robe…my life is ruined because of you! After fifteen goddamn years of serving you, all I did was take (“misappropriate” as the media put it) 53 lakhs for the benefit of my children! Considering 53 lakhs is a pittance someone like you who collects Rs. 1300 million, you could have easily overlooked my little mistake! But no, you refused to forgive me! I fell at your feet and kissed your fucking toes, yet you were as hard as flint! You FIRED me! Before I knew it, the media was all around me, thrusting their microphones in my face. The TV channels didn’t even bother to blur my face: it was visible to the entire public across 20 nations! The law ten put me on a “fair trail” and I spend 10 precious years of my life rotting in prison!”
In the face of such a vicious attack, all of us had frozen. Even Ashok and Shiva stood still, unable to move.
“Calm down, Praveen Kumar” said Swami Sadananda, desperately trying to protect his face from his disgruntled ex-employees’ blows “you could get a job as a book-keeper again: in a corporate, perhaps. I would have given you your job back, but I’ve replaced you with someone else. But I am sure any other religious organization would be thrilled to have you. You’ve got skills and experience”.
“Thrilled to hire me indeed!” Praveen Kumar spat viciously “that’s a good joke, you perennially smirking bastard! Thanks to the media having flashed my mug all across its screens and front pages of newspapers, everyone recognizes me. Everyone recognizes my pathetic mug, you get it! They say public memory is short, but that doesn’t seem to be the case in a high profile case like this one. Ten years have passed, I have become an old man before my time, yet everyone remembers! And they refuse to employ me. I am yet to send my children to college, and I hardly seem to have any money to give them a good future! We—me, my wife and my innocent teenage kids are on the streets, and it is all thanks to you, you filthy scumbag!”
“Relax, Praveen Kumar, relax” Swami Sadananda tried to placate his incensed former accountant “try and take deep breaths and meditate on your core….try and calm your mind and body….”
“I shall do nothing of that sort, you dog!” bellowed Praveen Kumar turning a dangerous shade of maroon “If anything, I’m going to murder you in full public view!”
Before any of us had a chance to absorb the statement, Praveen Kumar’s huge hands had closed around Swami Sadananda’s smooth neck. The next thing we were aware of was that Praveen Kumar was exerting all the pressure of his enraged body on the latter’s neck, garroting and strangulating Swami Sadananda with all his might.
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