Ever since the attacks began, both the newly appointed National Security Advisor and the Prime Minister’s Office had been holding con-call briefings with IB, RAW, NIA, CBI, CID, BSF, CISF, CRPF, NSG, COBRA, SOBF, SF, MF, and MI heads, as well as the heads of all the thirty-one state police forces to review the progress made on gathering leads or at least some sort of promising reliable intelligence on the BRF so as to be able to strategize and plant appropriate stories with the gaggle of national security editors of national and regional English and vernacular-language newspapers and news channels and news agencies who were daily badgering the head of the PIB and also every single person working in the MHA, from the chaiwala and the peons and PAs to every one of the secys – under, deputy, joint, over, side, principal, chief, plain, strawberry – all the way to the minister himself as well as the minister’s cook, driver, cleaner, members of the A-Z category security detail, concubine, pimp, wife, in-laws, assorted relatives, business acquaintances, henchmen and hawala operator for fresh inputs on a matter of national security and national self-esteem and Hindu Aryan Indian culture that the entire 2.1-billion-strong citizenry seemed to have overnight developed a limitless appetite for and could not have enough of either on print or broadcast or online or social media with even the international press hyper-salivating and FedExing their camera crews and top-dog correspondents and columnists to New Delhi to camp out here and, even if they got nothing, to at least churn out colour pieces about this terror group that called itself the Bukkake Revolutionary Front, or the BRF.
But so far it was all a blank with the videos and pictures posted on social media seemingly having materialized from shell accounts instantly deactivated post-dissemination and protected serially by asymmetric cryptography and a maze of poly-encrypted, public key algorithms based on integer factorization and elliptic curve correlations that would be impossible to hack through even if you gathered the entire universe’s collective computing power since the Big Bang into one salted mega-chip under your command and set it loose upon the problem.
No way.
They had drawn an invisibility cloak around their digital activities and accounts and that was that, according to the Israeli security experts flown in all the way from Baghdad in exchange for New Delhi not condemning Tel Aviv’s decision to execute four Palestinian foetuses soon after they were born for having hatched a murderous conspiracy while in the womb – communicating via coded calcium compounds bonded to placental nutrients – to launch a suicide bombing attack on the Knesset when they turned thirteen.
The first BRF attack came on a Saturday afternoon. It was a slow juice day. The entertainments were closed. Human vegetation was being cooked on rooftops across the city in large, uncovered dishes. And the terror video had exploded instantly, its digital shrapnel going viral on social media and coagulating several hundred thousand streams of consciousness within twenty minutes of being tweeted.
It was basically a ten-minute clip of the PM giving a speech from the Red Fort on International Prime Minister’s Day. While he addressed the citizens of HAIR and those parts of the international community that had tuned in to his speech about his achievements as PM – about how he had grown the national reserves of frequent flier miles to heretofore unprecedented highs, about how the computer-aided cow-breeding programme that he’d launched for developing good-mannered cows that wouldn’t tarnish HAIR’s international image by straying onto car lanes or bus lanes or national highways or waste dung by randomly strewing them on car lanes or bus lanes or national highways had yielded windfall dividends for the nation in the form of CAGR of 65 per cent in foreign exchange generated by export of cow dung, 85 per cent self-sufficiency in cow urine and 91 per cent reduction in rape cases in rural areas, about how the Ultra-Smart Cities, or USCs, of his pet project, the Ultra-Smart Urban Renewal Yojana, better known as USURY, had already finished bombing eleven of the seventy Smart Cities they were meant to replace and were proceeding on schedule with the cold calling of eligible demographic elements residing in non-USURY areas and persuading them to purchase property in the caller because they were all – every single one of the USCs were – Mensa members, unlike the non-USURY cities they were currently residing in, and who, asked the PM, rhetorically of course, doesn’t like to live in an urban setting that is as smart as themselves, if not smarter, not to forget the fact that all the USCs were equipped with assassin drones with automated command-control systems that immediately terminated all prospects who were too dumb to exist anyway because they were not smart enough to commit their extant savings and future earnings to a property in a USC, and about the various other initiatives of his government and their various superlative outcomes, and about how, despite the various superlative outcomes of his government’s various initiatives, the Opposition wanted his head on a platter and how he would gladly dispatch them his only head on a platinum-coated silver inlay 27-carat bevelled Gili gold platter with Mughal-era art work on it if that’s what they wanted so long as he could continue to toil for the nation and the nation’s aspirational tax-paying upper-lower middle-middle classes from aforementioned platter, and so on in that vein – a series of masked men emerged on the podium.
The intruders, clad in black overalls, leant a Zenplast telescopic aluminium ladder on either side of the bullet-proof glass enclosure laminated with polyvinyl butyral to provide the occupant with ballistic, blast explosive, and forced entry protection, climbed seven steps up the ladder, balanced themselves with one hand, and massaged their incredible 21-inch belan-like units with the other in a rapidly quickening rhythm so as to deliver thickly and copiously on the PM’s transplanted hair and face and eyebrows in supersonic jet streams and climbed swiftly down and exited the frame so as to make way for the next in line. By the end of the video, the PM’s face was a mask of glutinous white, reminiscent of the alien goo that splatters all over Will Smith in Men in Black. His left eye was plastered shut, the lashes of the right eye were fused into one contiguous shutter of the kind shopkeepers used. His nostrils produced tiny bubbles that expanded and contracted with every breath. He continued his speech with some difficulty, as his lips stuck to each other every time he brought them together to articulate a plosive while his tongue slipped and slurped on every sibilant.
A total of twenty-seven men were seen to climb the ladder from the left and the right and deposit ectoplasm on the PM – unless one entertained the possibility that some of the participants were able to, within a span of ten minutes, which was the running time of the video, stimulate themselves to climax for a second time. And by the way we are speaking not just of a formal or functional climax but a climax of very high quality characterized both by a substantial volume of fluid that was visually impactful on video as well as impressive muzzle velocity so as to present an unbroken arc of viscous white from the tip of the launching apparatus to the point of impact on the high-profile target.
The camera dwelled lovingly, and in micro-close-up, on the dome-like beautiful, elegantly engorged, intricately veined phalluses of the attackers, each of which had the same slogan tattooed on the shaft in bioluminescent orange1 in tightly packed but clearly legible cursive Vladimir script: Screw the Brahmin-Bania-Zionist-casteist-authoritative-patriotic-homophobic-xenophobic-misogynist-misanthropic-ageist-consumerist-statist-pragmatist-racist-military-financial-educational-industrial-technological complex!’
Stills of the video, displaying a singular connecting strand of genetic material between the nose of the PM and the tip of one of the terrorist’s units, proved particularly popular on social media, as did other stills of organic matter dripping off the PM’s glasses, and one picture in particular, of a particularly viscous string dangling, and trembling, and quivering, like a spider’s web, or a very, very long chromosomal earring made of protein-enriched gossamer, from his left ear, became the most tweeted and most shared meme of the year, with Bosnian grandmas and Senegalese teens and Cambodian porn stars who might otherwise struggle to locate HAIR on the map and may have never even heard the name of HAIR’s PM, circulating the clips with enthusiasm and proclaiming vociferously, on camera, their support and lifelong fealty to the BRF.
2
Of course, it wasn’t the actual HAIR PM who got bukkaked. The BRF militants had shot the whole sequence with a PM double, a crew member with physique similar to the PM and wearing a foam latex prosthetic mask moulded to the PM’s facial features, and spliced it into a recording of the PM’s PM-Day speech.
The idea, according to the statement issued to the media by the National Security Adviser, was to spread terror and create instability by perpetrating symbolic and imagistic violence on the body of the nation’s topmost symbolic and material representative and violating the high seriousness and wit and characteristic tonal integrity of the PM that never failed to connect with the nation’s youth demographic by injecting audio-visual elements of an unparliamentary and anti-HAIRian nature and that too with elements borrowed from the pornographic genre – a genre of communication and self-expression that was not only banned in HAIR, but was at the opposite end, if not beyond the frame of reference, of the frame of reference evoked in the national public sphere by the PM’s noble visage – into the frame of reference evoked in the national sphere by the PM’s noble visage, which made the viral dissemination of a multimedia presentation of its (the PM’s noble visage’s) being ejaculated upon serially and in close succession by twenty-seven men in a manner reminiscent of the decadent Japanese custom known as ‘bukkake’ all the more subversive and dangerous and seditious and insulting to the very idea of the HAIR nation as well as to the national pride and patriotism that the PM had been an icon of from his birth onward, if not from before his birth or even from his conception or even pre-conception stage when he himself was nothing more than a life form floating in the very same material that was being showered on him in the terroristic video.
3
The first known international terror group to express solidarity with the BRF was the Indian arm of the LGBTQQARSTUVWXYZLF – the Lesbian Gay Bisexual Transgender Queer Questioning Asexual Raped Stigmatized Traumatized Ugly Vilified Wounded X-ed Yoni-centred Zero-carbon Liberation Front. The nine-member executive committee of the Indian arm of the LGBTQQARSTUVWXYZLF2 issued a terse 111-word statement that said, ‘The Indian wing of the LGBTQQARSTUVWXYZLF, the I-LGBTQQARSTUVWXYZLF, congratulates the Bukkake Revolutionary Front on their first and extremely successful operation. The I-LGBTQQARSTUVWXYZLF expresses its admiration for the BRF’s innovative strike on behalf of freedom and announces its total and unconditional endorsement of the inspirational political message engraved on the penises of its courageous and handsome combatants. The I-LGBTQQARSTUVWXYZLF is confident that the BRF has been following, and shall continue to follow, equal opportunity polices with regard to equal representation for sexual and other oppressed minorities in their operations and command structure.3 The I-LGBTQQARSTUVWXYZLF wishes the brave soldiers of the BRF every success in their future endeavours against the evil state of HAIR.’
Expressions of support and solidarity also poured in from other insurgent and terror groups from every corner of the world, and everyone waited with oppressed breath for the next attack from the BRF.
It came two weeks later. This time it was a footage of the HAIR PM signing a significant economic and defence cooperation agreement with a visiting president. As the documents were being signed to the flashes of cameras and the background hum of bureaucrats, masked men in black overalls with only their impressive assault weapons sticking out walk up to the long table where the two heads of state are seated and direct their testicular fire on the documents as they are being signed.
The media of the visiting president’s country – which was notorious for its obsession with sex, crime and terrorism – went berserk with the video, ensuring even more saturation global publicity for the BRF: all without a single bullet being fired, a single bomb being exploded, a single life being lost, or a single instance of damage to life or property.
A French newspaper published a 1,200-word front-page editorial praising the vitality of India’s Gandhian legacy of non-violent dissent and how the BRF had brilliantly reinvented Satyagraha for the pornographic millennium. A German columnist, who was also, coincidentally, a descendant of Friedrich Max Mueller, argued that the BRF was probably connected to rebel Hindu nationalist factions because it was deploying the power and symbolism of the lingam for cultural and political regeneration. But the leading lights of the HAIRian media condemned the BRF’s attacks as unbridled acts of terrorism, vandalism and sedition perpetrated with the malevolent intent of stoking disaffection among the citizenry against the state and the government, and they had already begun blaming Zabardastan’s ISI in their columns and TV appearances before being individually and privately reprimanded by their handlers in the PMO for stupidly jumping the gun on something they had no clue about and were instructed to wait for instructions instead of shooting their traps off about ISI links, etc., without having been instructed to do so.
BRF chapters sprouted in other countries – notably in the US, UK, Egypt and Saudi Arabia – but none of their progenitors being conversant with the IT architecture and algorithmic arcana necessary to cover their tracks, were swiftly caught by their respective secret police and handed over to American defence contractors to be transported to CIA black sites for enhanced interrogation and subsequent brainwashing and rebooting for future deployment in false flag terror operations in countries that were threatening to elect governments that might actually carry out the will of their impoverished electorates, or worse, already had governments that harboured dangerous delusions about reducing the reserve army of labour, nationalizing sperm banks, and doing their own thinking on economic policy and foreign affairs.
The BRF began to introduce innovations into their videos – replacing facial prosthetics with cartoonish masks of Page 3 celebrities, cricketing stars, actors and actresses, comedians, prize-winning authors, and on one occasion, they had twenty-seven ‘members’ of the Union cabinet doing bukkake on their own PM.
By the third month of their operations, the BRF had become brazen enough to tamper with live news feed, sporting telecasts, game shows, and even prime-time soaps. When a well-known HAIR politician was handing over the Cricket World Cup to the winning HAIR captain and they posed with the trophy between them for the international media to memorialize for posterity this immortal moment of HAIR pride and honour, five masked men popped up from nowhere and began squirting earnestly on the trophy and on the fingers and wrist of the politician and the HAIR captain respectively – ‘A good HAIR day got better’ as The Mirror put it. On another occasion, they released a bukakked trailer of a Bollywood superstar’s forthcoming blockbuster release, showing the actor pinned down by ten masked BRF militants, all of whom whip out their units and spray joyfully on the superstar. Another video had a bunch of masked men barge in on a moving, don’t mourn-for-me-if-I-perish-in-this-war scene between a gym-toned warrior-god hero and his sexy supermodel princess wife and bukkake the warrior-god on the chest. Every time the supermodel princess wife hugged the warrior-god hero, her lips got coated with cum, lending an unexpected pornographic undertone to the rather predictably chocolatey and blandly traditional sentiments that the script, written for a ‘family audience’, was forcing her to mouth.
4
Caught with their pants down, as it were, by a terrorist outfit whose strategy was unlike any they had encountered before or received tactical training for, the plump tentacles of the nation’s security apparatus flailed in confusion, looking, and not finding, something to feed its systemic belly.
The online trails led to a dead end every time. It was like pursuing a criminal in a car chase only to find him/her vanish into a wall and you blow up the wall and find that the road continues as before with no sign of the criminals who fled into the wall.
All they had to go on with was the video footage – watching which was now a crime under DADA, SODA and PAPA as well as being an act of sedition under 128-A and punishable by reverse cataract surgery (the convict’s clear crystalline lens is removed and replaced with a strip of donkey foreskin). While scanning the video for clues even the Investigating Officers had a hard time keeping their minds on the forensic aspects of the content, given how deceptively and hypnotically riveting the video was.
The video was so deceptively and hypnotically riveting that the IOs and their bosses and their bosses’ bosses ended up spending hours and hours locked up in their rooms watching more conventional renditions of bukkake, ostensibly to check if there were any stylistic similarities in the shooting,4 any units on display that were remotely comparable in size or decoration to the phallic monstrosities of the terroristic videos, any identifiable patterns in the ejaculatory signatures, or in the background or framing or camerawork that could point the investigations in a particular direction.
Also, with the terrorists being fully physically covered, with even their talented hands gloved in some kind of surgical-type material, digital analysis of the footage had perforce to focus on the unique characteristics of the attackers’ penile assets. Forensic analysis of the eleven attacks till date by a panel of experts had yielded a total of 241 different phalluses (excluding repeat ejaculators), every single one of them tattooed with the same slogan. It was almost as if they’d been prefabricated in a designer penis factory and retrofitted to the crotches of the terrorists.
The MF IO, whose team had conducted the preliminary analysis, concluded that all the 241 were HAIRian phalluses. All they had to do now was identify the 241 individuals the 241 phalluses were attached to, and they had their culprits – they could then smash this upstart terror group.
The MF put together an edited video that combined the footage of all the BRF attacks till date. The two-hour-long montage seemed to have a strange and sublime coherence, and according to some, even a certain thematic progression that was even more gripping than a conventional plot-based narrative and would have been a hit had it been released commercially. The NSA circulated this video with appended comments to all the intelligence and security and state police heads and their respective deputies for review, investigative action, feedback, and generation of further actionable leads.
But the NSA, who hadn’t gotten to where he was by being easily satisfied, was far from impressed with the progress of the investigations. He was certain that no indigenous terrorist group could have pulled this off without logistical, technical, computational, pornographic, video production and multimedia training and know-how from international terror groups or counterintelligence agencies of one or more hostile nations, and wanted the security agencies to scour global surveillance data and also press HAIR assets and the assets of HAIR allies around the world, especially the US-PLATO formation and the Americans’ NSA data that was bound to, the HAIR NSA was certain, reveal some sort of techno-erotic mobilization against HAIR.
‘How can you be sure of this, sir?’ asked Vaastu, the DG of MI, who had more than two decades of experience working undercover in senior management positions with some of the world’s premier multinational terror groups on different continents.
The NSA grimaced, not merely at the DG, MI’s question, but also because he had tardive dyskinesia and was about to grimace anyway. ‘It’s a matter of common sense,’ he said. ‘The average HAIRian male does not have a penis this big – which means these terrorists are men who’ve been handpicked for the size of their penises, and it is obvious why: because only then could they engrave—’
‘You mean tattoo?’
‘—the entire text of the verbose juvenilia we see on the terrorist penises.’
‘I’m sorry, sir, but that proves nothing.’
‘On the contrary, it does prove one thing, Mr Vaastu.’ The NSA bared his teeth and gums as if modelling for a Colgate commercial. ‘It proves they must have had a period of planning and recruitment and training and possibly expensive surgical enlargement of the penises in preparation of the tattooing, not to mention either hiring and training, or sourcing and paying, talented tattoo artists who specialize in this kind of job.’
‘I agree with you, sir,’ said Wadapoda, the DG, CID. ‘Only porn actors, or those with experience in porn industry are likely to be able to maintain such cocks—’
‘Mr Wadapoda!’ The NSA glared at the DG, CID, and grimaced thrice, his lips expanding and contracting in rapid succession. ‘Mind your language!’
‘I-I’m sorry, sir,’ stammered the DG, CID. ‘I meant to say maintain penises in a state of sustained – eh – turgidity, requires years of practice.’
‘Penis enlargement isn’t cheap,’ said the DDG, NIA, a 1989 Bihar cadre IPS officer who had risen rapidly up the ranks following his clinical decimation of the dreaded CEBA, the Coalition for the Elimination of Best-selling Authors, which had assassinated four of the country’s top ten best-selling authors in two years, and carried out suicide bombing attacks at several book launches, readings and litfests, spreading terror among writers, reviewers and publishers. Erstwhile best-selling authors, fearing for their lives, turned to poetry and avant-garde literary fiction that not more than two people (the writer and his/her editor) were guaranteed to understand. Reviewers competed with each other to review titles from the most obscure and tiniest of publishing outfits, completely blanking out the new releases of best-seller-heavy MNC publishers. Publishers began to change their entire business model. From relying on mass sales of a handful of popular books, they took to publishing thousands of titles of high literary, cultural, political and civilizational value, and of course, none of these had a print run of more than 450 copies, which was the upper limit for any title, with the minimum print run being ten copies (five free copies for the author, one for the editor, one for record, two for Amazon, one for publicity). Poetry and drama flourished, as did experimental abstract expressionist digital graphic novels incorporating pop-up videos, scented sentences, chapters done with acrylic on paper or oil on canvas, and utilizing a wide variety of printing materials from natural dyes and pigments extracted from feathers of dead kingfishers to semen of sperm whales and cerebral fluid of aborted foetuses. But with the CEBA effectively neutralized, thanks entirely to the hyper-efficient DDG, NIA, publishing practices swiftly reverted to status quo ante.
‘This is what I want,’ said the NSA. ‘I want three STFs5 to get cracking. STF 1 will get cracking on all the tattooists in the country and abroad who have known or suspected capabilities of this kind of sophisticated work in this anatomical territory. STF 2 will get cracking on Indian porn actors and directors who have been active over the past decade or so and bring them in for questioning. STF 3 will track down the owners of the 241 phalluses in question.’
‘What does STF stand for?’ asked the DG, CISF. He was on deputation from the IRAS and not familiar with the NSA’s abbreviations.
Nobody dared to enlighten him.
5
After the meeting with the NSA was over, the UP state police chief called up the Gujarat state police chief to figure out the best way to nab the 241 phalluses. Following their consultation, these two became the first HAIR states to make penile examination an integral part of all security checks, no different from walking through a metal detector. They couldn’t do the penis check through an x-ray scan because most men’s penises were in a flaccid state when they happened to go through security and it was not possible to get an accurate sense of their size when aroused to full capacity or verify their tattoos which were legible only when turgid. So all security teams, both government and private, at all entry and exit points of key government and private installations that were traditionally deemed to be terror targets, such as airports, malls, multiplexes, metro stations, etc., were mandated to make an additional deployment – over and above their existing security teams – of a minimum of two females and one male no older than twenty-five years of age and of attractive physique and deportment and attired in see-through T-shirt and panties and VIP briefs, respectively. These sexual security guards (the SS as they came to be known) would escort every male citizen above the age of fourteen who happened to pass through the security check to a private enclosure, have them unzip their trousers, and give them a quick, clinical, professional hand job ergonomically optimized and scientifically designed to increase the blood supply to the penis in the shortest possible time so as to expand it to its maximum size while four cameras in the enclosure recorded the process and the penis morphology and the tattoos, if any, from four different angles.
In a matter of two weeks, UP and Gujarat had a database of 2 million phalluses, encouraging the NSA to order all the states of the HAIR union to implement the SS programme. In a matter of six weeks, the NIA, which was the nodal coordinating agency for the SS, had acquired a national database of over 280 million phalluses of every caste, religion, ethnicity and linguistic grouping. An NIA source even leaked interesting nuggets to the media which went to town with news such as that the HAIR’s largest penis was 17 inches long. More pertinently, only five of the 280 million in the database sported tattoos. Of the five tattoos, two were religious, with one going ‘Jai Mata Di’ while the other had the rather more predictable ‘Jesus Saves’. The third one was a patriotic ‘Long Live HAIR’, the fourth a matter-of-fact instruction to ‘Suck Harder’, while the fifth was a polite ‘May I come in, please?’ All the five men were taken into custody for questioning where they gave up their tattooist’s contact details. Their respective tattooists were also brought in for interrogation and let off when nothing turned up to connect them to the BRF kind of tattooing.
The SS programme, however, had to be abruptly shut down after two months following vigorous protests by religious right-wing groups who, for once, found themselves on the same side as feminist and women’s rights groups and privacy activists, all of whom found the calculated masturbation of male citizens by strangers highly objectionable. While the religious right-wingers objected to the practice of male guards stimulating male citizens, feminists found the very idea of using female guards for mass masturbation of the male masses repugnant, while privacy activists objected to the state’s recording of the private parts of human beings. Also, with all the controversy surrounding the SS, security companies found it more and more difficult to find females willing to join the SS. The SS controversy became a national issue with political implications and the PM ultimately ordered the NSA to shut down the SS programme.
The NSA by then was already sitting on an AV database of 560 million penises, covering more than two-thirds of the sexually active male population of HAIR. He didn’t mind shutting it down too much. But cunningly, he kicked up a mega-stink over it, about how it was gross extraneous interference on a matter of national security that was best handled by experts, how this would compromise the safety of the HAIR union, etc., as a result of which nobody dared object when, two weeks later, the HAIR government issued an ordinance making it mandatory for every male citizen above the age of fourteen to carry a Unique Penis Identity (UPI) card with a recent passport-size photo of his erect penis – to be updated every eighteen months – on his person at all times, and kept available for inspection by state police officers on demand. A week later the ordinance was made into a law, the Penis Identity and Safety and Security Act, dubbed the PISS Act by the media.
Unlike the ordinance, however, the PISS Act made it mandatory to display, or submit a copy of, as applicable, the UPI card when applying for a gas connection, driving licence, voter ID, PAN card, or when opening a bank account, buying property, entering a stadium, restaurant, shopping mall, cinema hall, airport, train station, government office, court, brothel, or place of religious worship.
The PISS Act was a watershed in the cultural and social history of HAIR and the most radical and far-reaching legislation passed by the PM, who had been the Supreme Leader for forty years now, having won eight consecutive elections practically unopposed and defied both death and old age with his top-secret regimen of tantric yoga and anti-ageing quantum therapy developed by the Department of Science and Technology in partnership with SpermaPharma and Raytheon exclusively for the health and longevity of the HAIR PM and the safety and geostrategic security of the HAIR.
The BRF militants, however, continued to elude the ever-widening dragnet of the NSA. With the passing of the PISS Act, practically every male HAIRian should have had his penis in the PISS database. The gargantuan HAIR security establishment was at a loss to explain how the BRF terrorists could continue to function, let alone survive, without any of the identification documents, every one of which needed a UPI card to be validated. It was as if the guys did not have a penis at all, the NSA brooded, as he sat on the pot one morning, and that’s when it struck him – Yes! Of course! How could I have been so daft, he cursed himself. They could not be – were not – real penises. Their weapons were artificial, and probably detached and kept at home when these individuals – of indeterminate sex – went about their normal lives, donning their 21-inch WMDs only when they had to shoot their terroristic videos.
But what could they possibly do with this knowledge? He couldn’t possibly order a suspect profiling based on sex or gender, could he? No, he would be called all sorts of names by these blasted LGBTABCDEF-whatever groups.
The NSA called another emergency meeting of all the security and state police chiefs and announced his breakthrough. ‘Gentlemen, we are not looking for suspects with 21-inch-long penises, we are looking for suspects with access to 21-inch-long detachable penises. In other words, we need to get to those who specialize in detachable penises and track who they’ve been selling these items to.’
6
7
It was three in the morning when a group of seven beefy men in mufti broke into his apartment and arrested him in his bedroom. There was no knocking, no smashing of the main door. They quietly let themselves in, and stood over Satya, watching him sleep for a full two minutes before turning the lights on.
8
Strangely, the BRF attacks ceased after Satya’s arrest, and the media and public moved on to other, more important happenings. Satya was one of several hundred picked up by the NIA based on a computer-generated random sampling. He was let off after the SpermaPharma shareholders interceded on his behalf with the Central government, and paid a handsome bribe for his release.
Some elements in the BRF wanted to resume the attacks. But by now the risks were too high. Bukkake had become part of the cultural mainstream, with birthday parties and farewell parties routinely ending with a bukkake ceremony performed on the person whose birthday or farewell it was. Even wedding receptions had a bukkake going on side by side with orchestra and musical concerts, with all the male guests not only encouraged but expected to bukkake on a life-size sculpture of the bride embracing the groom – a practice that was said to aid the fertility of the couple.
And thus, a full two millennia after offering the world the Kama Sutra, HAIR became synonymous with bukkake, originally a Japanese invention, just as Japan became synonymous with Buddhism, a system invented originally in HAIR.