Oh Sharon!

Ever get that feeling that life is out to trip you up? Sharon Carter knows that feeling only too well. All she’s doing is trying to make a living and pay her bills. She steps out of her comfort zone to attend a talk that her best friend Ronnie has recommended. It has the most unforeseen outcome and she embarks on a roller coaster journey from Stockport to Sri Lanka with the mysterious Swami, a hypnotic and charismatic man in a purple robe.

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Oh, Sh**!

Suze Appleton

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Published by Susan Appleton

Smashwords Edition

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person please purchase an additional copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

Copyright 2011 Susan Appleton

The right of Susan Appleton to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted.

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

This book is also available in print from the author’s website www.suzeapple.co.uk

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Dedication

This book is dedicated to

the memory of my father,

Arthur James Appleton,

1922 – 2011

A lifelong dreamer

full of good ideas.

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Contents

1. The Talk

2 Meeting Swami

3 Work as usual

4 Meeting again

5 In the hotel

6 Letting go

7 Thinking it over

8 Finishing work

9 Loose ends

10 Take off

11 Getting into flight

12 Landing

13 Swami’s home

14 Home truths

15 Settling in

16 First Meditation

17 Rebellion

18 Communion

19 Preparation

20 Business

21 Stand in

22 Trouble

23 Thrown out

24 At the airport

25 Rescue

26 Pilgrimage

27 Sunrise

28 Leaving

29 Back home

30 Retreats

31 What next

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Chapter 1

As she walked up the stone steps of Stockport Town Hall, Sharon felt a sense of dread. What was she doing here? This was madness. All kinds of panicky thoughts went through her mind. Why was a mature, sensible woman like her coming here to listen to a quack speaker like this? What was she doing coming to a talk entitled ‘the Search for Something’. Search for my money, she thought crossly, making a mental note to have words with Ronnie in the morning at work for convincing her to come. Even his name didn’t sound right. Swami ben Napoleon Pratharma Hutt did not sound like a genuine enlightened being, but you never knew, she thought, wisdom had come in stranger packages through her life. She thought about all those slogans she had seen on vans driving past her. They had all sounded profound at the time and left her questioning what she was doing.

The one for Vodaphone, for example, ‘The Moment Is NOW’. That one had made her wonder what it was she should be doing NOW, especially when she had been in that dreary office at the time, listening to a really boring client whinge on about how unfortunate he was. Yes, she shouldn’t have been gazing out of the window at the time but that was beside the point.

Or the advert for Dodge cars, ‘If You Can Dream It, Do It’. Sharon could dream a lot of things, in fact that was all she was doing at the moment, dreaming of a better way of life, but she was a bit short on the doing bit. Especially when every time she did ‘do it’, ‘it’ came spectacularly unstuck and left her feeling either a fool or seriously out of pocket. Like the money she had spent five years ago on a course to become a life coach when she hadn’t had much money. It had been shortly after the divorce had left her desperately needing something to give her a boost. It had certainly done that, briefly, and in the process relieved her of a few thousand pounds.

Wow, they had swept her along with their enthusiasm, but it soon petered out when she actually wanted them to help. All she got then were the well tried platitudes about seizing the day or walking towards her dream. That was all very well for them. Their dream was extracting large amounts of cash from fools like her, for two days of cheerleading with everything except the pom poms. The course she went on had been full, and many of the facilitators were previous course participants. Obviously they had found the only market for the rabble rousing was to come back and sucker more fools into the ever growing, faintly incestuous, circle.

There were crowds here tonight too. Swami’s reputation had grown since he ‘arrived’ in the UK about six months ago. There were lots of rumours about him. Some reports said that he believed he was the reincarnation of Genghis Khan, having to spend this lifetime atoning for all the crimes of that lifetime. In his publicity material he simply said that his eyes had been opened by contact with a wider consciousness, and his life was dedicated to the message they asked him to bring to other humans. They regretted that it was necessary to charge to do this, but the cost was simply to cover the basic costs of the hall.

As Sharon entered the back of the hall and paid her £25 to the smiling young man in purple robes sitting at the payment desk she felt that they may have overestimated their basic costs a little. Many of the other two hundred or so people in the Town Hall ballroom seemed oblivious, dreamily clutching their illustrated books of The Word, which to Sharon looked remarkably like souvenir programmes. They swarmed to the front of the room, guided to empty seats by helpers wearing flowing purple robes. There did seem to be an awful lot of them, Sharon thought, as she took a seat near the back of the hall, but her friend Ronnie had told her to come tonight. He had been to a meeting in Ashton the previous week and was impressed. For two days he had floated round the office in a state of benevolence to everyone, until the photocopier broke for the tenth time. He was a little less benevolent towards that. It seemed the Swami’s word didn’t cover inanimate objects so that was alright.

A large older woman in a long green raincoat squeezed past Sharon to sit next to her on the other side. Sharon noticed she had tried to incorporate purple into her outfit, possibly to feel like she belonged in the club, but the effect of a lurid purple scarf against the drab green raincoat just made Sharon feel a little nauseous. She managed to smile politely at the woman without making eye contact. Unfortunately it was all the opening the woman wanted.

‘Hello dear, I haven’t seen you here before, is this your first time? I’ve been coming to all the Swami’s talks round here, he’s just fantastic. I always get such a buzz’ she enthused. ‘It wears off by the time I get home though,’ she finished wistfully.

Sharon wondered why the woman didn’t sit at the front if she was so keen but she was much too polite to ask, so she nodded quietly, hoping that the woman would shut up now. She cursed her luck at attracting the chatty people. It happened to her everywhere she went. Sometimes she felt she had a neon sign over her head saying ‘Talk Here’ and an arrow pointing at her head. She had come to listen to the speaker and hoped that the woman would not feel the need to give her any kind of conversation, thinking she was a kindred spirit. Unfortunately the woman took the nod to be an interest in making conversation.

‘I like sitting here at the back. It means you can watch the whole thing and enjoy it, like watching a show. And besides,’ she lowered her voice and leaning closer to Sharon as if confiding a great secret she added, ‘it means I get out quick for the bus. There’s nothing like standing in the cold at a bus stop to damp down the buzz faster than a whippet off the leash.’

Sharon made some non committal noises to indicate that she was listening, a practise she used a lot at work when clients just wanted to sound off at someone and Sharon was the one they picked to vent themselves at. She just had to hope this woman would run out of steam before the Swami came on. Joan, as the woman introduced herself to be before extracting Sharon’s name out of her, settled herself in her seat, bringing out a bag of toffees, a bottle of juice and finally some sandwiches which she spread out on the next seat. When a quiet looking man asked if the seat was free, Joan made up some story about waiting for her husband to arrive.

‘Not that there’s any way I could get my Bert to come to one of these things, you know,’ she confided in Sharon after the man had found a seat on the other side of the aisle, ‘he thinks this is all a load of twaddle, you know. But that’s okay, he has his golf and this year I have my Swami. It could be worse, I could be betting on horses or drinking myself to death, couldn’t I, eh?’ She leaned over again to Sharon. ‘Would you like a sweet, love? Or do you fancy a tuna sandwich? It does go on a bit you know. This first bit is all a kind of warm up from all those helpers. It’s still good, though, you’ll like it.’ And she tucked into her sandwich, happily looking round the room for people she knew.

Sharon felt really nauseous now as the smell of tuna wafted over her. It was a food she couldn’t stand. Even the smell was enough to turn her stomach and now she was trapped next to this woman breathing it all over her. She looked round towards the door to see if she could escape, get her money back and go. She was already feeling stupid. She had come for some genuine philosophy and here was this woman treating it like it was her favourite cabaret. Sharon was feeling ripped off by the twenty five pound entrance charge even though she had managed to resist the extras of all the religious texts and purple items, which was a very busy sideline that had been crowded as she went past. Practicality was now beginning to close in on her like a damp fog.

Why was she sitting here, in a town hall ballroom, on a cold November night, expecting this man to give her the answer she was looking for? And what was she looking for? Love, purpose, meaning? Where had it all gone wrong? When had she stopped being a happy person? When had she lost her sense of humour, of fun?

Deep in thought she didn’t notice at first that Joan had stopped talking and, holding her hands in prayer, was gazing at a spot just above Sharon’s head. Sharon lifted her head up and turned to see what was so interesting. She found herself looking into pair of deep turquoise eyes, in the kindest face she had ever seen. She didn’t know why it was the kindest face she had ever seen, she just felt kindness washing over her in such depth that she felt tears form in the corners of her eyes.

The eyes and face belonged to a tall, statuesque man, dressed in the most translucent purple she had ever seen. His whole body seemed to radiate and she was stunned at how impressive he was. His long dark hair flowed over the robe on his broad shoulders which Sharon could imagine covered a strong physique under the robe. He stood with his well tanned hands held in prayer in front of his chest. He gave her the slightest nod and began to move on towards the front of the hall.

‘Swami,’ murmured Joan, ‘Swami, we love you!’

The call was echoed through the hall as he glided to the front, smiling at some, putting his hands gently on the shoulders of others. His helpers were on the stage now and like a gospel choir they were gently swaying and singing gently. Swami turned briefly when he got to the front, waved then disappeared through a side door by the stage.

One of the helpers moved forward and took the microphone to start the show. One by one they came to the microphone to tell their story of conversion to the teachings of the guru Swami. They told their stories of how their lives had changed; how they themselves were so much happier and they had lost all their problems with the new way of looking at the world. One had worked for the local income tax office where he had spent his working life dealing with angry people all day, but the teachings of Swami had shown him his true path, what his ‘Something’ was, even though he had not realised he was looking for it. It felt like being at a gospel meeting, Sharon thought, with lots of cheering and applauding, even if it was mainly coming from the front row of seats.

Sharon found herself applauding along with the rest of the crowd. It was hard not to, with Joan digging her with her elbow every time. Some of them were genuine triumphs and Sharon saw echoes of her own life in the things they had overcome, like debt, divorce and illness. Some of the audience members from the front few rows were declaring their intents to follow Swami. One decided to give up his job as a social worker and, as he said, ‘save himself instead’. Another one decided he was finishing with his mistress and asking his wife to forgive him. He knew she truly loved him and wanted him back.

This continued on for about ninety minutes until they were all exhausted. Just when Sharon felt like a limp rag from the emotion running round the room, the sound of a gong rang out and the lights went down. All the helpers in purple robes fell silent, bowing their heads and clasping their hands in prayer as they stood in a line at the back of the stage. The gong continued to sound slowly, becoming louder and louder, until it was deafening. Sharon put her hands over her ears but still it vibrated through her. A single spotlight lit the centre of the stage and into the light glided Swami ben Napoleon Prathama Hutt. Well, Sharon could swear he glided. He didn’t seem to walk like a normal person. He just seemed to appear. She was spellbound, absolutely entranced by this figure on the stage. Even from this distance she could see his vivid turquoise eyes glittering in the light.

The gong suddenly stopped. Swami raised his hands then lowered them, which seemed to be a signal to sit down. Sharon took her cues from Joan as she seemed to know what was coming next. Sharon heard a sigh and looked to her side. Joan was transfixed, loving every minute and she was beaming with delight. Swami spoke, only quietly, but the sound system gave his voice had a resonance that carried through the hall, right to the back where Sharon sat. It felt as though he was standing next to her, talking only to her.

‘Welcome friends, and friends we have yet to meet. I thank you for your welcome to me, it has been most warm. And yet do not forget that in welcoming me you are welcoming yourselves for I am the same as you, every one of you. We are all searching for the same thing and we all possess the same thing. It is always there for the asking. I am only a conduit to the power that you already have. I hope you have all read the printed words we have provided for you. These are your guide when you doubt yourself or can’t feel the connection. Use them often to provide you with inspiration in your daily lives. These words are only one form of the understanding I wish to give you as a gift.’

The thought flashed through Sharon’s mind that it was more like an opportunity to purchase than a gift but it seemed such a churlish thought in the face of all this enthusiasm that it scuttled hurriedly away. He continued speaking about The Search and The Something, repeatedly referring to the booklet, the one that Sharon hadn’t bought, until finally he paused, lifting his hands higher in prayer, at which everyone stood up. And now, for the benefit of those who are new here, those who may not be sure why they found their way here tonight, can we please repeat together the mantra on page twenty-four of the text.’

Sharon was stung by the shame of not buying the programme. How could she have been so penny pinching that she would not spend the paltry ten pounds on such an apparently vital piece of information, even though it had seemed reasonable at the time to ignore it? If only she had known. Luckily Joan was happy to share her copy. The mantra was a simple one but it continued for two or three pages, talking about love and meaning and everyone being as one. By the end Sharon wasn’t sure what the exact meaning was, but she did feel it was telling her something important. It seemed to make her daily concerns at work seem so meaningless, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on what it was she should be doing, just that she was doing it wrong at the moment.

After the mantra it was time for reflection. The devotees on stage began swaying in a line, humming softly with an occasional Oh yeah from one, which was echoed by the others. For Joan it was time to finish off her tea, so there was a bit of rustling coming from their corner of the room. Sharon felt so embarrassed and kept her head down, as she had been taught to do for prayers in Sunday school. Once, she chanced to look towards the stage where Swami sat cross-legged staring directly towards them. As their eyes met she thought she saw the trace of a frown on Swami’s face but it was hard to tell from where she was.

The chorus line on the stage started to sing more energetically as Swami smoothly stood up. They joined hands and Sharon found Joan reaching for hers. A chant began to travel round the room and Sharon joined in as well as she could although she wasn’t sure what the words were. It was gobbledygook to her, even though Joan was trying to mouth the words to her.

‘Om – day – laow – ree -how – dee – crip – dom – yaow.’

The chant rose louder and louder and Sharon could hear the gong starting again, softly this time, beating time for the chant. It became louder and louder, the chant rising with the gong until everyone in the room was shouting at the top of their lungs. Just as abruptly as it had before the gong stopped and so did the chanting. Everyone except Sharon, who was swept away, eyes closed, shouting at the top of her voice.

‘Oh my days love real houses down y’ere.’

As she heard her voice, at full volume, echo round the hall she stopped and opened her eyes.

‘Oh shit,’ she whispered.

She sat back in her chair, cringing behind the people in the next row. Swami’s clapped his hands and bowed. As the rest of the hall turned to bow to him in reply, Sharon felt the blood rush from her feet into her face and wanted to stay with her face to the floor but unfortunately Joan was in a rush to get past her.

‘Excuse me dear, must get a move on or them lot from the front will fill the bus. Don’t worry about getting the words wrong, you weren’t to know luvvie, you just have to count the gongs then you know. He’s on in Altrincham next week you know if you fancy another go. Must dash, if I don’t get that ten past bus Bert will be convinced I’m having an affair. It’s been lovely to meet you. Bye now.’

And Joan pushed her way past her, through the crowd pouring out of the hall and was gone. Sharon sat down, pretending to be looking through her bag on the floor as everyone was looking at her on their way out. The quiet man who had wanted to sit next to Joan gave her a particularly pitying look which really annoyed her. Suddenly she noticed a purple robe at the other end of the row of seats. He waved her over and motioned for her to follow him.

‘Guru Swami would like to speak with you. Please come with me.’

Sharon cringed.

Oh sh**!

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back to contents

Chapter 2

Sharon followed the boy in the purple robe through the door to behind the stage. All she could see at first were all the helpers rushing about, not looking quite as angelic as they had on stage, packing up the display from the stage. As they moved a huge speaker away she saw Swami, sitting in a meditative pose, looking as though he was floating serenely above the ground. He was sitting on a circular cushion of white lambswool inside a tepee of draped purple muslin, staring into the flame of a thick white candle burning on the floor in front of him.

The boy, a youth of about eighteen with a face full of angry looking acne and a shock of ginger hair, bowed deeply about three feet away from Swami and nodded at Sharon to do the same. Mesmerised, Sharon found herself making a bow, although she felt a bit stupid, but having embarrassed herself once tonight, she did not want to do it again by doing the wrong thing. They stood together, waiting patiently while Swami finished his meditation, although the beatific smile on the youth’s face began to look like a fixed grin, and his robes were rustling as he fidgeted. Sharon noticed him take a very surreptitious look at his watch, maybe he needed to catch the last bus as well, she wondered.

Suddenly, without looking up Swami spoke.

‘Thank you Jay-son. You can go and join the others now. Namaste, Jay-son.’

They bowed to each other and Jason backed out of the area. In one smooth movement he turned and simultaneously picked up a large cardboard on his way to join the others in packing up the van.

‘Welcome. May I ask the name of my special guest?’

Sharon felt the slightest twinge of repulsion at this title, but she felt obliged to answer this obviously superior being who had singled her out of the crowd.

‘Erm, it’s Sharon, er Namaste, er, Swami. Look I’m sorry if I got the words wrong before, I didn’t mean to offend anyone, it’s just that I hadn’t bought a programme and I didn’t know…’

The words tailed off as he put his hand gently on her arm. She felt as though an electric shock had gone right through her body, leaving her dizzy and disorientated.

‘Ooh, what was that?’ She yelped then felt her head start to spin. ‘I feel a bit funny, I think I need to sit down, I feel all kind of…’ She felt herself slumping to the ground as she passed out. When she opened her eyes she had her head on the lambs wool cushion, with her feet on