Daniil Andreev. «The Rose of the World»
Book XI. On the Metahistory of the Twentieth Century

XI. Chapter 3. Dark Shepherd

In his astounding poem “Prediction”, which the young Lermontov wrote in 1830, he talks about the uncrowning of the royal dynasty, of the people’s renunciation of their former rulers, and the rape and pillage that would sweep across the country. Amid all this mayhem, as he continues, there would appear a “grim-faced powerful man” with “a Damascus steel knife” in his hands who would jeer at all the sufferings.

In another edition of the poem’s ending, this man wears “a black cloak” and has “a majestic face” replacing “the inclining plume” of the original version. Either way, the last line testifies to Lermontov’s inability to see clearly through the womb of the coming century. “The inclining plume” is but a tribute to youthful romanticism, the transference of an “artifact” onto the future era. “The black cloak” is a poetic metaphor standing for the pitch-black darkness, which would envelop this ghastly figure lurking in the haze and clouds a whole century away. As for “the noble face”, here we may deal with a characteristic trait of Lermontov’s Demon transferred upon an uncannily powerful and deeply demonized human being. Or, perhaps, it is an indication that the poet’s prophetic vision has two historical figures of the coming century merge into a single image – they as though overlap on the time continuum, for Lermontov could not clearly differentiate between the dark giant and his noble-faced predecessor.

Two years before the revolution of 1905, another poet, this time Alexander Blok, wrote another poem. In the beginning of it, he describes, and rather precisely at that, the atmosphere in society just before the revolution. Yet, this description abruptly slips into a portrait of a “dark, malevolent, and ferocious pacifier of the people” that “drives people to the unknown abysses” with “an iron staff” in hand. The poem concludes with “Oh, God! Away from this fate!”

Yet, dodging this fate was too late. The appearance of this being had been predetermined too long ago and by too formidable forces coming from the infracosmos. Russian literature of the nineteenth century has another prediction of him, even more staggering considering that, among other things, it belongs to the author who was far from the metahistorical ideas and premonitions of the distant future. It was written in the form of prose, not poetry, and its content is so profound that I will have to depart from the rule which I normally adhere to in this writing: to not overindulge in citations. I feel compelled to give a whole series of them and only regret that the boundaries of this book cannot contain everything which concerns the forewarning about this being in a rather well-known work of the Russian classics (“The History of a Town” by Saltykov-Shchedrin, translator’s note).

“This is a man of an average stature with a wooden-like face… coal-black hair covers his conical skull and tightly rims – just like a yarmulke – his narrow… forehead. His eyes are… crested with somewhat swollen lids. His glance is clear and unwavering. His lips are thin, pale, and fluffed with a trimmed bristle of moustache. His jaws are developed but have no stark predatory expression. Rather, there is an inexplicable aura about them to crush or bite something asunder. He dons a buttoned-up military style frockcoat.”

You read this – and cringe. What is this? When and whom was it written about? It was written in the 1860’s. Yet, why is there such an incredible coincidence with the appearance, which our generation, unlike the people of the 1860’s, is so well familiar? Let’s read on:

“This face is questionless. On the contrary, all its features emanate some soldier-like, imperturbable confidence that all questions have long been cleared. What are these questions? How have they been cleared?... Perhaps, this is a question of the all-out extermination or, maybe, of simply having all people develop protuberated, wheel-shaped chests? Nothing is certain. It is only evident that this unknown question is going to be cleared at any cost. As such an unnatural timing of the known to the unknown is bound to entangle further on, the only consequence of this state of affairs is the total panic of fear.”

“The viewer’s gaze meets an idiot of the purest kind that made some macabre resolution and gave an oath to himself to deliver on it... When idiocy is complemented with authority, the task of safeguarding society becomes immensely complicated.”

“Ugryum-Burcheev numbered among the most fanatical neutralizers. Having drawn a straight line, he set to compress the visible and invisible worlds into it so that it would become impossible to move either forward or back, either turn left or right.” (*1) “There is nothing more dangerous than the imagination of a scoundrel that has no restraints whatsoever and is totally unperturbed with a prospect of corporal punishment. Once excited, it shakes off any yoke of reality and starts presenting the most grandiose undertakings to its bearer”. Ugryum-Burcheev (from Russian, ugryumiy or «угрюмый» translates as grim, and Burcheev seems to be a derivative of burchat’ – “бурчать” – which means to mumble, t/n) was “a scoundrel down to his core, by all his thoughts… Having ramified with an impenetrable mesh of roots and offshoots, a virtuosic linearity sat tight in his somber head like a willow stake. It was a mysterious forest filled with magical dreams. Mysterious shadows filed monotonously one after another; buttoned-up and trimmed, they just kept on walking in their uniform attires… Well ahead of their arrival to Glupov (a derivative of glupiy – “глупый” – translated as foolish from Russian, so Glupov basically means “Stupid Town”, t/n), they had already sketched out a whole systemized drivel in their heads, down to the smallest detail, of how to organize and regulate life in this ill-starred municipium.”

*1 Hardly did it occur to Saltykov-Shchedrin (a prominent Russian writer and satirist of the nineteenth century, t/n) that this striving to compress everything into a single straight line may have been a glimpse of his reminiscence of the milieu in the one-dimensional Pit of Shadanakar.

“The next day upon his arrival, he [Ugryum Burcheev] walked about the whole town… It was a long walk, his hand stretching out and his mind busy with scheming all along. Only when his gaze met the river, he felt that something out of the ordinary had happened to him. He forgot… he did not foresee anything like

this… A meandering strip of the liquid steel sparkled into his eyes, and not only did it not disappear – neither did it stop in its track under the gaze of this administrative basilisk.

– Who is there? – he asked, terrified.

Yet, the river continued with its murmur, and there was something tempting, almost ominous about it.”

“…At home, it took him only a minute to roundly resolve the question. He set to accomplish two equally marvelous feats: to destroy the town and eliminate the river. The means for performing the first feat had been already thought out; the other feat loomed vague and fragmentary. Yet, as there was no force in nature to convince this scoundrel in whatsoever ignorance of his, this ignorance was not only equipotent to but, in a sense, even more solid than knowledge. He was neither a technician, nor an engineer. Yet, he was a staunch scoundrel, and this is also a kind of force capable of conquering the world.”

“The town lay low; the air was stale and muggy. He did not make any arrangements, did not voice any thoughts, did not share his plans with anyone yet, but all understood – it was the end.”

As all those who have read Shchedrin know, the end began from the complete destruction of the old town and dumping all wreckage debris, including the dung, by the riverside.

“Finally, the craved-for moment arrived… Having summoned budochniks (low-rank policemen in the Russian Empire, t/n), he brought them to the river’s bank, step-measured the space, pointed with his eyes to the flow, and said in a clear voice:

– From here – to there!

However much were the commoners browbeaten, yet even they felt agitated. By then, only the human-made had been destroyed, but now there came the turn for something eternal, not of human making…

– Go! – he ordered to the budochniks glancing down the wavering crowd.

The fight with nature commenced.”

The fight with nature!.. According to a widespread opinion, Shchedrin rendered, albeit satirically, the image Arakcheev in Ugryum-Burcheev. They say there is a certain similarity between the Shchedrin’s character and the image of the detestable favorite. They also find there a caricature of military settlements, which Ugryum-Burcheev entertained in his administrative and town-building designs. It is also clear that another real historical personage, another despot was reflected in this image that was even closer to Shchedrin chronologically – Nikolai I. Yet… fighting with nature? Neither Arakcheev, nor Nikolai I wiped out entire towns so as to build new ones along their half-witted gridded outlines. Neither one, nor the other mobilized the entire populace for a meaningless and blind fight with nature.

Finally, the heaps of rubbish dammed up the river.

“There was a sound of crackling, whistling, and some monstrous gurgling… Then all quietened down. The river stopped for a minute and then started overflowing across the meadow side. By the evening, the overflow was so tremendous that its boundaries were nowhere to be seen while the water continued to rise. A hum was heard from somewhere; it seemed that entire villages were being crushed under the accompaniment of screams, moans, and curses. Hay stacks, logs, rafts, wreckage of village houses were floating and, having reached the dam, piling up in one spot.”

It is known that Ugryun-Burcheev’s designs were dashed the following morning. Overnight, the river washed out and carried away the dam and was now coursing again within its banks. Then the bewildered reformer decided to abandon the river and build the dreamed-of town Nepreklonsk (it can be translated as “Unyielding Town”, t/n) in a new place, on a smooth lowland. There, finally, overcome with sleepiness, he lay down holding an axe in his hand.

“Emaciated, humiliated, and ruined Glupovo residents breathed freely again after a long break. They looked at each other and, all of a sudden, felt ashamed. They did not understand what exactly had happened around them, but they felt that the air was filled with obscenities, and it was impossible to breathe it any longer. Did they have a history? Were there any moments in this history when they could express their independence? They remembered nothing. They could only recall to have had Urus-Kugush-Kil’dibaevy, Negodyaevy (a derivative of “negodyai” or villain, t/n), Borodavkiny (can be translated as “the warty ones”, t/n), and, to add insult to injury, this awful, graceless scoundrel! And all these smothered, gnawed, and ripped them with teeth – for the sake of what? Their chests were flushed with blood, their faces cringed in rage when recalling the graceless idiot that had come God knows from where, with an axe in hand and inscrutable impudence to pass a verdict on the past, present, and future…”

Ugryum-Burcheev awakened and resumed erecting Nepreklonsk, but the atmosphere had subtly changed. “He grew suspicious. He was stunned with silence during the day and rustle during the night. At twilight, he saw some shadows roaming about the town and disappearing God knows where. At sunrise, the very shadows reappeared in the town and promptly ran off home. This phenomenon repeated several days in a row, and every time he was about to leave his house and investigate into the cause of the nightly tumult, but each time a superstitious fear held him back.”

Citations have come to a close.

Surprising about them, of course, is not the fact that the great satirist gave a one-sided, unrealistic, and sharply grotesque image taken to monstrosity. That is a day’s job for a satirist. What is surprising is that, having started out from concrete historical figures of the past, figures of a lower stature, he had preempted a colossal figure of the future in his writing. Of course, he had depicted it only from the angle likening it to the Russian despots of the past. Yet, long, acute, and much anguished peering of the thinker into images typical of Russian history and its tendencies had led him to prophesize of the one, in whom the tyrannical tendency, which had shown up in Biron, Pavel, Arakcheev, and Nikolai I, would reach a climax only in the future – there would appear someone at the heights of power who, in one of his most essential aspects, would resemble Ugryum-Burcheev more than all his other precursors.

The great tyrants of Russian history, such as Ivan the Terrible and Nikolai I, were instruments of the demon of “greatpower” statehood – and just that. This exhausted their metahistorical significance, except that in the first period of his reign, Ivan IV had been an instrument of the demiurge, while in the second his will was aligned with Velga’s. The next Zhrugr would have Stalin as his instrument, too. Yet, by no means would this exhaust Stalin’s metahistorical role.

However great was Russia under Ivan the Terrible and, especially, under Nikolai I, her victories and defeats, the waxing or waning of her power had a direct impact only upon a limited geographical area: Middle Europe, as well as the Near and Middle East. The belligerent Russian ideology of the first two Zhrugrs – the idea of the Third Rome and the concept of “autocracy, Orthodoxy, and nationalism” were marked with parochialism, both national and confessional. It well agreed with the then stage of technical development and the level of international ties in the world, which humanity had achieved by then. Yet, the ties were strengthening and branching out. As for technological achievements, having brought continents closer together and caused the warlike neighbors to bump foreheads just like rams hitting one another, they had changed the very notion of geographical space. For the first time, Russia found herself at the vanguard of history, and this was the very minute when the international Doctrine gained prominence inside the country. Russia became the first country armed with such an ideology that could potentially sweep across the whole globe. Moreover, the Doctrine’s inner impulse presupposed precisely such a planetwide expansion. When we talk about global empires or the global pretensions of great conquerors of the past from Genghis Khan to Napoleon and the British Empire, we use the word “global” in its conventional sense. Revolutionary Russia with her Doctrine was the first bearer of the global tendency in its absolute sense. The secret of its influence was that, unlike the dream of establishing the hegemony of a certain people (this dream is utopian, for no people is numerous enough to realize it), now the idea of an international commonwealth of nations was put forth. This commonwealth was to be bound together with a new social order, which was to spread like fire all over the world as a result of revolutionary outbreaks. The galvanizing, liberating significance of this concept for the countries outside of Russia was immense, especially for the colonies and half-colonies of the East and South. In some countries, it all gradually unfolded as outlined in Moscow; other countries underwent these changes, for the most part, thanks to the Soviet army’s bayonets. There were quite a few countries, such as India or Burma, wherein this revolutionizing principle dramatically changed its ethical and political coloration. Be that as it may, not only the Russian suprapeople’s masses but also other suprapeoples, other nations became actively involved in these revolutionary or transformational activities. Russia only strived, whenever possible, to keep to her guiding role (occasionally, she succeeded in doing this, but, over time, her prominence increasingly faded).
This is only natural, for not only the third witzraor of Russia loomed behind the images of both leaders of revolutionary Russia – there towered also the shadow of an incomparably more formidable planetary being, the executor of the great demonic plan called Urparp.

Yet, the significance, roles, and nature of these two human instruments essentially differed.

One of them was a human (Vladimir Lenin, t/n), just like nearly all bearers of light-filled or dark missions are. Of course, his shelt and all other components of his being had been tampered with for many years, if not centuries, so as to turn him into an obedient tool of the will. Despite all this, his personal monad remained untouched and still hovered in its multi-sun Iroln. His human image, his mold, to a certain degree, invariably reflected the light of this monad, however many barriers were put between the monad and the human being by his demonic nurturers. His mold even featured traits, which seemed an obstacle for his mission. Yet, these could not be stifled altogether. This man did not become either bloodthirsty or actively cruel. He zealously believed in the Doctrine and worked not for some egotistical end but in the pursuit of this very ideal. He loved the Russian people and the whole of humanity in his own, collectively abstract way, with his wistful-intellectual love. He was well-meaning as he understood this “well”. If he took to rather harsh measures and was quite ruthless at times, this was dictated not by some vengefulness or inhumanity of his own, but by his conviction that such was the sad reality of the revolution. He did not take pleasure in bloodshed or inflicting sufferings as such. Even when he was seriously wounded in a terrorist attack against him and this nearly cost him his life, the leader found the moral power and sufficient political acumen, perhaps, even humanness to insist on imprisonment rather than execution of the political she-criminal. He had a fatherly concern for his party members. As for dealing with leaders of oppositional movements inside the party, he never took to measures other than the heat of discussions, admonitions, and throwing around the weight of his authority. Political figures that repeatedly expressed their dissenting views, whether it be Trotsky, Zinoviev, or Bukharin, nonetheless, remained active members of the party’s elite and carried a tremendous load in the general party and state activities.

Many a time, Lenin’s interference averted overmuch sever punishments or too drastic measures of the local authorities, which testifies to the fact that universal feelings of pity, compassion, and justice were not foreign to this leader. He had absorbed the democratic ideals of the preceding generations too earnestly; he was too refined to be turned into a tyrant. His attitude toward the so-called “national minorities” also proves the case: his instructions are suffused with so much care so as to not prick their national pride – morbidly sensitive owing to agelong oppression – that one cannot help marveling how these directives became trampled over by his successor (Stalin, t/n) so blatantly and cynically.

Lenin was an internationalist not in word but in deed. In many regards, he was an implementer of the dark mission. Yet, he deeply believed that his activities were aimed at the good of humanity.

Another nature and another pre-existence shaped the second leader (Stalin, t/n) in a totally different cast.

Every incarnation of this being had been a rehearsal of sorts. The penultimate time he had appeared on the historical arena in the same form, as Dostoevsky, with his genius metahistorical sagacity, had impressed upon his Great Inquisitor. He was not Torquemada or some other bigwig of this satanic experience; neither did he belong to the rank and file. He appeared when the political wave was on the wane. Over the years, it had become obvious to him that turning the Catholic Church into an obedient instrument of Gagtungr, into a pathway toward planetwide tyranny was impossible. Yet, his experience with and activities in the vein of the inquisition gave much to this being, developed in him the thirst for power, the thirst for blood, and sadistic cruelty. This also charted out the means of communication between the inspiration of Gagtungr or, more precisely, of Urparp, and his waking consciousness. The inspiration came to be apprehended not only subconsciously as before but, at times, it was poured directly into the compass of his waking mind. There is a special term – “khokhha”. It means the satanic delight, that is, a kind of ecstatic state when a human being enters into communication with high-echelon demonic forces not while asleep, not in a trance-like state but while being fully conscious. In sixteenth century’s Spain, only this being had access to khokhha. It had reached the level of conscious satanism.

In-between this incarnation and the next, this being first stayed, of course, in the Pit wherein its shelt, together with the astral body had been thrown down by the load of his terrible karma. Then it moved up to Gashsharva: extricated from the Pit by Urparp and his servants, the antichrist in-the-making had been preparing there for his next incarnation over more than two hundred years. Just as a reminder: the monad of a great Roman emperor once stolen from Iroln by Gagtungr himself still languished in captivity in the depth of the purple ocean, in Digm, while “the beheaded shelt” stayed in a lethargic stupor of sorts in one of the dungeons of Gashsharva.

It appears, however, that deep inside this being, despite its conscious adoration of Gagtungr, there was a spark or, to put it differently, there lurked a shadow of a doubt in its choice. Or, perhaps, it was just an instinctive fear of an inconceivably dreadful catastrophe in the wake of the coming apotheosis. Thus or otherwise, this sparkle was finally put out at the beginning of its new earthly existence. Born in a poor religious family, in a little village in a small country on the border between Asia and Europe, this being saw again the light of the day. As early as in its teens, it bid good-bye to everything that directly or indirectly tied it to Christianity. It had seemed that Providential forces had opened the doors of salvation to it once again by enabling its journey as a priest into the folds of the church. Yet, what prospects could this humble road offer to a being possessed with an impulse for world rule? Preparation for the spiritual pathway – in both senses – was done away with once and for all. It is also possible that this choice, essentially, had been made even earlier in Gashsharva, and now it just found its consonant expression in Enrof. The object of the agelong nurturement of the devil joined the revolutionary movement in Caucasus and roundly scrutinized the Doctrine. It became obvious to him that he would hardly find a better disguise and a more fitting program for the first steps of seizing power.

Yet, why was this being, which had been destined to rule over Russia, born not in a Russian family but in the womb of another, peripheral, and small nation? Obviously, for the selfsame reasons that Napoleon had been born not of France but as a Corsican, not as an inheritor, in blood and spirit, of the great French culture and national character but as a twice usurper: he seized the power without the social consent and in total disregard of inheritance rights, and he did this in a country other than his own at that. Both Corsica and Georgia were severe, mountainous, and culturally backward countries wherein human life cost little, and any conflict outgrew into a bloodletting confrontation. So the geography did its part having instilled in these two spawns a deep contempt for the value of human life, burning vengefulness, inability to forgive, and the stunning ease of using arms pertinent to the native-born of their countries. In order to fulfill their destinies in France and Russia, both beings had to be as if foreign bodies in their homelands, unattached with any irrational, innermost, spiritual ties to the peoples that were to become the arena of their activities and, in the main, their victims. One had to come with “an axe in hand God knows from where, with unspeakable impudence” to act like a conqueror on the conquered land.

Louis XIV cold-bloodedly waged his wars identifying the state with himself and sending thousands of Frenchmen to their doom. Peter the Great sacrificed tens of thousands of serfs for the construction of Petersburg. Lenin worked for the sake of world revolution, which would have claimed millions of lives. Yet, throwing nearly a half of the male populace of France into the furnace of unflagging wars, all to expand the personal domain; sacrificing ten millions of Russian soldiers at the least, in order to save the unhallowed throne, putting one fifth of the county’s populace behind barbed wire, and being ready to turn the most beautiful towns and most flourishing places of the country into a lunar landscape, all to establish his personal reign over the entire planet – no, neither, Louis IX, nor Peter the Great, nor Lenin would have dared to do that. They had the same blood running in their veins as what their peoples would shed; they shared the same cultural values as their nations; they held dear the past and future of their precious, sweet, and irreplaceable countries.

Yet, “the father of lies” had been preparing his spawn over centuries and never told it, of course, the whole truth, neither about his ultimate goal and possibilities, nor about the purpose of each individual stage of the preparation. When making arrangements for his last incarnation, the great demonic mind was aware that the conditions in Enrof had not yet ripened for the antichrist’s reign, and the candidate was totally unprepared for this role either. His being could not yet contain those superhuman gifts, which the ruler of the world would have required. The organs, which were to develop in his material vessel, were still at the embryonic stage. There was no room yet to implant scientific genius, statesmanship genius, artistic genius, and that of dark religiosity. For the aptitude for khokhha itself, is insufficient to clothe diabolic inspiration into such forms of the great quasi-religion that would be appealing to humanity. Urparp knew like no one else, that a dress rehearsal should have been done before the main performance. Yet, the spawn was to be instilled with an illusion that it was going to be the actual spectacle and he would achieve his global goal if he played his role well. Such an illusion would have been a great incentive for the actor to play at his full capacity, that is, to play the leading role in the global revolutionary movement.

When peering at a child portrait of this spawn, one may be overcome with an eerie feeling. Such a stark contrast with the face of the little Lenin! There is nothing of the boy, nothing of the child in it!.. Its uncanny forehead is much lowered and tightened with a rim of black, slick hair pulled over “like a yarmulke” so that this would seem a sign of degeneration, if it were not for the stunning conical form of its skull that, unlike smoothly rounding back, rises higher and higher, up to the very crown. Capering off, it ends with a protuberance, which speaks of a high mystical giftedness. The chin is oblong and narrow; later, it would broaden. The nose is belligerently protruding. The outlines of the dry and pale, pursed lips emanate persistence, heartlessness, and strange, insensitive obtusity. As for the intensely misplaced eyes, they are so stern, cocksure, and inimical that such a look would hardly ever have come from a child.

The portrait of this being, now as a grown-up man, of course, had been in our face for thirty years. There was no way of making a step without seeing it right, left, or in the front. And it is hard to get rid of being accustomed to his face, of the many associations that his face strikes, and to look at these features without being unbiased. In the majority of his portraits, the leader’s eyes are slightly squinted and are as though half-closed with somewhat swollen lids. At times, there is a grimace that duly imitates a kindly, cunning half-grin, the one that Lenin used to have. Sometimes, he is as though intensely peering into the distance. Only in the portrait by Brodsky (Daniil Andreev may have mixed up artists; most likely, it was Pavel Filonov, t/n), are Stalin’s eyes properly opened: pitch-black darkness, ferocious and formidable, stares out from there. Thick, back-swept hair covers the abnormal skull; the famed moustache softens the too revealing outline of the lips. It must be said that the moustache as such gave a tinge of no small importance: the tinge of some vulgar primitivity, as if the owner of the moustache took pride in his masculine coarseness and cultivated it within himself. The narrow oval of the childish face had long been replaced with a well-defined square: this can be explained with a gradual development of the crushingly strong jaws capable, it seems, of grinding stones. Incredible willpower has impressed itself upon this face, and so too infinite cocksureness. Not a single touch of spirituality, even of developed sensitivity shows in these facial features. Only hard-hitting insidiousness, coupled with unintelligible obtusity is discernible in these features, and there is something else quite bewildering and worrisome: the skull! The skull! What do these uncanny protuberances of the head contain, what are these unique proportions all about?

Insidiousness, willpower, obtusity, and inhumanness – these qualities alone do not suffice to leave a trace in history comparable to his. There must also be the gifts of the highest order. Perhaps, voice, timbre, and diction – something nonvisual – testify to these talents? Yet, all of us, his contemporaries, heard this non-vibrant, slow-paced, and obtuse automatic voice emasculated of nuances, this diction of an Easterner, who had not managed to master the proper Russian language.

What is he? Is he really an idiot? In this case, when and where, except in the town of Glupov, could an idiot become the absolute sovereign in a huge country? Not by right of birth but through his own efforts at that? In order to seize the power, to single-handedly rule in a humongous state for three decades, and make entire continents tremble, one has to feature something else apart from idiocy.

For now, let’s leave this portrait and take a closer look at the biography of the statesman.

Despite the explicit and clear will of Lenin, which cautioned the party against giving too wide a mandate to this lover of “spicy food”, the lover managed to push around all other contenders that had much greater merits; through a mesh of exquisite intrigues, he led all his rivals to their undoing, either through execution or ostracism; he did not fail to squash like insects all oppositional groups inside the party and beyond; he found a way to grind the intelligentsia – the nursery of dissidence – into powder and, in their stead, created his own equivalent of this cultural layer; he destroyed the outer shrouds and forms of religion having forced it to serve faithfully to the interests of its master; he managed to create such a cultural regime, in which even daredevils were rid of the possibility to raise their voices against the regime; he set up a security service that safeguarded its master from poison, daggers, bullets, and bombs; he had several million people imprisoned, just in case; he had the rest of the populace merge their voices in paeans of endless praise to him and only him, the beloved, wise, and dear – oh, in order to accomplish all this, one had to bear the genius of a particular kind: the dark genius of tyranny.

In the main, the genius of tyranny consists of two forces: the greatest power of self-assertion and the greatest cruelty.

Apparently, the history of humankind had never seen a being possessed with a hunger for self-assertion with such a force, intensity, and temperament. Nero’s statue in the form of Apollo once erected by him near the Coliseum stands in no comparison to the tens of thousands of the revolutionary leader’s statues, which were installed at any railway station forecourt, in any park, in any factory’s yard and varied in size from a regular monument to that of Colossus of Rhodes! Having the main street in every town and a good third of all the collective farms in the country called after his name; making any social gathering, regardless of the purpose of the meeting, finish with an ovation honoring the leader; obliging all kinds of art, literature, music, and science with such glorification; having half of the twentieth century’s humanity consider him a luminary in all spheres of knowledge; setting up a mechanism of forging historical documents for him to appropriate all revolutionary and statesmanship laurels of the defeated opponents; writing a new gospel so as to glorify himself and having the entire populace grind and almost memorize this rubbish; obscuring everything in such a manner that countless masses abroad would believe in their happy destiny of living in the same time period with the wisest, most genius, and most humane mortal…All pretensions of past despots fade in comparison to this: as with the falsification of history by Ramses II; so praying in front of one’s own image in the temple – this is what Caligula forced some priests into; the screaming one’s head off with “Heil Hitler!” that clamored for ten years over Germany(*2); even heaps of human skulls or caravans carrying baskets filled up with torn-out human eyes – these are apotheoses of a rather earthly imagination of Genghis Khans and Timurs of all kinds.

*2 I say «ten years», for the buzzing of patriotic slogans was totally muffled with the noise and clamor of raids and bomb explosions.
As is known, Stalin saw to the rehabilitation of certain monsters of the past – Ivan the Terrible and Malyuta Skuratov, for instance. Yet, he gave a contemptuous remark about Ivan the Terrible in the end: “After execution of just a handful of boyars, he prays and thumps his chest for two weeks. What a weakling!” Indeed, only Stalin, perhaps, was entitled to call Ivan IV a weakling.

These unparalleled forms and proportions of tyranny speak of the superhuman thirst for self-assertion and equally superhuman cruelty.

He was as bloodthirsty as a true demon could be. What state interests, if only understood in a twisted way, were involved in the systematic, periodic massive bloodlettings? The first time Stalin engaged in this was at the beginning of the Collectivization (in the Soviet Union, the forced transformation of traditional agriculture into being state-owned over the period of 1929-1933, t/n) when “kulaks” or, to put it differently, the well-off peasantry was wiped out as a class as per his directive. An awful lot of people were left with no means of support. They were relocated to the godforsaken lands, which were ill-suited even for livestock. There, many yielded up their spirit. “A hum was heard from somewhere; it seemed that entire villages were being crushed under the accompaniment of screams, moans, and curses. Haystacks, logs, rafts, wreckage of village houses were floating...” (from Saltykov-Shchedrin’s “The History of a Town”, t/n). For one thing, should Lenin have been in charge of the collectivization of agriculture, let alone the true humanists and democrats, this undertaking would have been carried out totally differently. It would have been implemented with care, gradually, not by way of coercion but through demonstration of the advantages of collective farms, while preserving all material possessions of individual households.

This would have been to the advantage of the peasantry, agriculture, the state, and the worldwide Doctrine overall. Instead, the Ukraine and some other territories were smitten with an unheard-of famine; it came even to cannibalism. Perhaps, historians of the future will be able to roughly estimate the total death toll of all these measures. One hecatomb (enormous sacrifices, t/n) was followed by another: first were the victims of the crackdown on religious confessions. After a short break while legions of Gagtungr were digesting the first splendid helping of gavvakh, another dish was being served to the banquet halls of Gashsharva and Digm: two or three million victims of “ezhovshchina” (a campaign of political repression in the Soviet Union in 1936-1938 led by Nikolai Ezhov, hence the term, t/n). The next hecatomb, now the victims of the Great Patriotic War, began to rise shortly after. Albeit indirectly, the second leader (Stalin, the first leader being Lenin, t/n) was also responsible for this. Once the stream of gavvakh dwindled in 1945, the human instrument of Urparp saw to a new one. It was impossible to continue with hostilities any longer – military resources ran short, and the enemy proved to be far ahead after having invented the atomic bomb. This meant finding ways of procuring new streams of gavvakh in a new international milieu.

And so, mass repressions began – random, meaningless, having countless fabrications plucked out of the air, with horrendous tortures, and with such a “regime” in certain “special camps” that Auschwitz and Buchenwald would pale in comparison to them. Of course, at the moment we do not possess precise statistical data on the victims of that period. It is beyond doubt, however, that the death toll in labor camps in the period 1945-1953 amounts to several millions. If one adds to this number all those who had died before as well as those one foot in the grave after Khrushchev liberated them on parole, tens of millions rather than millions would have to be accounted for.

When trying to make sense of what was really going on, many people were stumped. Some tried to explain out the atrocities as the insidious designs of those who had been erroneously put by Stalin at the head of the state security agency. The leader himself inspired such interpretations and, from time to time, dismissed and severely punished his protégés. Following the suit of the executed Yagoda, Ezhov sank into the abyss, then it was Abakumov’s turn. And now, after the leader’s death, the one who, by the highest decree, had overlooked the state security for fifteen years shared their fate (Lavrentiy Beria, t/n). It was evident to all that such measures had not been necessitated by state interests. Moreover, they were at dismal odds with one another. This will be obvious to any historian. As for the metahistorical perspective, compounding it all is the fact that neither Zhrugr, nor the igvas had taken interest in all this gavvakh – they feed, rather, on the psychic radiations of the state complex in human feelings. Therefore, the eyes of the metahistorian would see Stalin not just as a human instrument of the Third Witzraor, but also as a tool of the Great Tormentor himself. For only Gagtungr and the demons of Gashsharva were interested in the inflow of those unheard-of heaps of gavvakh.

Thus we become aware of two components of what can be called a genius aptitude for tyranny in this being: the thirst for self-assertion as well as active cruelty brought to a nearly ecstatic intensity.

Yet, even today Stalin enjoys the repute of a great statesman – a remarkable politician and diplomat, outstanding military commander, stellar organizer, and even cultural luminary. Let’s take a closer look: what were the foremost state tasks of Stalin before World War II? To my mind, these could be outlined as follows: bolstering his absolute autocracy and the elimination of whatsoever opposition; the struggle with spirituality; collectivization of agriculture; industrialization; the preparation of the military machine to repel a potential assault and take its own leap west, east, and south; creating a favorable international situation for this end; maximal conservation of the human resources of the Soviet Union for the showdown with the capitalistic world.

However, it does not take great statesmanship skills for beefing up one’s autocracy and wiping out the opposition. It suffices to be just a genius tyrant. It suffices to be a tyrant to struggle with spirituality the way Stalin did. I have already pointed out the anti-state nature of collectivization methods. To add insult to injury, the country’s fateful lagging behind in terms of agricultural production can be explained not only with the topsy-turvyism of collectivization as such, but also the policy of squeezing out all the juices from the peasantry and the incompetent economic management, which had been the hallmark of Stalin’s overall agricultural course. What also had a detrimental impact is that the inordinate acceleration of heavy industrial development had caused huge numbers of the people’s masses to leave the villages. The Great Patriotic War had entailed even a greater exodus of people from rural areas, and nothing was done to stimulate their return after the war, to make them interested in boosting their agricultural productivity. Blind faith in purely outward measures led to recumbency upon the mechanization of agriculture. All this resulted in the depopulation of the villages, the rise of barren lands, thousands of tractors and harvester-threshers harassing the rest of the land reserves, and the empty bellies of villagers. It is only natural that the folk abandoned the villages for towns by hook and crook.

The state and the Doctrine overall would have also benefitted, hadn’t the plan of industrialization been so one-sided, hadn’t the production of commodities been neglected. Yet, as the wellbeing of the populace was not a top priority, unlike the militarization of industry, in case of a war, people were told to tough it out somehow for five years (the Soviet economy under Stalin had five-year industrialization plans, t/n), then for another five years, then for another, then, perhaps, for two-three more so as to furnish the country with production means. And so, by the end of the thirty-year reign, the light industry, as well as the agricultural produce was just enough to satisfy the needs of the large cities. The rest of the populace was permanently lacking in essentials.

It would seem that all this was being done for the creation of an unheard-of, incredibly powerful military machine. Strangely or fatefully enough, even this chief recipient of the country’s efforts and resources was not in perfect condition. Tyranny intolerant of any remarkable personalities to stand close to it led to the decimation of the Soviet army’s elite shortly before World War II: tens of gifted military commanders, including Mikhail Tukhachevsky, were done away with for no apparent reason. The lack of effort to buttress up the military aviation is astonishing. Even more stunning is the fact that the first two five-year plans did not see construction of any new lines of communication. When the Germans invaded, the country had at its disposal the very mesh of railroads that had been built as early as in the nineteenth century. Even the most strategically important roads, for example, a major section of the Moscow-Kiev road, were only one-way. As for the expansive Asian dominion, over twenty years it saw construction of only one sizeable railway road – so-called Turksib. In the first year of the Patriotic War, all this incompetence coupled with a string of blunders in international affairs entailed the loss of all territories to the enemy down to Stalingrad when the Soviet army was retreating.

He was a genius politician and an outstanding diplomat – so they say. It is hard, however to see any brilliance in such a political course which, from the time of the revolution up until 1941, had kept the country in international isolation; which had shut tight all windows, not only to Europe but elsewhere, so as to not let in any whiffs of a foreign ideology; which, through supporting revolutionary movements in other countries and proclaiming the mortal combat with capitalism, first evoked concerns, then fears, then, finally, rescued from obscurity such an aggressive and inhumane countervailing ideology as German National Socialism; which, unsure of which enemy is worse – this kind of socialism or Anglo-French colonialism – scrambles between negotiations with one and the treaty of friendship with the other, only to receive a skull-crackling blow on the head from the insidious enemy. This political course appears anything but successful considering the further developments, when “the genius politician and an outstanding diplomat” was played around with promises to open the second front in 1942, then in 1943, and allowed his motherland to bleed profusely while swallowing one diplomatic lie and failure after another.

Yet, certain lessons were learned. Impotent rage was seething inside this being (Stalin, t/n) first under the blows of the German adversary, then from the realization of having been befooled with the Western states’ diplomacy. This rage proved to be a great impetus for focusing all attention, all concern, all the people’s efforts on catching up with and outpacing the strongest Western state in terms of armaments in the post-war years. Fortunately, this goal was achieved only after his death. This is fortunate, for had he managed to accomplish this earlier, World War III would have been a bygone past by now, and so too Paris, Rome, New York, London, Moscow, Leningrad, and so forth.

Apparently, Stalin, up to a point, possessed organizational skills. Otherwise, it would have been impossible to single-handedly coordinate all major spheres of life in the state which was so much centralized at that. This was particularly noticeable during the war when he, almost day and night, steered as the military machine, so the home front and international affairs, meddling into everything. It is another question whether anybody except him had a need to be meddling around and, after all, whether the cause of defending the country gained anything from this. Only a true genius or, rather, super-genius, given the then helter-skelter, outrageous haste, and lightning-quick changing from one question to completely another, could have avoided his crude miscalculations, rush decisions, and fallacious conclusions. Tyranny, incapable of sharing prerogatives of the supreme authority with anyone else, yet once again overrode the mind and will of the statesman.

As for applying the term “military commander” to Stalin, this is some sort of misunderstanding. History has not seen and will never see a military commander that did not venture, over the course of the four-year war, even once to come to the front so as to inspire soldiers with his own bravery and manliness; that, instead, holed up in the most unreachable place, called out real military professionals, active duty marshals, and generals that bore all the weight of the actual command, counseled with them on each and every military question, only to appropriate these opinions, these decisions, these strategic and tactical conceptions as his own. One would assume that Zhukov, Rokossovsky, or Malinovsky (Soviet generals and military commanders, t/n) would have had much to tell about this commander-in-chief, mainly whether he would have managed to suggest any wise initiatives without prior consultations with them.

Excitability and political acumen are hardly compatible. During the war, Stalin, apparently, was so much overcome with thrill and excitement that the post-war future was hardly of any interest to him, and this did lead to incorrigible blunders. An example of this: in the course of the four-year war when every other fit male in the country was drafted, the generalissimo (the chief commander Stalin, t/n) put forth the idea “Everything for the war”, which manifested, among other things, in not allowing officers and soldiers to go to a vocation. The logical outcome of this was a catastrophic drop in the birth rate. The population’s yearly growth saw a four-year yawning breach which was going to catch up to the 1959-1963 period in the most terrifying way, when, in the face of the looming World War III, the state would not have draft-age youth lined up. Perhaps, the leader thought that he would have managed to unleash and finish the third war before the generation born at the beginning of the 1940’s would have reached the draft age.

Can anyone who not only shears, but also decimates their livestock be called a good cattle farmer? Can a farmer spudding out vegetable sprouts along with weeds be called anything but a destroyer of his farm? Can a political leader that, as a result of his political course, has the entire military machine of the neighbor crashing down on him out of a clear blue sky, be a good politician and diplomat? If someone eliminates hosts after hosts of his seasoned proponents for no apparent reason and, often, without a pretext, would this person be considered a sensible head of the party, the true leader? A wolf this is, not a shepherd.

And so, the bearer of a dark genius of sorts, which manifested in everything that concerned tyranny, turned out to be a rather mediocre statesman. Stalin was a poor master, poor diplomat, poor party leader, and poor statesman.

Yet, we know of certain manifestations of his personality that speak of an even lower quality of his rather than simply “poor”. This concerns his so-called cultural activities.

“He was neither a technician, nor an engineer.” A dabbler in all domains of knowledge except, perhaps, political-economical sciences, Stalin fancied himself a genius of the encyclopedic type and, with the “inscrutable impudence” of Ugryum-Burcheev, he came to overlook the whole scientific domain of the Soviet Union. Of course, he did not do any laboratory research. Yet, the activities of the whole system of the Soviet Academy of Sciences with all its institutes, as well as the work of the elementary, middle, and high school were guided in accordance with Stalin’s personal directives. Moreover, wide social discussions were held on the questions of biological, physical, even astronomical disciplines, all to form a viewpoint on the current scientific problems, which had been preempted and defined by Stalin himself. There is more to it than that: in certain fields of science, he even set himself as a researcher. It is needless to say that each of his judgments became an unshakeable dogma for all specialists working in the field. Still fresh in memory are his works in the field of linguistics when he mixed axiomatic truths like defining language as the main means of people’s communication with some nonsensical contentions. It suffices to recall his opinionated statement to the effect that reasoning outside of words is impossible, which perplexed specialists: how could this give credence to the reasoning of a composer that thinks out a new creation, or of an architect designing a new project, or of an artist starting a new painting?

Poorly gifted with visual thinking and having been accustomed to verbalize nearly all his thought process, Stalin, apparently, had no clue of the nature of artistic creativity. However, it did not preclude him from viewing himself as a deep connoisseur of aesthetical values, as a sensitive indicator of where and how literature, architecture, art, music, and theater were to be headed. Commonly known is his aphorism regarding Gorky’s tale “A Maiden and Death”: “This piece is stronger than Goethe’s “Faust”. It can be nicely complemented with another one which is hardly remembered these days but is easily searchable in the newspapers of 1926 and 1927. In those antiquated times, Stalin, together with Lunacharsky and Kalinin (top Soviet officials, t/n), attended an exhibition of the Moscow organization of AKhRR (Association of Artists of Revolution, t/n). As an edification for the future generations, high guests scrawled down their impressions in the guestbook. With a glitter characteristic of him, Lunacharsky took advantage of the opportunity to expound a whole aesthetical credo. Kalinin was more modest: he tactfully admitted that he was far from the questions of art and, as succinctly as he could, described what he did like and why. The third visitor turned out more short-spoken than others. His review was as follows: “Fairly well, to my mind. I. Stalin”.

Yet, in six-seven years’ time, the man who had exposed his artistic idiocy reached such a position that his fist grabbed hold of the reins to all the Pegasuses of Soviet art and literature.

The touch of artistic eclecticism, outward megalomania, tastelessness, and nouveau-rich drive for conspicuous luxury is indelible from all the things which Stalin used in order to immortalize himself as a great builder, whether it be the Moscow subway stations and high-rises or the Volgodonsk floodgates and new embellishments of Stalingrad. Few individual successes – serendipitous achievements of some architects that managed to persuade the leader in their artistic views – were drowned in the absurd mash-up of various style elements: in Doric porches and Gothic spires; in Renaissance stanzas and modern columns; in massive white sculptural ensembles waving with marble banners and emblems, which were as though crying out of their shoddiness to the heavens; in the unparalleled incongruity of mosaics, wherein figures, clothed in colorless party jackets and peak caps, loom at the golden hieratic background of Byzantium.

Genius tyrant. Poor master. Failed scientist. Artistic idiot. Alas! – idiocy it is. Saltykov-Shchedrin was right in this regard. And this ill-starred idiocy also manifested outside of the artistic field. Not understanding the boundaries of his own aptitudes and capacities was an idiocy, and so too the rigidity of his mind complicit in a long string of political blunders, from underestimating Hitler in the 1930’s to the rift with Yugoslavia on the eve of the 1950’s. The inability to respect anyone but himself, inability to understand howsoever subtle and complex movements of the soul. Strangely enough, despite his rather extensive erudition, Stalin remained a half-intellectual.

Why didn’t Urparp see to the enriching of this being as with statesmanship genius, so with scientific and artistic brilliance then? Wouldn’t this have invited the planetwide triumph of the Doctrine? Oh, it would have definitely invited it! Had statesmanship genius precluded the second leader from a long string of truly fateful mistakes, the thirty years of his reign would have propelled communist Russia into a fabulous economic bloom and unheard-of influence upon all the peoples on the planet. Had his scientific brilliance ensured a rapid scientific and technological development of Russia, which would have outpaced the development of the capitalistic states and their military machines, it is highly likely that, by the mid-twentieth century, not the communization of Korea or Vietnam, but the planetwide domination of the Doctrine would have been at the top of his agenda. Finally, had Stalin’s might-have-been exceptional artistic endowment brought to life anything but the platitudinous and lame “Short Course” (“The History of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union”, t/n) or his boring, drawn-out reports and speeches, his oral or written masterpieces capable of igniting human hearts would have been instrumental in establishing a real, not a dreamed-of, global single-person rule, with Stalin being the ruler.

Stalin’s lack in scientific, statesmanship, and artistic genius was the result of a vigorous resistance on the part of the Providential forces. They managed to paralyze the dark gifts of the scientific and literary genius, which had been instilled by Urparp in the astral body of this being, before its birth in the Caucasus. The statesmanship genius had been yanked out of it in Enrof when it was a child. It could not realize this clearly, provided that Urparp did not make any haste to provide explanations. The vague memory of having been endowed with these dark gifts lingered in it, hence the gap between this being’s deep conviction in its encyclopedic genius and the fact that no domain other than tyranny saw the manifestations of its genius. Stalin is a potential dark universal genius, unrealized thanks to the resistance of the Light.
It must be said that the demonic mind did not view the Doctrine as the only means of unifying the world. Other options were also being considered. The international revolutionary Doctrine was but the first serious attempt, the experience, and dress rehearsal of sorts: it was a probe into what powers could have cemented this planetwide unification better and with the least glimpse of spirituality at that. The potential, unrealized dark genius could have been ejected from Enrof into Gashsharva, so as to go through his final “drills” there and to apprehend his last incarnation in the next century: by the time, the fully materialized Doctrine would have removed all the obstacles on the way to his absolute tyranny, and the dark gifts would have been inserted, squeezed into, and imprinted upon him. Urparp would have known well by then about the weapon used by the forces of Light to neutralize these gifts, and thus would have avoided another mistake.

The dress rehearsal was to clarify many other things. Particularly, was this candidate for the antichrist stronger than the others? It is true that there were, it seems, two others; one of them, for various reasons, could not be born in Enrof at the time. Yet, there remained the other, and the battle between these two candidates was to unerringly and ultimately decide who would play the leading role in the long-awaited spectacle.

I know nothing about how the other candidate (Hitler, t/n) had been led and readied. I see only the results. I see that he did possess the genius capacity for tyranny: the same appetite for self-assertion, the same bloodthirstiness, the very proclivity for any wickedness. Yet, the human instrument of the third witzraor of Germany whose metahistorical significance was not exhausted with the witzraor involtation was unable to polish up these qualities. Certain purely human traits still lingered in him.

Stalin allowed for a possibility that he would live to see such a stage of scientific development which would prolong his life much beyond the normal human expectancy, perhaps, infinitely. Apparently, this dream grew stronger over the years. For this reason, he planned his state policy in such a way as though he would have never left the scene. He did not think about successors, did not give any testamentary prescriptions, did not write a will. His attitude seemed to be “after me deluge” or, perhaps, another aphorism would be more befitting: “I will always be, and the supposition that something will be after me is pointless”. Countless sculptures of his image, which he planted all over in the thousands, should not be understood as his desire to immortalize his image in the minds of the progeny. Perhaps, it was his original motivation, but later it gave way to something else: unlike his perpetuation in the minds of the future generations, it was, rather, his self-glorification aimed at his contemporaries. Tellingly, given all kinds of forms and techniques making up his personality cult, he, nonetheless, did not make any arrangements for his mausoleum: he did not will to admit a thought that, someday, he would be buried or mummified.

Such a soaring at the heights of his own personality cult in the rarified atmosphere of believing in his own immortality was out of the league of his German vis-à-vis. Hitler saw himself as the greatest conqueror of all time, as an exceptional and providential individual called upon to make the German people happy and see to the world hegemony of Germany. He even made toneless insinuations to the effect that he would give people a new religion after the war. Yet, he never envisioned himself as being physically immortal and, from time to time, resumed working on his will for the successors. He even appointed Gering as the inheritor of the duties and rights of the leader.

I do not know whence he came to the German Enrof. Be that as it may, he was not a “foreign substance” in the body of Germany. He was not a tribeless rogue but a man that manifested the most horrific albeit characteristic side of the German nation. He saw himself as the flesh of Germany’s flesh. He loved his land and his people with a strange love in which nearly zoological demosexualism (demos + sexualism, t/n) mixed with a dream to bestow upon this people the bliss of global domination at all cost. For him, it would suffice to lead the people to and settle it in this bliss, and then simply resign into some otherworldly heights to be enjoying the fruits of his deeds and absorb the incense coming from the grateful generations from there.

Yet, the war thwarted all his schemes and, unlike an alluring blitzkrieg, turned out an unheard-of carnage which ground the flesh of his people for six long years (he was totally unconcerned with the fate of other peoples). With his lips foaming, he gritted his teeth, flung himself on the floor, and gnawed at the carpet out of rage, frustration, and grief, as his compatriots were perishing. And yet, he kept on driving them to slaughter, up until the last minute of his existence. Yet, it was not the same cold heartlessness, with which his enemy was driving millions of Russians to slaughter, but a desperate attempt to hold out till the moment when fortune would have smiled upon him, and the atomic bomb, finally invented by the Germans, would have turned Moscow and London into ashes.

His counterposing of himself and his teaching to any spirituality was not consistent and ultimate. He reverentially peeped at the undertakings of a circle grouping around Mathilde Ludendorff that tried to establish the modernized cult of the Old Germanic paganism. At the same time, he never severed all ties with Christianity. Promoting a rather hazy, yet spiritualistic worldview (“gottlieubich”) in his party, as is known, Hitler had a Christian wedding ceremony with Eva Braun two days before their suicide.

Generally speaking, there is the flair of romanticism about his demise. The bomb-shaken shelter in the basement of the Imperial Chancellery; the news received every minute about the enemy’s herds approaching the center of the capital; the half-mad, bluish pale man, now capable of only whispering; his extravagant wedding at the very last moment; his suicide and his final word to the effect that he was leaving but was going to “stand on guard here, at the heart of Germany” – all this, despite its grotesqueness, was quite human-like. Of course, I do not mean to say that there was anything humane about him. My point is that a being with an aptitude for absolute global tyranny would hardly stoop to such a sentimental agony.

I am not going to dwell on the qualities of Hitler’s character and mind, which made him inferior to his enemy (Stalin, t/n) and could give food for historians’ thought. I am only pointing out that, compared to Stalin, Hitler fell short of the traits of the absolute tyrant from the metahistorical perspective.

From this very standpoint, as well as from all others, Hitler’s ideological concept also compared poorly to the Doctrine, for it lacked in its most appealing side: internationalism. The dream of the dominion of the seventy-million German nation over more than the two billions of the world population would seem delirious indeed. Had, by some miracle, World War II ended with the German victory, the concept must have been fundamentally revised so as to broaden the basis of “the nation” at least up to the European “master race”. Yet, even under such a scenario, the very nature of this concept would have been abhorred and detested by the overwhelming majority of peoples on the planet. Urparp’s task was quite the opposite: to crystallize such a teaching, which, while bearing the nucleus of the future global tyranny, would seem appealing to the majority from the very inception.

It is worth noting that while the concept of national socialism was hopelessly deficient because of its racial and nationalistic parochialism, the Soviet doctrine – at least, in the form it had dominated over the first twenty years – featured another, quite the opposite defect: all this time, it was rather contemptuous, even hostile toward any national impulse in the psyche of the masses. The national principle was only tolerated when it came to national minorities or oppressed national colonies. Yet, a defect it was, and Stalin realized this. Several years earlier, perhaps, out of the taste for vandalism, they had smashed mirrors and broken statues, had demolished the monuments of Russian architecture for no apparent reason, had turned temples and monasteries into God knows what, and had destroyed other civilian buildings under the pretext of straightening out streets (all for the ill-starred concept of linearity). And now, all of a sudden, Stalin turned to the national past of Russia, rehabilitated the whole pantheon of Russian statesmen of past epochs, and saw to nurturing in young generations a kind of synthetic – both national-Russian and international-Soviet – feeling of the motherland. He realized that, in light of the coming confrontation with the aggressive nationalistic ideology of fascism, the national impulse in his own people was not to be suppressed. On the contrary: it had to be stirred, harrowed, and made into playing into the very pocket of his design. He realized something else shortly after the war had begun: the [religious, t/n] confessions, which had been impossible to outroot from the psyche of the masses with any anti-religious policies, should have been turned into faithful servants, then slaves. A few pittances like a merciful permission to restore the patriarchate and the abstaining from demolishing any temples in the future (there remained only one tenth from their previous number anyways) sufficed for the clergy to fully align both with the program and practice of the party and state.

But this occurred as late as during the war when the slogan “Everything for the war!” flashed into Stalin’s brain like a torch. He planned to outsmart the enemy by having him bleed in the struggle with Western democracies and then, once both coalitions had been weakened, squash them with his international Doctrine and twenty-million fresh army. Yet, this was not to be, for it was the enemy that outsmarted him and ruined his plans – out of the blue, the aerial bombs of Germany and its allies poured down on the unwitting [Soviet, t/n] country.

There came the moment of weakness, the very moment when the leader’s teeth chattered against the glass of water when he was giving his famous speech into the mike. Alas, that moment spread over several months when, in 1941, the leader, his face tear-stained, gave Zhukov (a prominent Soviet general, t/n) the full command over the Moscow’s front – by the time, it had been half-besieged by the Nazi army – and entreated him with a voice that, at last, showed some vibrancy, to save all from demise. Certainly, he never forgot this moment. Only one kind of shame was inherent to his nature: being ashamed of showing a weakness in front of others. It was impossible to do without Zhukov during the war. Yet, once the war was over, Stalin seized the first opportunity to put this witness of his weakness into mothballs good and proper.

However, apart from the shame for showing a weakness in front of human beings, the leader may have experienced another, more biting feeling: the fear of having discredited himself in the eyes of Urparp. He may have raised a doubt in the demonic mind, like, are you a wimp, Joseph Vissarionovich (the full first name of Stalin, t/n)? He was to prove as soon as possible that this moment of weakness would never be repeated, and he would withstand the grapple with his opponent, (Hitler, t/n) even if this cost throwing a hundred of millions into the meat mincer of the war, without moving a muscle.

What came to be the stance of the Providential forces of Russia toward this being when, by a twist of fate, it happened to be at the helm of the state locked in a deadly combat with the foreign enemy? This stance was shaped by two factors. The first factor was the incorrigible demonic nature of this being. Hence no Providential support could be lent to it under any circumstances. It sufficed that Zhrugr strained himself hard to help it, and the Great Igva of Drukkarg made use of this being’s capacity for khokhha to guide him and correct his actions. The second factor was that the concept of the Third Reich was fraught with even direr calamities in case of its victory: the total wipeout of the Russian state and its being turned into the desolate domain of the inhuman and relentless enemy. In a larger perspective, this promised the crushing down and annihilating of the Western states – the bearers of the most democratic regimes – and the spreading over the globe, from Japan and Australia to England and Canada, the black shroud of a prolonged and murderous, physically and spiritually alike, era of the “master race’s” domination. Such a path toward global tyranny was, perhaps, even straighter, even less promising of salutary disruptions and bends than the triumph of the international Doctrine.

For this reason, the demiurge and the Synclite of Russia temporarily suspended their unflagging transphysical battle with Drukkarg, when the underground citadel was stormed by the herds of foreign igvas from the Klingsor’s shrastr. A reflection of this in Enrof was the halting of any hostilities with those at the helm of the Russian state. They were not given any help, but, at the same time, were no longer distracted with fighting the Light and could entirely focus on the war with an even darker enemy.

The dead of night came. The forces of Light opted for a temporary standstill until the confrontation between the monsters would come to a close. Vicissitudes of this grapple were seen to all on the planet. It was as if a spiritual paralysis had gripped the highest abilities of the people; only intense meditations as well as flights of creativity could, at times, raise the human soul above the impervious shroud of darkness.

During this fateful time, the second Zhrugr junior budded off. The first one had budded off a long time back, soon after the end of the civil war: the struggle inside the dominating party and a vigorous resistance from certain prominent figures in the communist top tier to the enthronement of Stalin reflected this metahistorical event. Yet, the first Zhrugr junior proved to be a weakling and was strangled from the very start. Now, a new one saw the light of the day. He established a connection with the enemy’s army leaders, even with the Great Igva of the German shrastr, thinking that the destruction of Drukkarg would allow him to replace his father – to him, the German witzraor did not appear fit enough to directly hold sway in Drukkarg. The second Zhrugr engaged in activities while gradually retreating up until the very end of the war. When Zhrugr devoured the heart of his enemy and his might grew fabulously, he did away with his unwise spawn in “one click”.

To a great extent, the outcome of the war was shaped by the emanations from the state complex in people’s feelings which replenished the waning powers of Zhrugr and the igvas – thanks to the efforts of the leader and the party, these emanations reached such a level that would have been impossible during peacetime. All and everything proved to be conducive to this: from propagandists and agitprops in the army to priests at their pulpits, from the most celebrated composers and writers to the microscopically unknown workers of the press and cinema, from the leading scientists to the dead-last, smallest party workers in the plants and factories. Various instincts were being appealed to at that: patriotism; nationalism; internationalism; faith in God or, on the contrary, faith in the party; the longing for peace which could be attained only through a victory; the horror of and abomination with the atrocities of fascism; and the love for one’s land, family, home, and children.

For this reason, Zhrugr was buzzing with an extraordinary power by the end of the World War II. A lot of igvas and raruggs had died in the battle, but the witzraor was beefed up as never before. He craved for expansion, he invaded the German shrastr and killed the Great Igva of Germany, he had wreaked havoc there, and was barely put back into certain boundaries by the witzraors of England and America – Ustr and Stebing.

An unexpected event cut short Stalin’s westward expansion. That is to say, he had been forewarned about it but failed to pay enough heed. When, in May 1945, the plan to attack the recent allies was being crafted, the leader was informed – not from a mystical but rather an earthly source – about nuclear bomb testing in New Mexico. He felt as though a nuclear bomb had exploded in his consciousness. Instead of the long awaited development of World War II against fascism and toward the squashing of the entire capitalistic world; instead of the triumphant march of revolutionary armies across France, Spain, Africa to heaven knows where, he was to stop in his tracks, punch the air, and try to calculate the time needed for developing a nuclear weapon by the Soviets, so as to catch up with and outpace the enemy, all to become capitalism’s undoing by turning its major cities into a desert in an atomic flash and having the whole world unified under the supreme authority of one human-god.

National socialism’s global spreading was curbed. Yet, other dangers loomed large.

One of them came down to the fact that, thanks to World War II, the American witzraor swelled enormously and at a dizzying speed. It now seemed that the range of American skyscrapers was separated from Europe not with an ocean’s vast body but with a mere lake. This witzraor managed to band with his Western European distant relatives and settle down there in such a way so that his tentacles could scrabble around nearly all the Soviet borders. Accounting for the mistakes of his German predecessor, he was busy elaborating an ideological concept which would counteract the Doctrine’s internationalism not with something local and parochial but with cosmopolitism – the idea was pregnant with a global potentiality, just like the Doctrine had been. Gagtungr rested his gaze on Stebing more and more favorably and increasingly involtated him with his powers.

Another danger lay in the fact of what Russia, both physically and spiritually, had turned into as a result of World War II.

The single-person tyranny was taking surreal, fantastic size and forms. One could say: it is impossible, it is a dream, we are all being delirious. Yet, not only was everyone far from dreaming, but the frantic pace of life and work, let alone the mass arrests, precluded all from having a single peaceful night’s sleep. One may have started feeling that there had shown up another, otherworldly, totally non-human revelry just through the daily, earthly mayhem.

Repressions were on the rise. Wave after wave, one category of the populace after another, would receive the twenty-five-year term of imprisonment or capital punishment. In the pandemonium of prisons and labor camps, there crowded together fascists and communists, Trotskyists (followers of Leon Trotsky, t/n) and white emigres (Russian nationals that did not embrace the revolution of 1917 and emigrated to other countries; some of them returned to the Soviet Union, either voluntarily or forcibly through abduction, t/n), intelligentsia and collective farmers, generals and defectors, laborers and clergymen, atheists and cult followers, Orthodox Christians and Jews, rouges and monks, gangsters and nonresistors (those who believe that evil is not to be resisted by force, t/n), prostitutes and scientists, thieves and philosophers, Tolstoyists (followers of Leo Tolstoy, t/n) and sodomites, secretaries of regional committees and banderovtsy (Ukrainian nationalists, t/n), engineers and guerillas. Paying for their crimes, either real or fictitious, were those that had lived in the territories occupied by the Germans; that, directly or indirectly, had taken part in the Ukrainian and Baltic independence movements; that were suspected in helping the members of counterinsurgency and in too much sympathizing with Israel; that were in the German captivity and dared to come back home longing to see their motherland and dear ones; that occupied Central Europe as members of the Red Army and then shared some of their observations and conclusions upon returning home; that told some joke; that sent a letter to Stalin in a childish hope to open his eyes to all the lawless deeds around. Vorkuta, Karaganda, Kolyma, or Pot’ma (prison and labor camp sites) were destinations of those that were unfortunate enough to have had a conversation with a foreigner; that expressed a doubt in the expediency of a certain state measure, party directive, or decree of the government. Those that, in exasperation, wished the father of the peoples (Stalin, t/n) to leave the world of the living as soon as possible were prosecuted – and so too those who heard this fateful wish as well as their dear ones, acquaintances, and the acquaintances of acquaintances – on a charge of preparing a terrorist attack against the leader. Tortures extracted confessions in what had never been done. Several thousands of workers of the Leningrad party organization paid with their life or received long prison terms for the alleged attempt – it was a total fabrication – to separate the Leningrad province from the Soviet metropole. Neither the absurdity of the accusation, nor laughable evidence embarrassed anybody in the slightest. Case after case, fabrication after fabrication piled up. It was hard to find a family in any corner of the country that did not lose some of its members to a prison or labor camp; certain families were obliterated altogether. All legal procedures, any legality was thrown away once one was convicted under the infamous article 58 of the Criminal Code, that is, political crime. Confessions were wrung out with medieval methods. The experience of the inquisition was utilized and enriched with new, modernized techniques as per the then level of technological advancement. Society was enmeshed with an extensive network of in- and off-service denouncers – from members of the Political Bureau (the chief communist party organ, t/n) to Turkmen shepherds to Ukrainian milkmaids. One can’t help recalling the all-out network of spies and informers whom Ugryum-Burcheev planted in every house of the “glorious” town Nepreklonsk and what Shchedrin had defined as the total panic of fear.

Thick, stifling fear that blocked sunlight and rid life of all its joy and meaning spread all over society and steeped every thought, every feeling, and every word of the people. It was aggravated by vague and ghastly rumors that, against all odds, seeped out of the labor camps – the rumors about the regime that reigned there supreme; about entire camps dying out from hunger; about back-breaking workload quotas for convicts; about the sadism of the authorities and supervisors; about unheard-of methods of killing, for instance, tying someone up to a pole or a tree naked, only to be devoured my mosquitos and Siberian gnats.

The regime in the labor camps was ruinous not only physically, but also spiritually. Dehumanized with all sorts of abuses, back-breaking labor, spying on each other and denunciations, malnourishment, and the lack of medical help, people lost the drive for moral resistance long before their death. Political prisoners – the good half of them was totally innocent, the other half being guilty in petty crimes, which were punished with several weeks of imprisonment or a small fine in any other state – up until 1949, these people had been put together with bandits, hard-boiled murderers, rapists, and minors that sank into downright depravity after keeping company with adult criminals. A thought about the rehabilitation of criminals did not occur to anybody, and so labor camps turned into gigantic depravatories. Enmity across the different ethnic groups was instigated, which translated into bloody brawls. In this kind of milieu, only few could stand their ground without turning into psychological and moral cripples. The overwhelming majority of those unfortunate ones experienced no relief even in the otherworld: their depraved etheric bodies and the burden of their karma dragged them down to the grey depressions of Skrivnus, into the soundless darkness of Morod, into the ghastly Agr, and the entire Synclite of Russia was insufficient to alleviate and expediate their ascent from those somber purgatories. “He drives people to the unknown abysses” with “an iron staff…”
When this book sees the light of the day, tens of other books will have seen it, too – as personal memoirs, so documentary evidence, and historical investigations that will fully reconstruct the picture of the dismal nightmare, which the life of twenty million at the least had been immersed into. Individual crimes committed toward prominent figures of the Soviet state will be cleared as well: as with the strange death of Kirov, so the underlying cause of why Kosior, Postyshev, Rudzutak, Ordzhonikidze, Tukhachevsky, Kuybyshev, Voznesensky, and Zhdanov met their end. It will also become clear by what miracle Khrushchev, Malenkov, and Molotov managed to escape the same fate. Our grandchildren will find out why the life journeys of such cultural figures as Vsevolod Meyerhold, Boris Pilnyak, Osip Mandelstam, Nikolai Klyuev, Artem Vesely, Nikolai Vavilov, and Pavel Florensky came to a close. Yet, they will never find out how many remarkable talents, how many writers and poets, artists and actors, thinkers and scientists which Russia could have been proud of fell into oblivion so that nothing remained of their works, even the ashes – how many of these creators were ground by the satanic machine which bore, as though mockingly, the word “security” in its name (The Ministry of State Security, t/n).

It is impossible to find any extenuating circumstances, of course, when considering the deeds of such mass butchers as Ezhov, Abakumov, and Beria. Yet, it would be childish to shuffle off the entire responsibility for these hecatombs upon them.

It is quite obvious whose supreme will acted through those ghastly figures and what inspirer willed, by putting them all in turns at the helm of the diabolic machine, to appear stern, yet just – as the shepherd of bodies and souls – in the people’s eyes.

Yet, the one who sowed this panic, this nearly metaphysical fear all around, also lived in constant dread as per the iron logic of karma. Having poisoned the life of society, he also poisoned his own life and rid himself of whatsoever joy except in taking pleasure in tyrannizing.

Even Hitler and Mussolini were not without personal courage. They would appear in parades and festivities in open-top cars; a number of times, they would show up on the front during the war. Once Hitler was even caught off guard and barely escaped captivity on the Russian front when the enemy’s tank column suddenly popped into the scene. As for Stalin, never did he show even a glimpse of personal courage over the entire period of his rule. Quite the contrary: having erected an impenetrable wall up to the heavens around him, he always had the twitters over his physical existence. Perhaps, this was related to the fact that, owing to his ability to enter into the state of khokhha and clearly see the dire prospects awaiting him after his death, he was quite aware that, unlike just blinking out of existence, he would inexorably fall through the agony of magmas and the Core, down to the Pit of Shadanakar. It is only natural that he clung to life as much as he could, waiting for a scientific discovery, which would have made him physically immortal. Yet, over the years this fear of death outgrew into persecution mania. It was the very mania that had been the scourge of many other tyrants. It tormented Tiberius and Domitian, it harassed Louis XI and Sultan Alauddin, it drove into madness Ivan the Terrible and Pavel I. Besides, it was only a part of a more general psychological disorder, the one which psychiatrists call Caesar Derangement Syndrome: a combination of persecution mania with, first and foremost, sadism, an unquenchable thirst for blood and the suffering of others; second, believing in one’s own superiority over all people of the past and present while losing a clear notion of the boundaries of one’s capacities. As a rule, Caesar Derangement manifests on the outside as the despot’s lawless and inhuman carnage, as in his or her taking exaggerated defense measures, as unflagging self-glorification and a string of bizarre and totally needless construction projects. Caligula, for example, gave orders to pile up mountains on level ground and to dig out entire lakes in the mountainous area, all for the sake of a single naval parade. Then he intended to build a new Rome high above the world, on the Alpine glaciers. The grandiose and meaningless undertakings of Nero, Domitian, and Heliogabalus are quite notorious. It all was totally useless for society or was done just under the guise of some utility. Yet, in reality, this was only meant for glorification of the ruler. Such construction projects were to strike the imagination with the luxury of decoration and preternatural sizes. Such were Stalin’s constructions, too, whether it be the tastelessly magnificent stations of the Moscow subway, unreasonably expensive high-rises, the grandiose, yet architecturally vapid Moscow State University, or the floodgates of Volgodonsk with their bizarre and unnecessary embellishments. All these “architectural excesses”, as Khrushchev put it, drained enormous amounts of money – again, it was all done for self-glorification rather than for the benefit of the people or the state.

Surprisingly, such a clear and graphic demonstration does not preclude certain theorists from downplaying the role of personality in history. It seems that people are now forgetting the way Stalin’s personality, even his most private habits and inclinations, were impressed upon the life of the immense Soviet society. For example, he loved to work nights. This sufficed to rehash the whole state apparatus and put it on an unnatural nocturnal footing. Not a single high-level official could sleep normal hours because of recurrent wake-ups over the ringing phone and call-ins to work; tens of thousands of workers never had a good night’s sleep and went to bed only in the morning. They catnapped at two-three sittings; they were unable to spend evenings with their families, to go to the theater or to a concert; they did not dare, even on a vacation, to go somewhere without notifying their higher-ups of their address. And this lasted not for a month, not for a year but for a good fifteen years.

In part out of fear to speak from the rostrum even before the “cherry-picked” auditorium; in part out of utter contempt for the people that had been treated by him as a plaything, Stalin almost did not appear publicly over the last years of his life. When, in 1949, his seventieth anniversary was celebrated with an unheard-of pomp and subservience never seen in world history, he did not utter a single sound when sitting in the banquet hall or watching the concert in his honor, which glitter paralleled that of “One Thousands and One Nights”. His brazenness passed all bounds. Not even a single “thank you” escaped his lips. He seemed brooding and displeased, yet it was totally unclear what had caused his foul mood.

After all, it was the zenith of his power. His late great international undertaking – the communization of China – was over. Why was he depressed? Over the invention of the nuclear bomb by the Americans? Yet, the Soviet Union itself was taking hold of the thermo-nuclear weapon. Or, was it just a fleeting bad mood, something that happens to any despot once in a while? Yet, just for decorum’s sake Stalin could have suppressed his bad mood in the presence of tens of foreign observers, basically, in front of the entire world, on such a remarkable occasion. Apparently, something deep inside gnawed at him against all efforts of his will. It was the knowledge of what was happening outside of Enrof, the knowledge received by him in the state of khokhha.

I do not know whether anybody ever saw him in this state. In the 1930’s and 1940’s, he mastered khokhha to such an extent that he could often enter into this state at his will. Normally, this happened by the end of the night, with more frequency in winter due to the later hour of sunrise. All thought that he was resting, sleeping, and no one would dare to disturb his repose under any circumstances. It must be said that no one could enter into his room anyways as he locked it from inside. The light there was only dimmed, not turned off. Had anybody invisible gotten in there at that hour, he or she would have found the leader awake, sitting in a deep restful armchair. The expression on his face, never seen by anyone among the living, would have made a staggering impression. His enormously dilated, unblinking black eyes peered into space. A strange, matted blush showed on the skin of his cheeks instead of their usual oiliness. His wrinkles seemed to have evened out, the whole face looked as though rejuvenated. The forehead’s skin was stretched so much that it appeared larger than normal. The breath was infrequent and deep. His arms rested on the elbow-boards, his fingers lightly fumbling along the edges.

Khokhha, actually, is not a state as such, but a whole kind of states that vary depending on the layer in the dark hierarchy, with which the visionary establishes connection. In any event, the surrounding physical objects vaguely show through the other planes’ vistas. If, by some miracle, somebody had chanced to enter into this room at this moment, the visionary would have distinguished him or her and, albeit gradually, switched his gaze to the usual plane.

Most often, Stalin had khokhhas when communicating with the Great Igva of Drukkarg and with Zhrugr. At times, Urparp himself deigned him with his inspiration. Besides, there was another invisible being that had been specially attached to him – his regular counsellor, a dweller of Gashsharva, an anti-daemon of sorts.

In the state of khokhha, many a time Stalin entered into Gashsharva and into Drukkarg, where he was seen not only by the igvas, but also by someone else. He was shown Digm from a distance. He was carefully, as though incognito, guided through certain parts of Mudgabr and Yunukamn; he contemplated purgatory and layers of magmas. From the outside, afar, and very vaguely, he chanced to see even the zatomis of Russia when, having acquired the enlightened body, Jesus Christ had descended there. Yet, this encounter did not elicit anything from the visionary save a fierce hatred – Urpar made this possible precisely for this reason.

Khokhha infused tremendous energy into this being. In the morning, he astounded his inner circle with a tremendous stamina, and this alone sufficed for the enslavement of their will.

Precisely in these khokhha states that followed one after another on the eve of his seventieth anniversary, Stalin, to his great displeasure, got an insight about certain events which were taking place in the Russian metaculture and the adjacent spheres at the time. He happened to be a quiet and powerless witness of one of the most ferocious otherworldly battles. The demiurges of Russia, China, Mahayana, and Indomalayan metacultures, as well as of both the metacultures of the West fought with Zhrugr and Lai-Chzhoi, the former’s new ally, a strange crossbreed of the Russian and Chinese witzraors. The demons were not vanquished, yet their expansion came to a halt. An unbreakable circle was drawn around them.

The witzraors’ another attempt to go into the offensive over a period of time came to nothing in the shrastrs. In Enrof, this ended in a three-year war in Korea. After this, all was back to the initial position.

Then “the all-or-nothing game” was opted for – a hectic preparation for and unleashing of the third world war, as the further course of events was fraught with shifting the center of gravity to the North-Western shrastr and carrying over the sanction of Gagtungr from Zhrugr onto Stebing.

Unflagging efforts of demonic forces weaved around Stalin an impenetrable dark shroud of sorts. No influence of Providential forces could reach him until, finally, strenuous attempts on the part of synclites – not only Russian at that – made a momentary breach in this shroud when Stalin was in a khokhha state. At this moment, he was shown – no, not the panoramas of light-filled worlds, for this would have only added to his hatred – but the remote stages of his own future path, his potential incarnation as an antichrist and the ultimate catastrophe: his falling into the timeless Pit of the Galaxy, the most appalling and irredeemable of tormentories that exist in the universe. This was a night of unspeakable horror. He was horrified to such an extent that, for several minutes, all his being was inflamed with a desperate prayer to save him, to prevent him from walking this path. Minutes passed. Pride, obstinance, and the thirst for infinite power prevailed. Yet, this night of 1952 had a certain effect upon him. From then onwards, khokhha states no longer energized him. Perhaps, too much psychological stress, this endless disguise under a mask of materialism and Marxism, this dual life took a toll upon him. He had as though overtaxed himself. The powers continued to pour into him only from Zhrugr, that is, through the regular channel of involtation. The leader grew old over a short period of time, and unremitting physical ailments permanently disturbed his psychological equilibrium.

He also dreaded new rivals. Stebing, certainly, was the most apparent one. However, a human instrument of Gagtungr that could potentially become the antichrist was nowhere to be seen in the top tier of the American people. Yet, the consciousness, mind, and certain vague bit and pieces of information coming from the earthly sources made into such a welter that the leader as though started seeing a rival born somewhere in Enrof – not as a concrete human being yet – that was even more frightening than Hitler. Just as Stalin was not Russian but Georgian by flesh and blood while reigning supreme in Russia, so the potential rival loomed to him not as an American by birth. It appeared to him that this candidate would emerge out of the world Jewry: he knew that certain small circles in the Jewry nurtured the idea of global rule. And he decided that Hitler was trying to eradicate precisely the Jewish people for a reason. But Stalin was not going to act as clumsily. Soviet Jews – to begin with – were to be gradually settled in special zones and closely examined, one by one.

His consciousness started to falter.

Considering its losing the sense of the correlation of things and scales, the further stay of this being in power was all the more so dangerous. Urparp could no longer infuse either his powers or the emanations of his mind into it through khokhha. Only Zhrugr continued using an abdominal stalk of sorts, an etheric channel of involtation that connected him to his human instrument. Inspired by the great demonic mind of Shadanakar himself, the witzraor, together with the belligerent force of Drukkarg and the Chinese shrastr was preparing for the decisive invasion into the shrastrs of other metacultures. He impressed upon Stalin with more and more insistence to unleash the third world war. According to the plan, the attack was to be carried out suddenly, in an instant, and throwing several scores of hydrogen bombs within a few hours on the vital centers of the Western states would have at once decided the outcome of the war in favor of the Doctrine. Otherwise, Urparp’s sanction would have been carried over onto Stebing, and Stalin, after his death in Enrof, perhaps, would have been taken into Gashsharva to be readied there for his last incarnation. Paving the historical and social road toward the global tyranny in Enrof would have been then the task of an essentially cosmopolitical, hence universally appealing teaching other than the Doctrine. The demonic mind understood, of course, that the destructive power of the third world war would have wiped out entire countries. Taken alone, it was not something he was particularly interested in. Yet, an immense radiation of gavvakh would have been a highly lucrative catch. Besides, the presupposed lightning-quick nature of the war would have scaled down the potential destruction.

The first days of March, 1953, saw the decisive battle between Yarosvet and Zhrugr. The channel of involtation connecting the witzraor with his human instrument was cut off in a blink of an eye. Had it been possible to do this earlier, the life of the human instrument would have ended that very moment, for no human powers would have sufficed to endure the physical and psychological burden that lay on this being. This happened about two o’clock at night. His consciousness faded to black in half an hour but the agony, as is known, continued for several days. Urparp picked up the severed end of the involtation channel and tried to infuse power and consciousness into the dying leader. This was not to be, partially because those several people scampering around the death bed did their best for him to not come back to life. Those people had different motivations. Some were afraid that Stalin, if alive and well, would have unleashed a war, which appeared to them as a great calamity for all and a deadly danger for the Doctrine. Yet, there was somebody among them who had been the head of the state security service for years (Lavrentiy Beria, t/n). He knew that the leader had already nominated him for another victim, for another bone to be thrown to the murmuring people: the whole responsibility for the millions of innocent lives was to be put upon him. The death of Stalin gave him a chance to take over the leadership. While the leader was alive, Beria’s line of action was dictated by three motifs: to terrify Stalin by exaggerating and making up physical threats, which as though surrounded the leader from all corners; to keep the country in the rein of dread and silence; and thus to quench his own bloodthirstiness. Beria was a bearer of a dark mission that came down to multiplying the people’s sufferings. Yet, his consciousness was as flat and non-mystical as a table, and his stature and talents were Lilliputian. It was a Malyuta Skuratov (an infamous henchman of Ivan the Terrible, t/n) of the twentieth century.

At last, the great moment arrived: Stalin yielded up his spirit.

Gashsharva was all shaken from this blow. Drukkarg resounded with screams of fury and pain. Hordes of demons soared into the upper layers of the infracosmos trying to slow down the fall of the deceased into the depth of magmas.

The grievous rampage spread out to Enrof. The funeral of the leader or, rather, transporting of his body to the mausoleum turned into an idiotic pandemonium. The spells of his name and his deeds were so great that hundreds of thousands of people took his death as a great disaster. Even convicts in prisons cried over what was going now to happen. Crowds that had never been honored to see the leader while alive now rushed to see him in the coffin. Moscow resembled Bedlam, magnified to a world city. Droves inundated the entire center in trying to get to the House of Unions, where the corpse of the tyrant had been put on public display, and whence the funeral procession was going to start. The adjacent streets were absolutely packed. People died from being squashed against the walls of houses and lantern poles, from being stampeded, from falling off the roofs of high-rises as they tried to pass over the gurgling human mash below. It seemed that the one who had fed on evaporations off sufferings and blood for his entire life even now, out of the coffin, drew the heaps of victims to his infracosmos.

He, who always had brushed away the thought of death, did not even see to erecting a proper sepulcher for himself. Now, he was placed beside the sarcophagus of his predecessor, his brains pulled out and his body saturated with preserving substances, all to be worshipped by crowds after crowds. Be that as it may, once he had to die anyways, he would have wished for precisely this kind of resting in peace. Emanations off multitudes stooping in awe would have poured powers into him for as long as his descent had not dragged him down too much. Yet, the mummification and the reconstruction of the mausoleum would have demanded time which would not stop to wait.

Strangely enough, after Lenin’s death no one had payed attention to the magical or, rather, demonic character of this creation of quasi-hallows, which had never and nowhere been done before. It did not occur to anyone that the creation of this death cult center did not square well either with the materialistic doctrine, or with the modesty of the first leader, or with the psychological milieu of the revolutionary movement. The second leader came to initiate the mausoleum’s creation. I do not know whether it was his unconscious intuition or if he could already see that the very minute the brain had been extracted from Lenin, this act had severed the connection inside the etheric body of the deceased: this body was rid of its vital center and disintegrated while the etheric brain of the deceased – so-called rakht – was picked up, as per Urparp’s will, by the Great Igva of Drukkarg and his helpers. There, in Drukkarg, the brain was placed and preserved from decay with great care in the cone of the main temple wherein igvas sustained the potential life in it. Had the first leader passed his expiatory temptation in the lower layers, he would have reached Drukkarg at some point of time and taken in his rakht as the center for his new etheric body. Amid antihumankind this would have thundered as the greatest miracle. The hero and wonders-worker would have been enthroned in Drukkarg, and this would have led to the unification of all the shrastrs into a single monolith, all to be an excellent tool for Gagtungr, even more so than all the belligerent undertakings of Zhrugrs.

Yet, after long suffering in the Pit, as well as in other layers, having reached Drukkarg after many years, the leader refused to take in his rakht. Thanks to his experience of the underworld, he realized what this would have been fraught with for himself and humanity. Infuriated, Zhrugr hurled him back into the Pit. Yet, the former had no more power to resist the forces of the Synclite in determining the afterlife of the first leader, for the first leader’s shelt opened up and became accessible to them after his heroic choice. Almost the very moment he was thrown down into the Pit, he was rapidly elevated to Olirna. There, after a number of years spent in the worlds of enlightenment, he joined in the creation of the blessed Arimoya, the emerging all-people zatomis.

The first leader refused to take in his rakht. As for the second leader, he placed all his hopes precisely on this. As he himself, so Urparp, and the demons from Gashsharva hurled all effort into slowing down the second leader’s karmic descent so that the spawn of Gagtungr could breach through the grey walls of Shim-big adjacent to Drukkarg, barge into the Russian shrastr, and grab hold of his rakht. This drawn-out descent lasted for several months. For half a year, all the forces of darkness struggled with the momentum of the karmic weight that was dragging the deceased further and further down. They infused such a power into him that his voice thundered all over the purgatories, reached the shrastrs, and resounded even in Enrof causing quivers and trepidation in those capable of hearing it. The most dangerous event happened in October 1953. The falling one broke loose from the grip of the enforces of karma. By then, he had almost lost his human appearance but was incredibly dreadful and powerful. His body was made up of brown fumes, and his seemingly blind eye pits were almost all-seeing. Being carried on the dark angels’ wings, he soared to the gates of Drukkarg. Zhrugr raced to his rescue, the igvas and raruggs were jubilating in an ecstatic rapture.

There, at the walls of the Russian shrastr, one of the greatest battles took place. The forces of the Russian Synclite and its demiurge proved insufficient. Angels, daemons, and many enlightened ones from other metacultures raced to rescue. The one storming the gates of Drukkarg was held down for some time by a great human spirit, known to us as Abraham Lincoln. Finally, there resounded the clapping of the white horseman that rushed into the shrastr from the heights of the World Synclite. The usurper (the second leader, t/n) was enveloped with the weapon of Alexander the Blessed’s will and was handed down to the enforcers of karma. The scream that was shattering to nearly half of Shadanakar gradually died out. What used to be Stalin was planted into the superheavy magmas and was sinking further down to the one-dimensional Pit.

to the next part: 11.4 On the Metahistory of Our Days
to the previous part: 11.2 Combating Spirituality
to the beginning: «The Rose of the World». Table of contents
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