..to the astonishment of the gathered media, but not to those in 'The Know', Mr Rawat clapped hands of his own (for he has many) and the crowd were at once stilled...  The lights went down.  A wide-screen live video backdrop spang into life.

An idyllic tropical coastline.  God's Creation at it's best (after Speke, Liverpool).  Sunlight sparkles on wavetops and gentle surf tickles and splashes the surfboard-damaged coral.  Flying-fish fly.  Dolphins dibble.  Fishing boats bob.  Grass-skirted maidens offer beach-side services to happy-holidaymakers...  

(Mr Rawat now slips to the darkened sides of the stage to watch along with his fellow-travellers, and accept an opened litre bottle of 30-year-old brandy slipped into his hand by a misguided devotee who had been reading the wrong 30-year-old gossip columns, but is accepted anyway...)

A large wave approaches.  I mean, like, FUCKING BIG...

Mr Rawat claps his hands again...

Then shits his pants.  For He is The Lord of Nothing.  And sometimes, just sometimes, He remembers that is so..