The local community who are up in arms over the weirdo cult and the weirdo goings on, including weirdo foot kissing rituals involving placing money at the feet of a fat American of Indian descent.

The luxury accommodation with gilt edged everything for Him, the Lard, the fatted calves slaughtered for His, the Lard's barbecue ( not your typical Aussie barbecue, rest assured) while the food for the rest is supplied by Brizo contractors, 50 kms away, and tastes like it, stale bread rolls and meagre fillings for incredible prices.

Unless you want to pay pay pay pay through the nose at Daya's beeeeaaaauuuuuuuuteefull restaurant, to mingle with the somebody's, well the richies, anyway.

And then there is the overwrought and overworked volunteers who physically put everything together, for no thanks and quite a lot of abuse from 'managers' who are brought in at the last moment who seem to be somebody's cousin, or a friend of some idiot called Raja Ji or somesuch.

And then there are the preying mantises like some prat called Padarthanand who check out the volunteer women for ready, able and willingness.

And then there is all the sycophancy that surrounds HHHHHHHIM. HHHHHHis LLLLLLLLardship. How grateful can one be to be allowed to wash his car four times a day (he has some strange phobias). I guess they are all out there now slopping up the crap tents over the campsites for which they pay approximately 10 times the going rate of the same campsites up the road and down another bush track. While some poor gopie spends 10 hours per day obsessively cleaning the Rawat bungalow (read luxury dwelling for most of us), the windows, the gold plated toilet ( he has a thing about toilets) until they are within an inch of their life. And how the slaves at Daya's restaurant will be used and abused while the royal but aging brats lord it over their sycophantic subjects, deigning to mingle un petit peu with the plebs and proles.

Ah yes, Spring in Amaroo with HHHHHHHim. Lord of the universe? More like devil of the universe.