“Once again, Most Mystical Swami Kunundra, can you name the object this audience member is presenting to your gift of inner sightedness?”
“Hmm, well now, let me see … to begin with, I can sense it’s luminosity”, answered the Swami, hands held palm to palm, eyes closed to better ponder. He sat upon a white cushioned dais, adorned in orange robes, and wore a green sapphire jewelled red satin headpiece.
“I’m sensing rays of light, of a bright surface, perhaps glass, or shiny metal?”, he paused for effect … ”reflections, cast from the time of before. Am I on the right pathway?”
“Indeed you are Swami”, said his assistant Chandanah, an attractive ever smiling woman, her teeth whitening working a treat. Her role in their touring mentalist act was to float through the audience finding people to hold up items for the blindfolded Swami to identify.
“May I ask if it is worn or used?”
“It is used Swami, and used for what is worn”, replied the devilish Chandanah, aka Rhonda married to Barry aka The Most Mystical Swami Kunundra. Today was the final gig of their Gippsland Magical Mystery Tour.
“Hmm, it can be used for what is worn eh?”, surmised the Swami, fingers posing on chin, “Then I believe it to be a looking glass? As you may perhaps call a mirror?”
“Yes Swami, it is indeed a mirror!”, said Chandanah, leading the applause in theatrical amazement.
Their son Timothy was hidden backstage with a pair of binoculars and a microphone connected wirelessly to an earpiece hidden inside the folds of the Swami’s headpiece.
“And the mirror is like round dad, and it’s got a sort of shiny like chrome kind of silverish handle”, Tim added into his microphone.
Swami Kunundra continued, “And if I may Chandanah, I further sense that the mirror is shaped of a roundness, with a handle perhaps, of, um, sterling silver? Yes?”
The enthusiastic applause that followed indicated he was once again mystifyingly correct. His earpiece continued, “And dad, the lady holding it has blonde hair, and she’s wearing a gold necklace,” giggling, “And boy! Has she got big bosoms but!”
Holding up his hand to the audience, the Swami subdued the applause, “I am seeing more now; indeed, it is being displayed by a woman coiffured of blond hair, and she is ably complemented by a golden necklace that only enhances her delightfully pretty, and may I say to the gathered gentlemen, her very generous décolletage”.
Over the lewd laughter and applause, Tim asked, “Hey dad, isn’t that the real estate lady who showed you that rental property yesterday?”
Rhonda winced at the words ‘very generous décolletage’, as she announced the interval, inviting the audience to avail themselves of the bar amenities while the Swami rested his spiritual powers during the interval break.
She took a ciggy break in the staff toilet, fuming that he was at it again, the unfaithful arsehole, that lying bastard, that fucking two-timing prick, which meant the black bra she found in the back of their van wasn’t part of Tim’s fumbling love life at all like Barry claimed.
Well, enough was enough.
She slipped out to the car park to fetch the black lacy number from the van.
“May I have the next item held up please Chanandah?” asked the Swami, back on his cushioned dais.
“It is being held aloft for your powers of inner sight now O Mystery One”, replied a lesser smiling, more sardonic Chanandah.
“Hmm” said the Swami, “Is it something that you wear or carry?”
“Both Swami, it is something that you wear, to carry around your pair, of which you wish to share”, said Rhonda, holding the bra against her own breasts, her anger now apparent.
“Jesus dad”, Tim said, “Bloody hell, it’s mum, she’s holding up a woman’s brassiere – and she’s speaking in mum’s pissed off voice! And the real estate lady just shot through”
A bra waving Rhonda leapt upon the stage, “Perhaps the Swami may care to know in which type of environment such an item might be found?” she said completely off script, ripping off his blindfold and headpiece, “In the back of our fucking van you shagging arsehole!”
Rhonda yanked his earpiece out and held it up to the stunned audience, spitting out “He’s not Swami Kunundra from India, he’s an unfaithful ex-car salesman from bloody Wantirna South, and he gets told what your objects are through this earpiece”, at which point she hurled her microphone at the now former swami as the curtains crashed shut.
And as the house lights hurriedly came on to the swelled music of The Beatles, even above the continuing mayhem behind the curtain, you could still hear people saying what a good show it was, and boy, what a terrific ending!