Page 78 - Just Deserts

Swami Adavasi

equipment and skilled labor. If we go with the large size, about the
same dimensions and facing stone as the Great Pyramid of Giza, it
will take at least eight years.”
“Too long,” grunted Adavasi. “What’s the next size down?”
“We can scale it down to about fifty meters on a side, use a lot of
reinforced pre-poured concrete where it doesn’t show, and work
three shifts a day; if we do that, I am confident of a completion date
less than three years away.”
“What’ll that one cost?”
The architect grimaced slightly. “I can’t put a precise price tag on
it until we get some bids, but it ought to come in under two hundred
million.”
The swami appeared relieved. “Hmm,” he said, wagging his
grizzled head to and fro in unconscious imitation of other swamis he
had seen, perhaps on television. “And this monument will proclaim
for all time that I, Swami Adavasi, established my religion on this
here spot, and nobody will be able to deny it?”
“That’s right, Swami-ji. We can even donate the land to the
government and bribe them to declare it a national monument: then
it would be untouchable, just like Mount Rushmore.”
Swami Adavasi’s eyes glittered.
“Then maybe I am interested in this thing, buddy. Leave that
drawing here: I want to give it some deep, deep consideration. Now
get on out.”
John A. Raleigh-Bowle stood up. His audience had clearly ended.
“May you help yourself a hundred times today,” he solemnly intoned,
backing toward the door.
The spiritual leader barely acknowledged the salutation. “Yeah,
yeah. I’ll be sure to help myself, yes indeed. You know, I just can’t
help it!” He chortled asthmatically and tried to focus on the blueprint
of his posterity.

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