Mand fakir
Mand-fakir felt a whoosh of hot air rising up his backside before he was thrown headlong out of his cave into the frigid Himalayan mountainside. As disorienting as the launch and landing was, he realized that lying on his face on the icy mountain-side with a burnt and exposed bum was likely to be quite nasty. So he got up and examined himself. Satisfied that there was no real damage, he turned to check his cave. It looked the same. He looked up. The sky did not look the same. What had been a starless full moon night before his belly-flop had turned into a very starry one, and the star population was increasing even as he goggled at the strange phenomenon. Within minutes, the sky was ablaze with what looked like a crore suns; so intense, it pierced through his closed eyelids. And a few moments later it was dark again. Blinded, but excited, he tottered back into his cave, feeling for his conduit, a human skull. He dimly noted that his hand felt alien, as if it was only entertaining hi