It is already too late to regret the past. We should have thought about it before the Second World War—and not unleashed it!—before the over-industrialisation of the West, then of the world; before the intensified massacre of forests and wild animals, and all the horrors committed or permitted, on the beast (always innocent, incapable of being ‘for’ or ‘against’ any ideology whatsoever) in the name of man’s interest, or of his well-being or simply amusement. We should have thought of this before the irresistible progression, the geometric progression, of the pullulation of the two-legged mammal at the expense of its quality, the ultimate source of all evils and all degradations.
It is already too late, not to mention the time when the degeneration of man, under the generalised rule of Chandala, will be an accomplished fact. There is little for the elite to do. There is only to maintain, against all odds, their faith in eternal, non-human values; to curse those men whom the powers of the abyss have chosen as instruments of their inevitable victory and, with all their strength, with all their thirst for beauty and justice, to call upon Kalki, the last hero ‘against Time’, the Avenger of all his glorious precursors: He who must succeed where they have all failed, and bring about the end of this Dark Age.
Whenever one passes through an overcrowded countryside, where quickly built houses and fields for the feeding of the human multitude stretch out indefinitely in place of the felled forests, one need only try to get in touch with the impassive and hidden principle of action and reaction, and pray intensely: ‘Return, O patient Lord, the earth to the jungle, and its ancient kings! Treat man, individually and collectively, as he has treated them and still treats them!’