Lost Worlds and Underground Mysteries of the Far East

This wonderful reprint investigates from an objective mind the strange customs and traditions of the religions of India. The author has experiences that cannot be explained away as fraud and tricksters, and he relates many of the con-artist's tricks in India. The book kept us at HiddenMysteries spellbound reading it from cover to cover.

From the Author:

Realizing how sadly large a proportion of the public has become mentally drugged and atrophied by the standardization for which the joint influence of Council-school so-called "education", the B.B.C., the cinema, mass-sport, queuing-up, and factory regimentation are jointly responsible, I have thoughtfully provided plenty of entertainment for this unfortunate majority in the opening chapters of this book.

Those of my readers who still retain intelligent interests and independent judgment, however, will find food for thought in the succeeding chapters, in which I have endeavoured to add to our knowledge of the origins of folk tales, customs, and sorcery, and in which a new view on the birthplace of Indian civilization is put forward for the first time. That is the real object of this work.

From the Publisher

Getting into publishing on my own, I eventually started to come across other manuscripts that dealt with topics of a "fringe nature." There were books on Atlantis, on the builders of the Great Pyramid. There were dusty volumes on Tibet and on the wonders of China and Mexico. Most amazing was the fact that these works contained highly "disputed" information that ordinary texts had edited so as not to disturbed fellow academics.

What I have found is that from time to time a "lost manuscript" will resurface at a moment in history when it is better understood or welcomed than when it was originally published. The book you are now holding is one such rarity written in the early 1930's by Mr. M. Paul Dare, News Editor of the Times of India, and a very prestigious daily in its heyday.

Upon finding and thumbing through a first edition of this literary wonder far back in the basement of a used bookstore, I knew I was going to reissue it for a contemporary audience as it dealt was a part of the world that is in the headlines almost every day - but whose culture remains shrouded in mystery as it was centuries ago. Well written and well researched this long out of print book proves that sometimes myths and legends can be all too true.
Tim Beckley

Excerpt

Many persons have asked me why the space visitors should have chosen me for contact rather than some other individual whom they considered eminently better qualified for such a contact than myself. Why, they infer, should the space visitors have picked so insignificant a nonentity as I for their revelations?

In all humility I tell you that I too have asked both the space visitors and myself that very question many times. And it is only within recent months that I have begun to understand fully just why I was chosen. But this is not the place in this book to disclose the reasons for their choice. After you have finished the book, however, you will have the answer. It is up to you then to decide whether or not you agree with the saucer beings in their choice of contact.

Thus I shall begin by telling you something of my early life and the space visitors first contact with me back in the year 1946, when I was totally unaware that I first came under their observation.

My childhood was the usual happy, carefree childhood of most American boys. I joined in the less strenuous games, attended school and was fairly good in my studies, although I was always frail and in poor health. Fortunately, my family was in fairly comfortable circumstances and they and my two indulgent uncles saw to it that I always had the best medical attention available.

My youthful trouble was diagnosed as " constitutional inadequacy" and its symptoms were great physical weakness, lassitude, lack of appetite and malnutrition. Hence I tired very easily and the slightest physical effort often left me weak and exhausted. I suffered from severe migraine headaches and as I grew older it seemed at times that every nerve and muscle in my body ached with excruciating pain.

When I was in the ninth grade the doctors advised that I discontinue school and continue my studies at home. This arrangement was highly satisfactory with me, for I had always been intensely interested in all branches of science. At home I was able to devote my entire time to the study of these subjects.

With plenty of rest and on a weight-building diet I gained strength and within a year the doctors believed I was well enough to return to school. But as my family had suffered some financial reverses in the meantime, it was decided that it would be best if I went to work for a while. I heartily approved. My first job was with my uncle's flooring and stucco company. He hired me as an estimator-salesman as I was not equal to any heavy work. I liked the work and enjoyed getting out and meeting people. All in all I got along pretty well even though I was considered just a kid. In my spare time I continued to study all of the books I could get hold of on scientific subjects.

In 1936 I met Mabel Borgianini, an attractive Italian girl who is a direct descendant of the famous Italian Borgias. From the first, both of us knew that we were meant for each other. Her happy, cheerful disposition helped me to keep from brooding over my health and physical inability to accomplish all of the things that I longed to do. It was the happiest day of my life when we were married. About a year later our first son, Raymond, was born and our cup of happiness was full.

A little later I suffered a complete physical breakdown and was forced to give up my job. My weight fell alarmingly from 150 to 103 pounds and I was so weak that I could scarcely sit up. After a number of medical examinations and complicated tests, the doctors decided I was suffering from a neurovascular disturbance. They prescribed complete rest and continuous medical attention.

Thus I entered a new world, a white world of doctors, nurses and hospital beds.

For eighteen long months I was confined to bed. My body was wracked with excruciating pains and I was so utterly exhausted that I could not even read. Medical science was doing everything possible for me, but I knew that my doctors didn't believe that I would ever pull through. Frankly, I didn't much care whether I lived or died. Life was no longer desirable. To lie day after day on a white hospital cot with a body flayed with pain and too exhausted even to think is indeed a living hell. Death, I felt, could only mean release from pain. Especially was the confinement difficult for me to bear as I had always loved the out of doors, the sparkle of the sunshine, the whisper of the leaves in the woods, and the music of the woodland streams. Sometimes I prayed that I might die and escape the pain and awful weariness that ached in my muscles.



CONTENTS