The Polynesian calls for other men to help him. Without warning, you are grabbed by three men, one of whom pulls down your loincloth and grabs your balls and
slices them clean off your body. You scream out in shock, but as you do so your mouth is held down and open. The same man reaches into your mouth with his
knife and whips out your tongue. A second man pours a vile smelling substance over your crotch and into your mouth to stop the bleeding. Then the Polynesian
approaches you with a red hot iron and brands your left buttock with the name of the plantation. Finally, you feel a dull pain as a rock comes crashing into the side
of your head, pushing you to the floor and making you pass out.
You come round in a field of sugar cane. As you open your eyes, you see a Polynesian with a whip. He thrashes your back until he draws blood. Then he
commands you, in Hindi, to start cutting the crop. You try to speak but can only make an animalistic grunt. Slowly you pick up tools and begin to harvest the sugar
cane. You are whipped again until you have reached the same speed as the Indian coolies on either side of you. Perhaps you feel a flicker of recognition, but any
thought is lost in the foggy confusion of your new mind.