BHAWNA ATMARAM
Once upon a time, there lived a vicious demi-god named Ashen-Going. He was so named, as he was ashen in complexion and was constantly on the go. In order to survive, he had to feed on the blood of innocent souls. He had a voracious appetite, and was on the lookout for victims to devour across the universe. One fine day, he descended upon the beautiful beaches of Dodoland. Ashen-Going was small in stature, but his mouth had the capacity to expand up to twenty times its normal size. He overcompensated his diminutive size with an over-inflated ego. He came from a distant planet that belonged to the Sun God, which explained his hot, fiery temper.
The islanders were flabbergasted when they first saw Ashen-Going. They rubbed their eyes in disbelief till they turned red and puffy. As they scrutinised that distorted mythical creature, the latter opened his gargantuan gob and started mercilessly gorging on all the Dodolanders within his reach. Terrified, the surviving Dodolanders dispersed in different directions, desperate to save their fragile, meaningless lives. However, a brazen few were impressed and pledged allegiance to him, in order to save their lives. After all, a demi-god in the hand is worth two in the bush. After having satisfied his hunger, Ashen-Going patted his protruded belly, burped heartily and resolved to return in a few decades. He was hopeful to find more delectable victims in the future, to be procured by his dutiful adherents (chamchas). In the meantime, pending his fateful come-back, his acolytes had been erecting a shrine bearing his statue, so that they could feast on the remains (bout) of his power game. Like rabid hyenas.
The Contagious Electoral Fever
A few decades later, amidst the customary hubbub surrounding the General Elections in Dodoland, the folkloric campaign is in full swing. The electoral fever has gripped the whole population. You can’t escape it unless you are living under a rock like a slimy tadpole or hibernating underground like a prickly hedgehog. Whether it is ‘anba laboutik’, in the workplace, at family gatherings or places of worship, Dodoland pundits are busy showcasing their self-proclaimed expert opinions on who will emerge victorious – just as they do for English football matches. Otherwise, they are busy gossiping about the latest scandals candidates find themselves embroiled in.
Musical chairs of candidates in some constituencies, accompanied with tears of joy or disappointment, and intense backstabbing and bootlicking sessions are the order of the day. Social media warriors (soldats) are busy tapping their fingertips to show their full allegiance to their political party or favourite candidate, posting and reposting and forwarding photos and videos all day long. Others are on the campaign trail (lor terin), accompanying their candidates for the in-person door-to-door canvassing. But, of course, everything has a price tag! Nothing comes cheap, and there is no free lunch, in this world. Some die-hard Dodolanders, who have sworn allegiance to powerful political parties, have certainly grasped this underlying concept and have their shopping list ready, for the elected candidates to pick up the tabs. It’s mere favours, they say – not bribes surely!
In exchange for their unflinching support, strategic well-wishers have demanded government jobs for themselves and their close ones, nominations, embassies, undeserved scholarships, operating licences among others. You’ll be blessed with abundance as the world will be your oyster! So, you’d better get out and shimmy shimmy it in front of the highest bidder! That is once-in-a-lifetime opportunity of benefiting from human blessings in lieu of rarer divine blessings. In Dodoland, it is noteworthy that a select few of its glorified inhabitants have been surviving solely on scraps from political patrons, without having the decency to pitch in a single day of honest labour. Oh no! Who would want to toil, when one could simply leech off the different institutions of a country? Shame is an abstract concept for these souls who were born under a lucky star. The mighty governors drop dividends (bout) to the ground for them to tear each other to pieces, vulture-like, over.
Good God!
You know that God (Bondie) helps those who help themselves! I mean, you just can’t sit passively and expect favours to pour onto your lap. In order to make things happen, you need to move it, move it! Crying on your pillow, complaining inwardly, expressing your frustration on social media are absolutely futile. You want something? Just get up and grab it!
In Dodoland, accordingly, countless devotees of greedy would-be politicians, are ever-present to perpetuate their gluttonous legacy. They erect gigantic shrines and statues in their honour, in all parts of the island. Then, each morning, they prostrate themselves in front of the statues, and religiously drizzle the statues with their blood and sweat, in exchange for unmatched blessings. Empowered, the politicians who feel God-like, march stiffly in all constituencies, as they scout new devotees in the making. They threaten, goad and sugarcoat these nimble souls into becoming meek followers (suiveurs). The latter were even told that, just like they believe in God, they should believe in the God-like words of their leader.
So, what is the politicians’ favourite haunt to recruit loyal devotees to further their insatiable palate? Places of worship are the first port of call. These are stepping platforms for them to gain notoriety and establish themselves as the supreme representatives of the people. With a few faithful henchmen, they get elected and profess to be the modern Bondie of the day. Vile! But that method has been tried and tested with a proven track record. Feeding on the naivety of gullible Dodolanders, these politicians pursue the holy grail of anti-religion. They shrewdly manipulate devotees with their hypnotic stares and words, deftly using their intrinsic knowledge of religious and caste divisions, to pursue their personal agenda.
The British were the pioneers of the politics of ‘divide and rule’. Our unholy men/politicians have followed suit, and unabashedly become their adept minions. More so, they hit below the belt to be endorsed by some national religious councils in order to be thrust into the much-coveted political limelight. Worse, they even give chameleons a run for their money; they change political colours at the drop of a hat! As the saying goes, fleas change dogs (karapat sanz lisien) – that’s the price to pay to reach higher summits.
Shameless Koustik!
In Dodoland, anything is permissible to attain the heights of power. It is laughable to find a few prospective candidates busy canvassing the electorate in one constituency one fine day. And suddenly and unceremoniously shipped off to another constituency on the next day, leaving everyone confused. Finally, the unluckiest ones, who have resigned from prestigious public posts, are stripped of all dignity upon learning that they have been deprived of a ticket by their beloved leader. The disillusionment cannot be described. Adieu to fantasies! Back to earth with a crash landing, they metamorphose into turncoats, keen to sell well-kept secrets of their former masters. It goes without saying they are given the red-carpet treatment by the rival political party which has welcomed them with open arms in order to gain an insight into field intelligence and well-guarded secrets of their former party.
Such shameless somersaults (koustik) are highly tolerated and applauded in Dodoland. Some politicians continuously have to swallow their own drivel by going back on their words. Friends become foes, enemies become family, while the spectre of their former murderous words against each other, hang over our heads. Are the common Dodolanders that stupid? Are they expected to ingest the spit of these politicians, regurgitate it and swallow it all over again? Nonetheless, this seemingly unpleasant undertaking of a never-ending cycle of swallowing and regurgitating has left a sticky and bitter taste in the mouths of many. How long are they expected to tolerate that mumbo jumbo?
The Hand of God
Now in 2024, the demi-god Ashen-Going, is back in Dodoland to establish his supremacy. His hunger knows no bounds. He has vociferously embarked upon his ignoble mission of persecuting and stuffing down those he disagrees with. His faithful sidekicks are busy spreading his rule of terror, sidelining and silencing the wretched Dodolanders, so that he can wreak havoc. His tyranny has already started in a dull and rainy town of Vac-Hooha found in the central part of the country. Ashen-Going has no plans to go back anytime soon. Instead, on seeing the plump Dodolanders, he smacks his loathly lips in anticipation, drooling uncontrollably, claws all drawn out. It is now or never! He is here to stay.
As the sleepy and dreary town of Vac-Hooha finally wakes up, the battle scene is ruthless. Ashen-Going and his lackeys are waiting to pounce on the panic-stricken Dodolanders. Just as everyone is holding his breath, a gigantic ray of sun pierces through the grey clouds and toasts him into a giant pile of ashes. And there we go. That marks the end of Ashen-Going. With no more bout to snatch, his flunkeys have no choice but to run away while the Dodolanders revel in their new-found freedom.
The hand of Bondie has been instrumental.
“Musical chairs of candidates in some constituencies, accompanied with tears of joy or disappointment, and intense backstabbing and bootlicking sessions are the order of the day. Social media warriors (soldats) are busy tapping their fingertips to show their full allegiance to their political party or favourite candidate, posting and reposting and forwarding photos and videos all day long. Others are on the campaign trail (lor terin), accompanying their candidates for the in-person door-to-door canvassing. But, of course, everything has a price tag!”