The Khazana called Corona

Kalinga Sendha | A Study In Bullshit Happening In Odisha

People have now got so used to my disappearance and reappearance every couple of months, that they have started calling me “School Mastrey”— endearingly after rural teachers of Govt schools in the Queen’s long reign. But this time I had a legitimate reason, born out of not so legitimate liaison—I was under forced quarantine all these days.

   The fact is, to be honest, I had mated with a foreigner cow—a bovine beauty brought here from China for some treatment at local veterinary hospital. Finding the slight opportunity of the watchman out on his Guthka break, I who was lurking just outside the fences let my basic instincts take over. Without listening to the Chinese beauty’s hummaws and moaning, I did a quick hum-ho and satisfied, let out an elated bray. But that soon brought the vets and the watchman running alarmed to the scene.

  “Arrgh…. What has he done?” the vets were very angry on the watchmen as if he had committed the rape. Then they also went around me inspecting me intently including my still dripping, limping member and the Senior asking the junior in askance, “Do we keep him in quarantine?”

 “Yes sir, let’s. I’ve heard some tigers in New York got it…now if we test him and find a Bovine Corona case, you can get international acclaim!” his eyes sparkled and soon the senior vet blasted instructions to the trembling watchman and two attendants. I was dragged, much against my wishes to a pucca cowshed…thank god it had a ceiling fan…next to a table where what looked like several instruments of torture sat sparkling. I tried to injure the attendants and watchmen with my horns and gave them few nasty kicks too, but they seemed rather determined this time, to chain me down.

And there I remained for more than two weeks. Friends, I am not complaining about the facilities that the Queen has built for animals, which are at par or sometimes even better than what she does for her citizens…But the fact of sheer boredom staying all alone in the shed all through the quarantine. The vets did turn up daily to monitor me, doing blood checks, while the attendants saw to it that I was kept clean and all my urine and bullshit was dutifully collected. But I felt losing my mental sanity, utterly missing the familiar cacophony of Ghania teashop, my regular hangout.

   So, I was released only last afternoon to the disappointment of the old vet who failed to find any symptoms of Bovine Corona after analyzing truckloads of shit. And I trudged back to Ghania’s shop be greeted with appreciative pats, free biscuits and cakes and juicy tidbits of gossip. AHHH…this is what Freedom feels like.

Now within hours of patiently masticating and eavesdropping the Janta, I came to gather this much—that the Corona I just escaped from has killed thousands all over the world and now threatening to infect the Queendom. That the Brave, Kind Queen, the victorious of many such conflicts with cyclones, floods and political storm—has geared up her durbar to tackle the emergency situation.

  As the Blue-eyed Boy of the Queen, our beloved Quickgun Murugan has set up a crack team of senior pundits, babus and consultants to fight this unseen yet fearsome enemy. This time he has fronted Subald Tongualee, a seasoned, suave veteran and an import from the Business world into the durbar. While Tongualee would like the unsuspecting citizens to believe that he has taken sanyas from his not so high-flying career and here to serve the Queendom with his charity (even officially taking Rupee 1 as salary); the critics say that his deep old bureaucratic connections and lure of an Upper House seat is what makes him salivate. After all, wasn’t a corporate type chamcha in Queendom wasn’t sent recently to the coveted House lately? So, you get the drift!

Tongualee, who made his appearance as a consultant at the Queen’s durbar couple of years back, has been given a posh office with multiple staff, a personal car and a senior position. And grapevine runs that he has drafted few of his near and dear into such durbari posts as well. Armed with oodles of butter, bombastic management gas and the Gift of Gab he has quickly cozied up into the Queen’s coterie. (TO BE CONTD...)

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