Commentary
Of melons and sheep
In an uncanny Kasfesque town of Krashnoy, (neither to be confused with Krasnoy from the novel ‘Malafrena’, where learnt men assuage the poor, nor with the place called Kashmir where no creatures, two legged or four legged, assuage the poor) the average empathy and intelligence dwindled between rumour and the rotten-melons.
As a matter of policy, both existed in an eerie symphony with each other, making the Krashnoyiris (inhabitants of the town) reflexively detached and extremely teetering, even if nothing funny was happening around.
No! Don’t confuse the town with some regular town of humans; this town was more of an orweillian farm, however without seven commandments (although inhabitants were always naked) and Napoleon ‘The Pig was thanked heartily for every rumour and every rotten-melon gone bad.
A town of self deprecating sheep, to be precise.
The melons, to start with were not rotten, they were melons like any other melon, starting green and turning pink when ripe. However, Pigs ate the flesh, crushed the seeds and bathed in water in a “spirit of selfishness and privilege” because day and night they watched over the sheep.
The rumours on the other hand would come at a time when none dared speak their mind, and the sheep could be depended on with them, bleating them for hours without feeling tired and until each of themselves believed that rotten melons actually grew rotten and Pigs walking on two legs were better than Pigs walking on four legs.
The rotten-melons and rumours existed in an impregnable association, each sustaining the other and keeping the unquestioning sheep together in a morbidly serene but unsettling tranquillity, tranquillity of a complacent ignorance
However, one day a sheep called Gregor Shamsa ate the forbidden fruit, the plump red velvet of the not so rotten rotten-melon; gorging on it with a spirit of a savage inanition and in-satiated inquisitiveness. Lo!!! The curtains fell down, he realised that he was naked and that no two legged Pigs were better than four legged Pigs.
He also realised that the rotten-melons were supposed to be watermelons and everyone had a right to eat them: a sheep or a dog or a Pig. Shamsa noticed that his appearance had changed too, he could now stand on two legs, his hands had fingers, head had grown hair, eyes could see more colours, ears made sense of the noises around him and his face had flattened with a pointy organ at the end of it that could smell a rotten melon from a fresh one.
He moved from wonder to disambiguation to a lucid acceptance of his condition. His body and psychology had strong effect on his emotion and he believed he had metamorphosed from a sheep into a Human.
In his last remnants of sheepdom he returned to the herd to tell them about the revelations he received: that they were not sheep, the treacherous Pig had no right to intimidate other animals and consolidate his power and dogs who received special privilege by pigs for howling at the sheep were still dogs with no physical, moral or ethical superiority over anyone. He rushed back, called unto his herd and spoke out loud. He cried out loud…
O my dear sheep… The sheep bleated…
The rumour was spread that a sheep Called Shamsa had caught a rare prion disease that caused him delusions, discontent and depression… The sheep repeated.
The disease was because of an artificially ripened melon, since he ate it when it wasn’t a season for it… The sheep repeated…
It had effected a part of his body within the head called brain, the only treatment being its removal… The sheep repeated…
Pig’s propaganda was so effective but it were the sheep who in addition to being misdirected by the propaganda were the vehicles of fear mongering and manipulation.
Shamsa resented the loathsome sheep. If the pig controls a million sheep it is not only for the pig’s fear and fascism but also the sheep’s folly.
Shamsa, sick of the indoctrinated unintelligent animals ran and ran away from the farm, never looking back at it ever again.
The legend remains that Shamsa— The Human now passes his time writing banter and jest for shadow banned newspapers and eating artificially ripened watermelons.
(The satire is a pure piece of fiction and does not endorse eating or not eating any fruit)
Khawar Khan Achakzai is a published author, a medical Doctor by profession, and a student of history.
Views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author’s and do not necessarily reflect the editorial position and policy of Free Press Kashmir. Feedback and counter-views are welcome at editor@freepresskashmir.com.
