CHAPTER I
Prince John the Ist
was feeling blue. Not that there are many emotions that can be assigned to him,
and most of the time he felt blue, but this was a special occasion. Unlike
other occasions, He did have a reason for it this time. It all started two hours earlier when the
future princess-to-be mentioned to him, rather stiffly, that he is always
feeling blue and should do something about this. He began to analyze the whole
reason as to why he is feeling blue. He certainly cannot neglect
Princess-to-be’s concerns. Anyway, Conventional wisdom told him that people who
are smart are most successful and happy, but the present situation suggested
otherwise. Certainly he was smart by all means but not successful and
definitely not happy. And a modest examination of the phenomenon called
Bollywood reveals that stupidity is more revered trait among men. He considered
his friends he had met online where they all played with words. They all were
very intellectually rich but in all of their intellectual banters the Prince
could discern a sense of disappointment which was very familiar to him.
Logically hence, it followed that conventional wisdom is wrong.
He therefore
theorized that people who are stupid are most happy if not that successful and
vice versa. This disturbed him even more. In order to be happy, he reasoned, he
needed to unlearn things and become ‘unsmart’ which, according to his
knowledge, was not possible. As a kid in order to maintain the ‘rebel without a
cause’ image, he had voraciously read and participated in intellectual debates.
By the time he reached adulthood he found out he was far more intelligent than
the average guys his age. He couldn’t help having opinions, mostly negative, on
anything and everything. He felt no hope which was one of the reasons for his
perpetual state of feeling blue. But now adding to that is this realization
that he cannot be happy ever, made him even more disappointed. He decided to
discuss it with his old pal Sheikh Tony-Al-Habibi.
Sheikh Tony-Al-Habibi was feeling
trippy, not that there were many occasions where he is not trippy but today he
was being more trippy because someone mentioned to him that his health had
deteriorated and he should quit drinking which made him sad and he believed
sadness can only be dissolved by drinking more. He was someone who never lost
hope anytime; on the other hand he never had any high hopes either. Like Prince
John the First, he also was in search of happiness. But unlike his case, his
happiness existed and he knew it for he had experienced it firsthand. It was
with his habibis that he felt real. As a child he was an agent of chaos. He
grew up with two elder sisters you could say he was born in it, molded by it. Those
who didn’t knew him well, feared him yet revered him. He was the unproclaimed
leader in every social circle he ever been in. They all loved him and though he
did not actually love them all, he loved the fact that they loved him. He was
called Mr. Magnanimous. Sheikh Magnanimous had created so much disorder in his
life that he was forced into a life of Order. He was sent to the great Middle
East by his well-wishers to create enough fortune so that he may be able to
raise his offspring in this utterly extravagant society. But he found living in
such a disciplined environment all alone was a harrowing experience. He yearned
for disorder among the order. His love for intoxicants grew excessively. His
health deteriorated. He looked like the love child of Mark Henry and Nicky
Minaj. That didn’t bother him, intoxicants kept him sane. He made himself a peg
of Royal Stag and sang with the song blaring out of his laptop ‘Aur hum naache
bin ghungroo ke…’ just when the call came.
Implications of Prince’s theory
were very disturbing to him. For one, it meant that since he could be happy, he
must be stupid too. But that’s only sometimes. Applying the theory to himself,
he deduced that he was smart and unhappy when sober or alone, stupid and happy
when with his friends or intoxicated. He was surprised to discover that this
was actually the case. Prince’s theory was right. He wanted to discuss it with
their common friend Comrade Karekovski about this theory. But he was skeptical.
Sheikh knew Comrade was an unhappy person and secondly he did not have enough
followers at the Online wordplay arena like Prince or himself. Though he knew
Comrade Karekovski would have a profound opinion about this theory but he wouldn’t
have the solution to the dilemma that was bugging them. He felt he should
rather ask their happiest friend Nawab Shyven of Enteepiseepur.
Nawab Shyven was not a royal by
birth. He was awarded the title of Nawab by democratic people of Enteepiseepur
for his renowned knowledge of everything that concern locals. He knew the
cheapest and coolest pubs in town to the hippest cocktails available. He wasn’t
intellectually gifted much like his peers. He didn’t know what quantum
entanglement meant, couldn’t tell left wing politics from right, he couldn’t
wordplay. But he was wisest of them all and hence he was the happiest. He also
earned more than both of them combined. He was adored by everyone who knew him.
Sometimes he pretended to be intellectual to ward off unwanted attention since
he knew intellectuals are hated in a society. But his attempt in pretending to
be an intellectual was so pretentious in itself that it was adorable. It was
but his ability to know everything that is required for a basic working-class
member of the society to lead a happy life that made him a real genius. If at
all any problem presented itself, he would close his eyes and a simple solution
always came into his mind. He liked to help all his friends with their problems
however trivial they were.
It wasn’t first time Sheikh
Al-Habibi came to seek advice from Nawab. But he was a bit surprised to see
Prince John beside him this time. Prince never bothered himself to seek his
advice; he always had considered them too mundane. This time the problem had to
be very complicated, he realized. Nawab patiently listened to everything Sheikh
and Prince had to say. The theory was succinct and the proof his friends
presented were irrefutable. He believed in them though it meant admitting that
he was stupid. He didn’t think he was stupid but he was sure that theory,
though right, was incomplete and it requires a bit of tweaking. He decided to
help them.
He closed his eyes and started
meditating. Slowly, some images started flashing in front of his eyes, so dark
that he wished he could block them out by closing his eyes, but since he had
already closed his eyes there was nothing he could do. Eventually, a pattern
emerged; the meaning of all those images presented itself. He opened his eyes
and gave out a deep sigh.
An ancient brotherhood met at a
secret grove near the Himalayan foothills, on the night of amavasya during the
month of Vaisakha every year. A brotherhood called The Legion of Tragic
Wanderers. Its members included prominent directors of offbeat cinema which are
appreciated by critics but flops miserably, twitter celebrities with over ten
thousand followers but no life, film critics, journalist who have death threats
against them etc. Legend has it that this brotherhood secretly worships a dark
God. They call him Lord Panauti… The God of Tragedy.
Nawab Shyven told his friends,
that the images he saw in his visions have implied that answers to the question
they sought lay with the brotherhood. They alone held key to every question
that have been bugging them. Sheikh and Prince agreed that they had to meet the
leader of the brotherhood and seek answers from him. It was already the month
of Vaisakh. If they set out now, they argued, they could reach the secret grove
by the night of next amavasya.
With a glint of hope in their
minds, they set out to seek the answer that should provide a whole new meaning
to their existence.
…to be continued
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