Sanctimonia Binocs, Bhubaneswar, 10 June 2025
Sanctimonia’s Coronation Conundrum: A Pacing King, Planting Ministers, and the Paradox of Pious Oxygen
Hark, ye long-suffering citizens of Sanctimonia, for our esteemed monarch finds himself in a most peculiar predicament! Our king, a man of profound contemplation (especially when it comes to his own grandeur), is currently engaged in an intricate ballet of pacing. Up and down the corridors and verandahs of his official residence he strides, a figure of regal anxiety. The only hitch? He possesses multiple official residences, leading to moments of profound confusion as he momentarily forgets which palatial expanse he is currently gracing with his royal footfalls.
His royal mind, however, is fixated on a singular, glittering event: his upcoming anniversary coronation. Yet, even this joyous occasion is not without its Sanctimonian twist. The coronation is not to take place in our glorious capital, nor in the hallowed land of the Holy Triad, but rather in the humble village of the ambassador of the super king! One can only imagine the logistical nightmares and ceremonial compromises this entails.
In the meantime, our ministers, ever eager to demonstrate their unwavering loyalty (and perhaps their own personal importance), have gone into a collective tizzy. Each, in their own unique way, is attempting to outshine their colleagues in a display of bureaucratic brilliance. But none, dear reader, can hold a candle to the unparalleled ingenuity of our Urban Development Minister.
With a flourish that would make even the most flamboyant gardener blush, the Urban Development Minister has launched a grand “Holy Plant Plantation Drive.” The idea, he explains with an almost divine certainty, is to plant sacred shrubs near every major road crossing, thereby “giving oxygen” to our bustling capital.
Now, the netizens of Sanctimonia, a perpetually bewildered but surprisingly observant lot, are in an even greater tizzy than usual. Their collective memory, unlike that of the Urban Development Minister, is remarkably fresh. They recall, with a collective sigh, the recent (and rather extensive) deforestation that occurred to accommodate the construction of new quarters for the king’s growing retinue of Kingsmen. “So many trees were cut,” they whisper to each other, “to make way for royal comfort, and now he wants to plant shrubs for oxygen near traffic fumes?”
The city’s botanists, a quiet but highly logical bunch, are particularly perplexed. They scratch their heads, pondering the scientific efficacy of a few holy shrubs producing enough oxygen to counteract the exhaust fumes of a thousand bullock carts and royal limousines. “Whom do we tell our woes?” they lament, their scientific souls aching. For the king, consumed by the upcoming anniversary coronation in the ambassador’s village, is as unreachable as a fresh delivery of unadulterated sand.
