Sanctimonia Binocs, Bhubaneswar, 29 July 2025
Hark, ye bewildered and increasingly famished citizens of Sanctimonia! Our king, once a figure of plump contentment, now appears gaunt and haggard, a stark testament to the kingdom’s crumbling hospitality. Gone are the days of gratis banquets and endless buffets! The hoteliers, still smarting from unfulfilled royal promises, have closed their kitchens to him, their patience as thin as the king’s current physique. His face, once a picture of regal indulgence, now clearly shows the strain of a diet devoid of five-star delicacies.
Adding to his royal distress, his Deputy, a figure of surprising initiative, has bypassed the king entirely and gone straight to the Super King, pleading for finance and support. His aim? To actually deliver on the projects he had promised the subjects, a move that has clearly disturbed our king more than a sudden shortage of saffron-colored sweetmeats. The audacity! To seek solutions outside the royal purview!
Meanwhile, our perpetually sulking Law Minister finds himself in a new state of bewildered paralysis. His latest torment? Devotees, armed with the latest meta technology, are now invading the sacred temple, snapping photographs of the Holy Triad with impunity! This digital desecration has utterly flummoxed him, especially as he is still attempting to take inventory of the Royal Treasury, a task made infinitely more complicated by the constant fear of missing jewels and the lingering scent of past “donations.”
The kingdom, it seems, has become a breeding ground for fraud. Real estate scams are rampant, ensnaring even the Kingsmen of the last king, who, in a delicious twist of irony, are now losing money hand over fist. Some have lost lakhs, while others, whose losses are so astronomical they defy mere numerical expression, simply cannot articulate the figures. The very foundations of trust, much like the king’s diet, are crumbling.
The netizens, caught between a starving monarch, digital divine, and rampant fraud, now face a new catastrophe. Floods have ravaged northern Odisha, leaving them without food and facing an uncertain future. Our king, seemingly paralyzed by indecision, knows not whom to entrust with the duty of providing relief.
And the other Deputy, the one who bravely ventured to the Super King’s capital to seek answers for the self-immolation victim? She has returned, accompanied by the police, their faces etched with frustration. Despite their efforts, they could not unearth a single clue as to how the horrific crime of burning the girl took place. The mystery remains, a festering wound on the kingdom’s conscience.
Everyone, from the famished king to the flooded netizens, is still waiting for a holy miracle. Their only recourse is to call upon the Holy Triad, their prayers echoing through the digital temple, hoping for divine intervention in a kingdom spiraling into chaos. Sanctimonia, it seems, is a land where the only thing certain is uncertainty, and the only solution is a prayer.
