Sanctimonia Binocs, Bhubaneswar, 15 May 2025
Hark, ye perpetually perplexed and occasionally pious citizens of Sanctimonia! The sacred fortnight of the Holy Triad’s hibernation is nearing its end, and the air crackles not just with spiritual anticipation, but with the palpable tension of a military parade. For our King, a man whose zeal for order rivals the Holy Triad’s own divine meticulousness, has embarked on a pre-Rath Yatra review of epic proportions. The goal? An “incident-free” sojourn, which in Sanctimonian parlance, means every possible incident, from a rogue pigeon to a misplaced sandal, must be preemptively neutralized.
Our King, radiating an aura of unwavering preparedness, surveyed the plans. He decreed an unprecedented deployment: police and traffic personnel swarming like pious ants, fire safety measures so stringent they’d extinguish a candle from fifty paces, and aerial surveillance so thorough, one might expect the Holy Triad themselves to be issued flight plans. “We must be extra careful,” he intoned, his voice echoing with the gravitas of a general addressing his troops, “on Rath Yatra, Bahuda Yatra, and Suna Besha!”
The details, oh, the glorious details! NSG snipers, presumably perched atop rooftops along the Grand Road, poised to… well, one can only speculate what spiritual threats they are meant to deter. Helicopters for aerial surveillance, drones with anti-drone systems to counter “aerial risks” (perhaps an overly ambitious flock of crows?). Our coastline, usually reserved for quiet contemplation and occasional illicit liquor shacks, will be jointly patrolled by the Indian Navy, Coast Guard, and Odisha Police Marine Wing. Twenty-seven-five AI-based CCTV cameras will stare unblinkingly from every nook and cranny, creating a 5-level security blanket so thick, even a stray thought of misbehavior might trigger an alert. An Anti-Terrorist Squad and a Rakshak vehicle will complete this ironclad embrace of spiritual celebration. Ten thousand security personnel – ten thousand! – compared to previous years. It’s a miracle the Holy Triad won’t need security escorts within their own chariots.
The various ministers, eager to demonstrate their departmental diligence, presented their briefs. The Law Minister, thankfully, seemed to have emerged from his permanent sulk, offering a coherent (for Sanctimonia) outline of legal preparedness. The Health Minister, however, managed to inject a dose of grim reality amidst the grand security spectacle, warning about “diarrhoea outbreaks” and the sale of “contaminated food and water.” Pure drinking water and hygienic food, he stressed, should be available. A stark contrast, indeed, to the high-tech snipers – one wonders if the snipers are also equipped to identify unhygienic samosas.
The servitors, humble custodians of the Holy Triad’s rituals, were politely (or perhaps firmly) “sought for cooperation,” to ensure rituals were “smooth and on time.” Their world, usually governed by ancient chants and sacred timings, now finds itself intertwined with police formations and drone flight paths. The King then unveiled an information booklet, no doubt thicker than a sacred text, outlining every conceivable protocol for this “most glorious symbol of our cultural identity.”
But where, oh where, is the laughter in all this? The biting wit, the self-deprecating chuckle that usually accompanies Sanctimonia’s grand endeavors? Alas, our beloved Jester, the kingdom’s resident truth-teller and mirth-maker, is conspicuously absent. He, the poor soul, underwent a nerve operation today. One can only assume the constant strain of processing Sanctimonia’s daily absurdities had finally taken its toll on his delicate comedic wiring.
As the King inspects the ongoing beautification work at Gundicha Temple, undoubtedly ensuring every stone is perfectly polished for the approaching aerial surveillance, the citizens of Sanctimonia are left to wonder. Will the Holy Triad, after their fortnight of quiet contemplation, truly appreciate this militarized embrace? Or will they, in their divine wisdom, simply yearn for the simpler days when a grand procession was about faith, not firepower, and the loudest sound was the roar of the crowd, not the whir of an anti-drone system? Without the Jester’s corrective laughter, the kingdom teeters precariously between divine duty and dystopian absurdity.
