Sanctimonia Binocs, Bhubaneswar, 23 July 2025
Hark, ye bewildered and increasingly impoverished citizens of Sanctimonia! Our king, a man whose furrowed brow now rivals a freshly ploughed field, finds himself ensnared in a moral maze. Whom to arrest? The political party president, a figure of saffron-clad power, accused of molesting a tribal girl? Or the common criminal, whose audacious act of abducting another tribal girl has sent shivers through the kingdom? The king, it seems, is paralyzed by choice, perhaps pondering the political repercussions of each.
The kingdom’s despair deepens with each passing day. A nurse, a beacon of care, is reportedly contemplating the unthinkable – suicide. And in a chilling testament to the pervasive sense of hopelessness, another lady actually planned a suicide attempt inside a police station! A colossal question mark hangs over the king’s head, and the netizens, their eyes wide with disbelief, wonder why their monarch remains so inert. Even the Jester, usually a fount of unbridled mirth, is now laughing with a worried edge, his usual comedic targets overshadowed by the grim reality of rising crime.
Meanwhile, our perpetually sulking Law Minister, a man whose ambition never truly sleeps, is engaged in secretive meetings. His confidante? An “old hand” from the halcyon days of coal mining, a figure whose past is as murky as a forgotten mine shaft. The grapevine, ever reliable, whispers of a grand comeback, a political resurrection engineered by this mining magnate, especially after the Law Minister’s recent “bad time” with the Jester. But wait! As whispers of a ministry expansion fill the air, a different kind of scramble is underway. A gaggle of “jolly fellas” in saffron cloth are making a beeline for the Governor’s house, their sole purpose to “lick his feet” and secure a coveted cabinet position. The air is thick with the scent of desperation and cheap perfume.
In this swirling vortex of confusion, our King’s Deputy, a woman of remarkable speed and even more remarkable timing, has sprung into action. She is seen addressing more than 600 females, urging them to “fight crime in a sturdy manner” – a noble sentiment, though one wonders with what ammunition. Then, with a mere whiff of a moment, she is off! Whisked away to the capital of the Super King, ostensibly to visit the burn patient who tragically suffered here in Sanctimonia. The netizens, their heads spinning, marvel at her lightning-fast departure. Her entire trip, it seems, was meticulously planned by the very “mining great” who is now whispering sweet nothings into the Law Minister’s ear. The threads of power and influence, it appears, are intricately woven indeed.
The netizens, caught in this bewildering drama, have no time for political analysis. Their days are consumed by the grim reality of survival. The prices of daily necessities are touching the sky, making every purchase a painful negotiation. Their only recourse, their only hope, is a fervent prayer to the Holy Triad. They implore the divine, hoping for a miracle that will usher in an environment of crime-free living and, perhaps, make existence affordable once more. Sanctimonia, it seems, is a kingdom where justice is delayed, politics is a circus, and the common man prays for a return to basic affordability.
