Sanctimonia Binocs, Bhubaneswar, 26 June 2025
Hark, ye long-suffering and perpetually dizzy citizens of Sanctimonia! The sacred fortnight of the Holy Triad’s hibernation is over, and after a much-needed (and perhaps slightly abbreviated) dose of herbal medicine, our revered deities are ready to grace their devotees with a glimpse! All their faithful followers had assumed the Holy Triad’s swift recovery was a divine miracle, especially given the regrettable absence of the usual 313 herbal doses.
Ah, but the grapevine, that tireless purveyor of inconvenient truths, whispers a different tale! It seems the “missing” herbal medicine was not merely misplaced, but rather spirited away to the neighboring country. A desperate act, perhaps, by a land devoid of its own herbal druids, eager to partake of Sanctimonia’s ancient healing secrets. And the Holy Triad, in their infinite (and perhaps slightly groggy) wisdom, have simply… forgiven them. One can almost picture the divine shrug.
Meanwhile, our Law Minister, a man whose permanent state is now one of advanced shivers, continues to insist, teeth chattering, that “nothing was stolen!” He blames the “rumours” squarely on the Jester, a convenient scapegoat, conveniently absent. Little does he know, our beloved jester remains in a far-off land, undergoing treatment for what we can only assume was a severe case of sanity depletion induced by years of Sanctimonian absurdities.
Amidst this medicinal mystery, our king, ever keen to prove his administrative prowess, has embarked on a “thumping chest” spree. His first grand declaration? That private bankers were strictly forbidden from his official banking partnerships! A clear, unwavering stance, demonstrating fiscal rectitude! But hark! Two days later, a royal U-turn! The king, with a bewildered expression that suggested he’d just woken from a particularly confusing dream, declared there had been a “confusion,” and the private bankers would, in fact, remain. And whose fault was this sudden swerve? “It’s the Jester!” he thundered, blaming the poor, ailing comedian for “making the banking system complicated.” Oh, the irony! The Jester, safely ensconced in a costly private hospital, is undoubtedly having the last, silent laugh.
To further convince the netizens that he is indeed “working” and that his election promises are being diligently carried out, the king has ordered his Prime Minister to conduct a “thorough checking” of all outsourced manpower. A noble endeavor to streamline efficiency, one might think. But little do our royal leaders realize that if the outsourced staff were truly out, the entire kingdom would grind to a halt. Most of Sanctimonia’s working staff, from palace cleaners to spiritual errand runners, are, in fact, outsourced. The thought of a kingdom without its outsourced gears sends shivers down the spine of anyone remotely familiar with its daily operations.
The netizens, caught in this perpetual whirlwind of policy reversals, blame games, and general befuddlement, are a worried lot. They watch as the Law Minister, the King, and the Prime Minister engage in an endless dance of U-turns, each more dizzying than the last. Their hopes for stable governance are now as elusive as a non-outsourced palace servant.
The Jester, though confined to a sickbed in a costly private hospital, must be giggling heartily. He, after all, understood the true nature of Sanctimonia’s politics: a grand, never-ending comedy of errors, best observed from a safe, and well-insured, distance.
