the tale of a bigot

ONCE UPON A TIME, there lived a woman. Or perhaps she wasn't, though she was female. Then again, even that was in doubt. But for the sake of the story, we will call the creature a woman.

This - woman - ruled over a small kingdom. She was not a queen, however much she wished it, for the people she presided over had minds of their own and as one would not recognise her. They badmouthed her, tolerated her, condemned her or ignored her, but there were few who came to openly speak against her.

This kingdom had a policy, devoutly kept by its ruler. Hands that moved against the law were bound; mouths that said unfavourable things were gagged; eyes that saw too much were blinded. This, it was said, would keep the kingdom peaceful; tranquil.

And so the people kept in line. But ideas were not dead, no; neither was the resentment. They had simply learned that it was an exercise in futility to speak to the tyrant - the people still whispered, still muttered everywhere. But not to her. Her senior minister knew about it, but he - for reasons best known to himself - preferred not to report it to her. Or perhaps he did; who knows what goes on in her privy chamber? In any case, however, no harm came to those of whom he knew.

The people had no memory of how life in the kingdom had been before this - this - woman. All those who had experienced the reign of her predecessor were gone now, and only stories remained. The stories were enough that the people felt wistful for a time long past, that was different from the one they now inhabited.

One day, the tyrant had news for everyone: a god would be coming to visit. No, she corrected herself, not just a god; a God. The capitalisation was important.

She declared that on the day of this visit, every effort was to be made to produce the most spectacular event the kingdom had ever held. Only the very best of the people were allowed to attend; the rest were given orders to be anywhere else. The latter group bristled with insult but beamed with the prospect of not having to go and suffer her presence. The former...

The former had it bad. They suffered through the ceremony and the embarassment of having their ruler throw herself shamelessly at the God of Flutzpah. They were subject to the humiliation of having to kneel at his feet, and to put on a facade of loving their life under the tyrant's reign. And what would this amount to?

The god would bestow some small favours upon her and she would turn them into big changes - for a start, she would fashion herself a large crown and declare herself Queen, no longer needing the people's consent to do so. Her ministers would no longer be allowed to opine against her decisions, and the commonfolk - well, now, that was a tempting thought.

She fairly drooled with anticipation, and all those of her people who saw her feared the future.

For the people, this is the beginning of THE END.

Dedicated to our amazing headmistress, the prefects who were so repulsively wronged, and the penerima-penerima anugerah of Saturday.