A Sailor

“Sri Shakti Deva”

“Sri. Sri.”

“Vat, for your excellence on your most recent endeavour for the good will of Govinda We will benefit you with gifts of your choosing. Might I suggest a fine mellow wine, or a fatted hog. My daughter knows the supple art of giving pleasure, you can have her. How about a garment of softest the silks embroidered with gold by the hands of albino pygmies. How about a palace? I have an extra palace, you can have it. Name your gift.”

“I like seamen.”

“Semen?”

(laughs) “If I wanted a beneficial cup of semen I wouldn’t trouble you for yours, but would deplete my own resources over a period of days, weeks maybe. No, what I meant was seamen, or a sailor. I long to be rid of this place, and their powerful shoulders whilst rowing is the most divine of entertainments.”

“I’m afraid I have no seamen at my disposal seeing as how we are in the desert. Besides, your particular interest in your own gender goes against the will of Shakti. I’ll get you something nice. Sri Govinda Deva.”

“Sri. Sri.”

Vat, after several months of the most rigorous of calculations and diagrams is denied his sailor. He accepted the position as astrologer for the king based not on the high salary, nor the free accommodation and meals, but on the bonus gift the king offers to fastidious tradesmen upon completion of the job. Vat’s cousin, Jar, received a horse that could chant the entire Deva, and Alfred, the horse, came with a solid gold saddle and bridle. Vat was forced to listen as Alfred recited the Deva every Sunday, whilst Vat’s parents heaped no end of compliments on the ruminant.

“Grass eater, apple pooer, nay sayer,” Vat would say to himself as he would grind his teeth and scowled all while under the pretense of meditation on Jar’s family estate.

“I’ll get a sailor and he will not only be able to chant all the devas, but will also be able to row, row like a machine of some sort and will be my escape. We’ll have our own black vessel made and we’ll take to the seas. We’ll sing. We’ll get lost.”

Entertaining these thoughts Vat would acquire a trance like state, and it would take many hours for him to come out of it. His family would get worried and try waking him, but to no avail. When he did finally come out of it, they would praise him for his rigour in meditation.

His meditation and mind control abilities made his name known throughout the kingdom, and eventually landed on the ears of the king. It just so happened, Bread, the kings astronomer, predicted the apocalypse based on the orbit of comets A-246, HG-86 and E-89. Wanting a second opinion, and inquiring into the field of specialty that this assiduous meditator wrought, the king took it as a sign from the right honorable Sri Shanti Deva Ramadan, and made haste to invite Vat to his Northern palace to observe the stars.

Vat, accepting the invitation, and parlaying with Bread, found out that Bread knew almost nothing of the heavens, but was instead consulting the local oracle for his information, and apparently they were highly intoxicated on a mixture of substances, the most prevalent being the red cactus.

Vat, noble, loyal, and honest respected the Oracle, Bread, and the Devas, and took their prophesies seriously, which made him observe all the more. He observed the comets. The apocalypse was a hoax.

Eight months it took. And what do I have to show for it? Millions of rupees? A pile of rupees that I can swim in? Rupees for breakfast? They mean nothing. I was promised anything. I dreamt of sailors, and now, nothing. How shall I escape.

Vat sat staring out the window, over the vast expanse of desert. A sea of sand.

“I’ll get a camel: the boat of the desert, and ride my way to the ocean. I am not a chump.”

He fetched his satchel and took to the outside.