V. Gajandra and the Great Rumble

Jutu? Jutu, where are you?

“Over here, Master Gajandra, agitating the Majestic Palm plant.”

Why do you agitate the leaves?

“It is good for the organism to be agitated so from time to time.”

When are you going to do my laundry? There are no more face towels nor hand towels with which to sop the rains from the Royal skin. And my socks are beginning to become sotted and soiled.

“I cannot do the laundry, sire. Not until I obtain one more quarter-rupee coin to complete the cost of one wash-n-dry load.”

What? Well, go and get a coin from the Royal junk drawer.

“There are none, sire.”

Must I resolve every problem for you? Can you not go and fetch coins from other members of the household staff?

“I asked, sire, but there are none. None in this household, none in the village, nay, none in the Entire Kingdom, I fear.”

Of what speak you, Old Jutu?

“It is the curse, sire.”

Oy, yet another curse!

“The curse of the Roonawtta-mohnee. Every 7 years, a kingdom is vulnerable to this curse, and in this year we have fallen victim.”

(sigh) So what hideous creature must I subdue now? What ridiculous contraption am I going to have to become entrapped in? I hope this isn’t going to involve the unwanted dispersal of the Royal Precious Bodily Fluids!

“No, no, not necessarily, Master Gajandra. It is written that in order for the curse of the Roonawtta-mohnee to be broken, all one must do is find a single quarter-rupee and complete one single load of wash.”

And where can one find a quarter-rupee in such times of financial drought?

“You merely need ask, Master Gajandra.”

Ask whom?

“Well, that is the tricksome part then, isn’t it sire? Perhaps we should go for a walk.”

Shall I go and don my Royal armament-suit?

“Nayh. Just bring some bottled water.”

...And so the young prince and his mottled servant strode off into the nearby desert in search of someone to ask for a quarter-rupee. Days into their journey, they came upon a poor beggar-man from the far-off Nejhid Desert.

“Old beggar man,” cried Gajandra, “Do you have a quarter-rupee that I might use to restore the riches of my Kingdom?”

“Acch! Robber! Thief! Be gone from me, afore I throw sand upon your eye and spit at the resulting bloody carcass!!” cried the beggar-man.

“Come now, beggar-man! It is only a mere quarter-rupee...”

“Yes, you crony-laden Foot! And it was only a mere quarter-rupee when I begged for it 2 years ago in Qatar — and you turned away! Only a mere quarter-rupee in the Punjab, when you turned away! Only a mere quarter rupee...”

“We get the point, you old coot! And I’ll have no more of your Desert Hoopla. Jutu, mind the elephants, whilst I wring this wastrel’s neck!”

The young prince reached out to the beggar-man, but found that, instead of an old beggar-human, his hands gripped a 5-foot tall twig of human mucus-booger wrapped in beggar-man’s clothing.

“AHHH,” he cried! “Jutu! ‘Tis a Gigantic Nose-Bunny! And not a beggar-man at all!”

“And what could this tell you, Dear Prince?”

“That....” he thought briefly, “that I shan’t find the all-important quarter-rupee by ringing the neck of a poor old beggar-man?”

“Master, would you care for a handkerchief to cleanse the mucous-slime from your Royal hands and forearms?”

“Yes, Kind Jutu.”

“That is unfortunate, your Princeliness, since I haven’t been able to do a load of laundry in weeks.”

“Thank you Jutu, for your Typical Wisdom.”

The groggy pair trekked on for 12 more days and several hours before they came to an oasis. There, near a tall palm tree, a small frog gazed longingly at the pair as they disrobed and bathed in the pool.

As the young prince and his attendant were drying themselves in the desert sun, the little frog began to speak to them.

“Hi there,” canted the frog.

The speech patterns with which the little frog spake reminded Gajandra of the young males in his Kingdom who enjoyed spending long hours in the gymnasium, eyeing each other in admiration and reciting Greek poetry.

“Where are you going, strange frogs?” piped up the small frog.

“Oh, well, we are not frogs, sir, but we are looking for a quarter-rupee.”

“And I, sir, am not a ‘sir,’ sir. But why do you seek a coin of this type?”

“It’s a long story,” explained Gajandra,” but our entire Kingdom is cursed with the wearing of unwashed clothing until we are able to find a single quarter-rupee coin.”

“So then, you would be willing to do most anything, I suppose, to gain such a coin,” enquired the diminutive amphibian.

Gajandra eyed Jutu warily. “Yes, just about anything, yes...”

“Sufficient. Then come in my mouth.”

Gajandra glared at Jutu for an especially long time before speaking. “Of what on earth do you speak, gay little frog?” demanded Gajandra. But as soon as his question had fallen from his lips, the tiny frog opened his mouth to a most uncharacteristically great height. So large did the giant maw grow, in fact, that even one of the Giants of Telegos could easily have walked through the aperture, even wearing full Jai-Lai gear.

“Sri Lakshmi!” exclaimed Gajandra, “It is a passageway of some sort!”

“Yes, Master Gajandra. I told you that no bodily fluids would necessarily leave thy princely body,” assured Jutu.

The weary two made their way into the little frog’s corridor-size mouth, being careful not to slip on the moist tongue-floor. Farther down the frog’s throat, they came to a staircase, which they took, and then an elevating room, which they also took, an escalator, a slide, a springboard, and then a firehouse pole, all of which they dutifully descended.

“For a small frog, this little one sure is deep inside,” noted Gajandra.

“Yes, master, a most profound internal life has this smallest of beasts.”

By-the-by, they came upon an ornate hallway draped with heavy velvet curtains and luxurious tapestries. At the end of the hall stood two great brass doors, upon one of which was written, in Chapstick, “Room 121: Cufflinks and Curse-Resolution.”

The young prince pushed open one of the heavy doors, and the two entered a large room with hanging lamps and large oblong tables covered with a nappy green fabric of some sort.

Gajandra strode up to a tall, thin foreign man whom he judged to have come from the lands far West, a great distance beyond the Ganges, that some sages have referred to as “Ur-oap.”

The foreigner looked up from a goblet that he was cleaning, apparently made out of some kind of transparent metal, and addressed Gajandra, “What kin I do ya for, punk?”

“Punk? You take me for another, friend — I am Gajandra, of the Poo-too Shamans. I have come to ask for a coin.”

“You want coins, ya gotta earn it, Slim,” advised the foreigner in his strange dialect. He handed Gajandra a square platter holding more than a dozen perfectly round rocks, each brightly coloured and sporting a numerical symbol.

“Jutu,” whispered Gajandra, “What am I to do with these?”

As Jutu shrugged, the foreigner explained, “Straight pool’s the game in this room, pal — straight rotation, no masse’ shots, and watch your damn language when you’re losin’.”

“I mean no offense, especially since you are a foreigner, but you continue to mistake me for other persons: my name is not ‘Punk’ nor ‘Slim’ nor ‘Pal’ — ”

Gajandra was startled at the foreigner’s rude interruption:

“Heard it all before, Jakes — You take your juice when you’ve earned it — now quit gabbin’ and start shootin’!” The foreigner pointed to a distant low, green table in the corner of the long dark room. “I’m givin’ ya table 14, now ske-daddle!”

Gajandra could guess at the rough meaning of his strange language from the man’s ‘pushing-off’ gesture, and so he and Jutu carried the ball-platter to the table numbered 14.

“Jutu,” noted Gajandra, “I do not know this game, but I do not think we can play it properly at this playing field — look, it’s full of holes!”

And so was the table punched with holes — Jutu counted at least 5 of them, all perfectly round, 4 at the corners and 2 on the sides. Gajandra placed the ball labeled “1” upon the table and began moving it around with one hand. Nothing happened. So he placed the 2 ball on the table and began rolling it about. Still nothing.

“There are only a dozen or so balls, sire. Be careful not to drop any of them through the holes,” chided Jutu.

By the time Gajandra had rolled the 15th ball to little effect, a gravelly voice called out from behind him.

“’Assamatter, Blondie, cain’t ya find no stick?”

Gajandra turned to see yet another foreigner from the Far West. Only this one was of great girth, and sported loftier drapings.

“Here,” said the stranger as he handed Gajandra a polished wooden lance, “Use mine.”

The stranger was kind enough to demonstrate to Gajandra how the game was played, including the scoring techniques and the interesting fact that in this game, one wished to lose the balls down the holes scattered along the edges of the table.

“Most curious,” offered Gajandra, after the lesson, “And I am Gajandra. How may I call you, sir?”

“Me? Call me Chahlie, Toots. So now that you know the game, how’s about we make it a little bit interesting?”

“Ah, but it already is a most interesting game, I think.”

“Yeah, right — but wouldn’t it be more interestin’ if we put a little scratch on it?”

Because Gajandra did not seem to take the stranger’s point, Jutu was broadly gesticulating to him, miming a coin and the relevant scenes from the Mahabharata.

“Ah, you wish to wager!” he said at last. “Yes, I will wager you one quarter-rupee for the victor of this tournament!”

The man wrinkled his nose as if insulted. “One quarter?? You nuts?”

Gajandra looked confused, and then understood. “Ah yes, one quarter and a packet of Burujdhi Nuts!”

The stranger did not seem excited about the Burujdhi Nuts, no doubt because he did not know how hearty is the taste of a ripe, broad Burujdhi nut in season. The two began to play the strange game, knocking one ball into another until almost all of the balls had fallen into holes.

They struggled at the long tournament for several hours before, finally Gajandra had vanquished his opponent.

“Ah, I have won!” exclaimed the prince. “One quarter, please!”

The rotund foreigner looked a little nonplussed as his fingers groped through the pockets of his garments but came up empty.

“Oh, uh, sorry Sport, but I’m all outta change. What say we play double-or-nothing?”

Gajandra’s eyes narrowed as he suddenly saw this stranger for what he truly was.

“Demon!” he cried, “Release the Quarter Coin, or I shall run you through with this lance!”

“Relax, Nehru, It’s jess a Gaddam Two-bits!” extolled the foreigner as his spherical body gradually changed form into the Goddess Sarasvita, Goddess of Learning.

“Let that be a lesson to youse,” declared Sarasvita, “You gonna put your money up, you better make yer patsy show you the money first!”

Just then a loud trumpeting filled the room. Gajandra recognized the blast as one that could be made by none other than ....

“Come Jutu!” he instructed, and they wandered about the room to find the source of the sound. Then another shriek sounded — from behind a door near the far tables. The pair burst through the doors to a secluded private ball-playing room where stood none other than GANESH!! the great elephant-headed, crimson-bodied God of Wisdom, engaged in a fierce game of “Eight Ball” with none other than the multi-armed SIVA, GODDESS of DESTRUCTION.

“O Great Ganesh!” cried Gajandra, as he fell to his knees, “I seek your aid to vanquish a hateful curse that has overtaken my Kingdom!”

“Just a minute, babe,” instructed the Noble Elephant God as he took one last shot at the eight-ball.

In his great excitement at being in the presence of the great elephant-headed deity, Gajandra rushed up to him and grasped Ganesh’s arm, just as the God poked his ball-poking lance. The lone remaining ball-of-colour bounced near the pocket at which GANESH was aiming but then careened steadfastly into a different pocket.

“AHHHHHHH! Scratch!” screamed SIVA, “Victory is MIIIIIIIIINEEE!”

“Hold yer armpits, babe,” advised GANESH, “Tain’t no scratch no-wise! I just didn’t hit the pocket I was shootin’ for.”

“LIAR!” cried Siva as one of her many arms secretly grasped a free ball-poking lance, “We are playing by Pool-House Rules, GANESH, and no amount of sweet-talking is going to get you out of this one!”

“Fuck off, Spider-bitch,” espoused GANESH, “I told you when we started, we was playin’ by standard BCA Amateur League rules, which specifically state that ‘A mis-potted 8-ball on a called shot results not in a loss, but merely a foul, and thus is not...’ ”

But the impudent SIVA would have none of his wisdom as she swung the lance high into the air and speared his thick ele-belly with it.

“Ouch!” cried the holy elephant-headed deity.

And then came the hailstorm of playing balls pitched by the fierce arms of SIVA.

“I SHALL NOT BE CHEATED!! I AM THE BALL-POKING QUEEN!!!” she cried as she lofted the table and crashed it against GANESH’S body.

“N-no! Ye Gods, Please! Do not quarrel so!” pleaded Gajandra, while trying to avoid the quickly inflaming melee.

Unfortunately, it was not long before many other Gods heard what was happening and joined in the battle. Nirukta and his armies burst into the private ball-poking room and threw fire at GANESH. GANESH called upon his brother, Kartikeya, God of War, to descend upon SIVA, Nirukta, and the armies and pummel them.

Gajandra and Jutu ran for cover as pool tables and balls and lances flew airborne left and right, and more and more Gods began roughing up the place.

“Jutu, something has gone terribly wrong!” cried Gajandra, as he was hit on the cheek by a hunk of flesh that must surely have been one of SIVA’s arms at some point.

“Yes, master, we must flee!” agreed Jutu, and they high-tailed it to the brass doors and then up the fire pole, up the springboard, wormed their way up the slide, loped up the escalator, rode up the elevating room, and finally strode up the staircase to the slippery floor-tongue of the little frog with the great, gaping mouth.

But close behind them, they heard the galloping of Nirukta’s horsemen and some of Siva’s warriors. When they finally reached the little frog’s lips, they leapt across the threshold onto firm ground and shouted, “Shut, gay frog! Shut! Shut up your mouth! Lest the demons of all Hell be let loose into the waking world!!”

The little frog did indeed close his giant mouth, just in time to deny entrance into our world to the pursuing warriors, who uttered many curses and then went back to down the frog into the ball-poking room for more battle.

“Well,” said the cheerful frog, “I’m glad to see you two survived.”

“Yes,” gasped Gajandra, “we survived. But we failed in our mission! We did not acquire a quarter-rupee.”

“Well, did you ask for one?”

“Of course we asked for one, you silly little toad!”

But just then, Gajandra felt a kick to his right buttock. It was faithful Jutu, angrily gesticulating dissension in silence.

“Well, if you’re going to insult me, I guess I’ll be on my way,” said the little frog, and he hunched his hind legs for a leap into the oasis.”

“N-No! Wait! Please don’t jump, dear frog!” cried Gajandra, at last.

“Yes?”

“Please forgive me for asking, but. . . could you, gay little frog, possibly deign to share with us your goodwill and help us out with the gift of but a single quarter-rupee?”

“Oh, so NOW you need me, eh?”

“Yes, dear little leaping lord, we beseech thee!”

“Harrumph,” said the frog, “Frankly my Dear, I’m not all that sure that I give a shit,” and then he squatted for a second and a small amount of brown froggie fecal matter plumped from his anus, just as he leapt into the oasis pool and disappeared.

“Oh Jutu,” wept Gajandra, “I have failed! I have let my own arrogance destroy the one chance we had for saving the Kingdom!”

“Oh Dear Boy,” commiserated Jutu. “I know that you are sad, but are you sure you have failed?”

“Wretched Old Man!” cried Gajandra through his tears, “How can you give me that foul ‘you haven’t failed if you really tried’ crap in this, my deepest, most humiliating moment?”

The old man sighed, went to the small mound of frog-poo, lifted it in one hand and presented it to his master. “I said, ‘Are you sure you have failed?’” he repeated.

“Don’t hand me that shit!” shouted Gajandra, but then, he cleared the tears from his eyes long enough to see that Jutu was indeed handing him something.

Gajandra took hold of the small pile of frog feces and began to examine it. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

“Once more I ask you master, ‘Are you sure you have failed?”

Gajandra knew Jutu too well to let a thrice-repeated question go, and so he examined the pile of poo carefully. It was greenish-brown, and not much larger than, say, a ... coin?

Suddenly Gajandra smashed the poo together, feeling its consistency between his aristocratic fingers, and yes, yes, in the middle of the poo-poo, somewhat soiled but still possessing the quality of shininess, was a brand-new one-quarter rupee coin.

“Huzzah!!” he cried, “The Coin! Jutu, Old Friend, We have the COIN!!”

“Yes, master.”

Gajandra was quick to very carefully wash the little coin in the oasis water and place it in his purse for the long trip home. As he splashed the water, he was startled by the voice of the gay little frog, who had lifted his head up above the surface of the water to watch the washing of the fated coin.

“Hi there,” called out the little frog.

“Ah! Great Froglet! We are in your debt forever for your kindness!”

“It was nothing, large frog-prince. You did me a favour too.”

When the two returned to the kingdom, Jutu took the shiny coin and quickly employed it to finish the waiting load of soiled garments, and with the drying of the final droplet of moisture from that load, the horrible curse of the Roonawtta-mohnee was lifted, and life in the Kingdom was able to return to normal.

Days later, in a pensive mood, Gajandra approached Jutu with a serious question: “Jutu, old friend, I know that you have foreknowledge of all these quests, but I must ask you, Why didn’t you just ask me to ask the little frog for the coin before we descended into him? Wouldn’t that have saved us a lot of trouble? And what did he mean when he said ‘You did me a favour too’?”

“Constipation, your highness. He needed a little agitation down there to loosen up his digestive machinery. Without our help, he couldn’t poo; without his poo, he couldn’t help.”

“Jutu,” asked Gajandra, with great deliberateness, “Am I destined to go on any adventures that do not require the shameless involvement of bodily fluids?”

“If I told you that, sire, I’d be breaking the rules.”

(Sighhhhh) “...and May the Gods Forbid that that would ever happen, Jutu,” intoned the young Swami-Master-and-Father-of-His-Peoples-To-Be as he glared up at the Heavens, “May the... noble-ass... freaking Gods forbid!”