in this regard thus far discovered on my astral travels is Revertia; a
relatively new rock and far too young to have evolved omnivorous,
psychotic bipeds by the normal processes. It so happened that a
flagship from Planet Ertia in the oldest regionof the galaxy had to
crash land there many moons ago and the survivors had no means of
escape, or even of sending messages.
Why didn't I notify 'the authorities' of their existence, you may ask.
'Have you left them stranded?' you could well add. Well, onethly, 'the
authorities' never take any notice of astral travellers, or of anyone
else with the slightest sign of imagination, and, twothly, after one
gets to know Revertians,it feels a really good idea to leave them
where they are.
They had all sorts of high-tech gear when they arrived, including
spreadsheet software for hyper-financial dealing in n-orthogonal
quasi-dimensions, mega-computers to run the software, and bugger all
data to feed into it, except this: Amongst all the gear that survived
their landing they had no piezo-electric lighters, no
carcinogenic-tube lighters, no high voltage supplies for making sparks
and only one ultra old-fashioned match. To the uninitiated, this a
lump of wood with sulphurous gunk on the end that bursts into flame
when subjected tofriction. Primitive? Yes indeedy, but it works.
One survivor responded to their predicament by panicking and lighting
the match straight away!There's always one maniac of this type in a
large enough group as you may have noticed.
'Quick, keep it alight!' wailed the onlookers. 'We have no other
source of heating or cooking!' and thus the scramble for survival in
their new world began.
The striker of the match, Mr. Rich Marketingexecutive, became the
first full-time employee of the newly colonised planet. Mr. Rich
Marketingexecutive the wood gatherer. He was rapidly followed into
employment by Miss Sue Footpedicurist the herb gardener; Mr. Alton
Riskassessor the shepherd of ox'n; Ms. Paunchy Magistrate the midwife;
Lady Charlotte Stockmarketwhizzkidesse the cook; Mrs. Sharon
Mediaanalyst the butcher of ox'n and Bill Overdue the hovelbuilder...
All was fine and dandy, give or take backache and blisters, until one
bright spark had the idea 'I could own severalhovels and let them. I'd
be able to go on holiday several times a year and wear my pyjamas all
day.If I had any!'
'Imagine the slavery,' complained the others. 'Spending our whole
lives working for One.'
So much for history.
*
On the road connecting the two Revertian settlements there is a large
ox'n-cartpark; their only one. It's the only large, flat,
easily-cleared piece of ground that lies on the road, hasstunning
views, and is surrounded by bushes and grassy hollows suitable for
courtship rituals and biological experiments of a reproductive nature.
Theview over the valley is ofneedle points of neo-conifers and the
fluffy pillows of pseudo-oak trees wherein the parrots, apes and
hummingbirds all hum. The parrots are parroting the hummingbirds and
the apes likewise. It is the sort of spot that bipeds throughout the
known universe, whether they be omnivorous, carnivorous or
vegetablevorous; psychotic, vegotic or mineralotic, cannot resist
visiting with recorded music to further enhance the mood.
One Brightspark spends his days circling the ox'ncartpark
anti-clockwise with a broom. He is tethered to a large post in the
middle of the clearing and he sweeps up the leaves and other evidence
of nature's processes. He wears overalls, a large sun hat and bedroom
slippers in the shape of fluffy bunnies. Having completed his circuit,
One finds it is time to start again. The other Revertians bring One
Brightspark roast ox'n and boiled p'taytoes to keep him fuelled.
This picturesque spot is known as The Lay-by of Sissyfoot .
Bye for now,
Honda P
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And Allah Knows the Best!
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Published by :->
M NajimudeeN Bsc- INDIA
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