The Holy Pig raped a Chick

Once upon a time... In a big country farm there was a pig. Around him were all sorts of animals and birds. He was brown, with hair as hard as steel wires jerking out of his flesh. Though he was perfectly alike his counterparts and also had the same dirty polish of gutter water on his torso, but yet he considered himself different from his friends, relatives and the entire breed. He said he was unique and had his own philosophies to prove it. He would leave the farm in the morning and go in the woods, spend his time sleeping under a fallen tree or would sniff around the faeces of other animals (sometimes ate it too!) and return back at dusk with a tale.

He would mount on a plinth in the shed and yell, “I met the Tiger today. Oh! He’s so friendly, he invited me for lunch and we ate together.” The other animals: Cows, buffaloes, hens, roosters, horses, sheep and goats would all gather around him to hear his adventures. Only the other pigs would envy him and with little sense of believing avoided to be a part of the crowd; however they too eavesdropped him up to his last words.

He left the shed with the breaking dawn and would part in the extreme direction other than the crowd. A few animals would spy on him but he would quickly find a hiding place and concealed himself in the woods. Later at night when questioned, he would come up with a new tale, “The Tiger had sent the Cheetah to receive me and he took me on his back as fast as light. Oh! I enjoyed it so much.” The pigs won’t believe, but the other animals admired him.

“But we’ve heard that the Tiger kills other animals?” asked a sheep.

“Oh it’s all crap. They have enough to eat and even they need friends.”

“So you are his friend?”

“No. Actually I am his adviser. I advise him what’s right and what’s wrong.”

And that was the beginning of his awaited destiny; a dream he had long cherished, far seen and thoroughly visualized. He became a spiritual sage of the flora and the fauna. His admiration and avail grew day by day, hour by hour. His chronicles traveled to other lands and beings of his breed conglomerated in abundance. From the shed he ascended to a holy ashram. From the ground, in the filth of shit and mud he rose up to a throne of gold. His philosophies found a meaning, his words had found ears, his days changed and his destiny sparkled in a flash.

The animals worshiped him and served him good food, his followers grew day by day and so did his popularity. He soon owned a community with a private cabin, his acolytes resided in the same community; he kept a secretary who allotted appointments for his meetings. From a pig who churned gutter waters and crunched dried shit, he in no time turned into a divine who averted even speaking of it. His holy-homes were set up all across the state and once every year he gave them a visit. The walls, fields, streets and markets were covered by his signboards and hoardings upon his arrival and a plethora of living beings assembled for his welcome.

Though he was admired by all, believed by many and followed by countless souls across the country but within him he was the same old swine: envious, impish and pervert. He had well worn the white cloak of sanctity, but within it he was as black as the thick tar of the black drains. He secretly eyed the hens, would think of all the bad craps and would facny for the fairest pigs.

----X---

In the midst of a season the hens were affected by a terrible disease that spread from the Pig’s co-mates. With the increasing death tolls more birds gave him a visit and in no time his schedules filled like a bucket poured into a gush of water. The rules changed, he started devoting overtime and took in more appointments. From the first ray of dawn to past-midnight he would solve matters for the hens and roosters.

On one night as time neared to midnight, a family of hens’ sat waiting for their turn to come. With them was their little ‘chick’ for whom they were utterly concerned. The chick was a splendid beauty of vibrant feathers and an elegant body. She had many admirers in her native land and was a terrific heart snatcher. Her simplicity was her most sacred weapon. The Pig had her gaze on her from his cabin. Finishing the appointment at hand he called the family inside. The hen and the rooster bowed in respect and so did the chick. The Pig smiled and his eyes simultaneously scanned the assets of the chick. He talked to them for a few moments and then asked her family to wait outside. The hen and the rooster marched out undoubtedly, happy that their kid would be cured by the holy-saint.

Then the lights of the Pig’s cabin turned off, this worried the hen but the rooster consoled her. The chick chuckled and her feathers throbbed in the air inside the cabin. There was commotion, but the hen and the rooster took it as a part of some sacred ritual. However, what went through their minds and what was happening inside were two far ends of a vast ocean as apart in nature as the Scylla and Charybdis. Inside the cabin the dirty Pig had revealed his true identity and was up with his heinous acts. The poor chick suffered and suffered helplessly.

With a thump, like an avalanche falling down the door opened and the chick hopped out in small, fatigued and painful strides. Her face was red with suffering, her feathers uneven and withered. Tears rolled down her eyes and entered her beak, as saline as the sea water and her mother’s egg’s shell. She collapsed into her mother’s arms, drained of all her energy.

“What…What.…What happened…What happened?” cried her desperate mother gaping awestruck.

The chick just breathed hard as if inhaling all the air of the universe. Her chest cavity expanded, then contracted and the heart pulsated with more haste. She laid numb and motionless, arms open and beak parted.

“WHAT HAPPENED??” wailed the hen. “TELL ME…TELL ME!”

Then in a slow move, the chick opened her eyelids, gulped a drop of saliva into her sore throat and spoke softly, “This saint is not worthy to be worshiped.”

--------X--------