so weighted down by gold that he could barely lift them. His body was so fat that the island sunk a little further into the sea each time he took a step. And his face was so ugly … that …”
“Even the sun would hide behind a cloud so as not to have to see him,” I added excitedly.
“Exactly,” said Suresh. “You must have heard this story before,” he teased, smiling at my mother.
“No, I haven’t,” I defended. “I’m just using my imagination.”
“Which is what this story is about,” Suresh continued. “Well, the evil king maintained his empire by sending out ships to capture slaves on nearby islands. The slaves were then forced to serve the empire, and if they disobeyed they were turned into mushrooms for the king’s soup. After a few years the king, because he was such a disagreeable man, had many more mushrooms than he could eat in a hundred lifetimes of soup.
“Now most of these mushrooms had once contained human lives, but most of those lives had been forgotten. They didn’t need to be forgotten, but living in the damp earth for so long, the people inside had forgotten themselves, forgotten their spirits, their essence, lost their imagination and the ability to transcend their present circumstances.
“Except for one little mushroom named Nemeni. Although it was increasingly difficult, she was sometimes able to remember a past when she had been the precious daughter of the good king and queen of the island of Sumatra—before the evil king sent his knights to Sumatra to seize all the little children there and bring them back to be his slaves in Ceylon. She was able to remember when she had been happy, when she had eaten rice with brown sugar. She was able to dream, there in the dank and stench of fields of identical mushrooms, of being human, of being real, of being free, and of being uniquely beautiful.
“Now the evil king had decided to spread a plague over his fields of mushrooms because he was overwhelmed (even though he was very greedy) by the amount of soup he had to eat to keep up with the number of enemies he was making. But Nemeni, who had the power within herself to imagine that she could be anything she wished to be, had a plan. She would turn herself into a poisonous mushroom and she would will the king to select her for his soup. She knew this meant that she would be eaten by the fat king and her own life would be lost, but in killing him she would save the hundreds of thousands of other lives contained in those fields of mushrooms.”
“She was very brave,” I marvelled aloud.
“And very smart, too,” said Suresh. “For when the king drank his soup the night before he was to spread the plague, he thought with relief, This is the last mushroom soup I will ever have to eat, but little did he know it was to be the last time he would ever eat anything. He drank the soup like water because he was too greedy and lazy to chew. So Nemeni swam down his oesophagus, deep into his fetid stomach, where she spread her poison round like the rings of Saturn.
“When the king had swallowed the last mouthful of soup, he let out a deep groan of death, and a great burst of wind issued forth from his anus,” [witness both mother and daughter giggling in titillation upon hearing this] “and Nemeni was expelled in one giant rush. Lo and behold, she had, in the course of her travels, transformed into a princess again. Before her, all the mushrooms began to rise up from the ground, bursting forth like new blades of grass, transforming into little people as they grew, each crying, “Nemeni. You are our saviour and our queen.”
“But she was dismayed at the sight before her—hundreds of thousands of identical people, dressed in drab, grey uniforms, while she herself was shrouded in white and gold with perfumed jasmine in her hair. “I do not wish you to be my subjects,” she cried out to the waiting masses. “I wish you as your dreams.” And as she spoke these words the people began
“Even the sun would hide behind a cloud so as not to have to see him,” I added excitedly.
“Exactly,” said Suresh. “You must have heard this story before,” he teased, smiling at my mother.
“No, I haven’t,” I defended. “I’m just using my imagination.”
“Which is what this story is about,” Suresh continued. “Well, the evil king maintained his empire by sending out ships to capture slaves on nearby islands. The slaves were then forced to serve the empire, and if they disobeyed they were turned into mushrooms for the king’s soup. After a few years the king, because he was such a disagreeable man, had many more mushrooms than he could eat in a hundred lifetimes of soup.
“Now most of these mushrooms had once contained human lives, but most of those lives had been forgotten. They didn’t need to be forgotten, but living in the damp earth for so long, the people inside had forgotten themselves, forgotten their spirits, their essence, lost their imagination and the ability to transcend their present circumstances.
“Except for one little mushroom named Nemeni. Although it was increasingly difficult, she was sometimes able to remember a past when she had been the precious daughter of the good king and queen of the island of Sumatra—before the evil king sent his knights to Sumatra to seize all the little children there and bring them back to be his slaves in Ceylon. She was able to remember when she had been happy, when she had eaten rice with brown sugar. She was able to dream, there in the dank and stench of fields of identical mushrooms, of being human, of being real, of being free, and of being uniquely beautiful.
“Now the evil king had decided to spread a plague over his fields of mushrooms because he was overwhelmed (even though he was very greedy) by the amount of soup he had to eat to keep up with the number of enemies he was making. But Nemeni, who had the power within herself to imagine that she could be anything she wished to be, had a plan. She would turn herself into a poisonous mushroom and she would will the king to select her for his soup. She knew this meant that she would be eaten by the fat king and her own life would be lost, but in killing him she would save the hundreds of thousands of other lives contained in those fields of mushrooms.”
“She was very brave,” I marvelled aloud.
“And very smart, too,” said Suresh. “For when the king drank his soup the night before he was to spread the plague, he thought with relief, This is the last mushroom soup I will ever have to eat, but little did he know it was to be the last time he would ever eat anything. He drank the soup like water because he was too greedy and lazy to chew. So Nemeni swam down his oesophagus, deep into his fetid stomach, where she spread her poison round like the rings of Saturn.
“When the king had swallowed the last mouthful of soup, he let out a deep groan of death, and a great burst of wind issued forth from his anus,” [witness both mother and daughter giggling in titillation upon hearing this] “and Nemeni was expelled in one giant rush. Lo and behold, she had, in the course of her travels, transformed into a princess again. Before her, all the mushrooms began to rise up from the ground, bursting forth like new blades of grass, transforming into little people as they grew, each crying, “Nemeni. You are our saviour and our queen.”
“But she was dismayed at the sight before her—hundreds of thousands of identical people, dressed in drab, grey uniforms, while she herself was shrouded in white and gold with perfumed jasmine in her hair. “I do not wish you to be my subjects,” she cried out to the waiting masses. “I wish you as your dreams.” And as she spoke these words the people began
Similar Books
