The Goat-Spy Letters
ON A FAR-OFF, undiscovered isle the true False Messiah, the End-of-Times Deceiver, the One-Eyed, Dajjal aka Antichrist awaits his foretold advent before Doomsday to declare his kingdom on earth and convert men to his evil faith. His agent, the goat-spy Jassasa, has been sent on the ultimate mission: to identify the designated land where Dajjal must appear. Jassasa has searched for it all over, from the conservative lands of the American Midwest to the war zones of Africa. His long and tiring search ends now, upon arrival in Pakistan. At this point, he must stage manage his Master’s arrival and initiate him into the customs of the designated land.
Dear Master,
As an exercise in political pulse-taking I recently made a clandestine visit to a much maligned peace activist and servant of science who is kept under solitary confinement here. He will be, if there’s any justice in the world, given a double Nobel for Peace and Physics next year.
I found the prisoner busy writing on a pad which he hid under his mattress as soon he heard me enter his cell. But when I introduced myself to him as Master’s agent, he became at ease at once. He awaits Master’s advent eagerly and promises to do his bit to help Master’s cause. He told me that he does not put too much store in the human species and is convinced that it is irrevocably wicked. Worried for his personal safety, and doubtful that peace would ever prevail among the humans without free and ready availability of the ultimate weapon to all, he adopted for his motto, No Nation Left Without A-Bomb, and selflessly supplied the necessary expertise and goods to anyone who called out to him for help. This introduced a degree of sobriety in international diplomacy and greatly reduced the risk of nuclear war, which is why he is universally hated by world’s warmongers. He is known here as the Father of the One Bomb but that is only because his modesty does not allow him to boast of his powerful and wide-ranging paternal instinct. I got a hint when he asked me with a wink if I really thought the Indians were clever enough to have made the bomb on their own. Later, he took out the writing pad he had hidden under his mattress, and showed me the detailed proposal for a new project that is keeping him busy. Apparently he got involved in it after reading many reports on the rising trend of bullying at school. The proposal calls for a grassroots-level, nationwide program called No Child Left Without A-Bomb so that the trend can be reversed.
The visit also gave me an opportunity to discuss with him a phenomenon that is the latest fad in local science. Space travel is the dream of many a young man who becomes convinced that the domed mosques and mausoleums with their minarets are ancient spaceships waiting on silos for a pilot to take them into space. They regularly carry rocket fuel and explosives inside and start the countdown by lighting the fuses. Unfortunately, they have not come upon a formula for the right amount of charge. Their repeated failures have justifiably angered the authorities who have spent a considerable sum on their training and education and as a result they have banned their entry to these places.
The prisoner promised to look into it and have some special fuel formula ready when I visited him next. In the meanwhile he suggested the young scientists keep up their efforts and try loading the four minaret-shaped silos with fissile material available at ration shops to give the necessary heave-ho to the space-ships for the launch into space.
We discussed Master’s imminent arrival and the state of the nation for some time. When the dinner hour came he took out his cutlery and offered to share his pillow with me, but I declined and left. He asked me to write letters to the editors to bring his plight to public notice, which I promised to do. Talking to him has cleared up my mind and convinced me that no problem is too small for which a full and satisfying reply cannot be found in the nuclear solution—his ready answer to any question ever articulated or conceived, which is why he has earned the nick name of Answer-to-da-Question Khan.
THE LAST WEEK would have passed in peace except the Lord Chief of the Crows caused a sensation by riding up and down the alleys on his pet ram, Day, distributing flyers. The loud cawing of one and the boastful bleating of the other created much excitement in the quiet neighbourhood. Something was afoot and lest I should miss out on the latest, I hurriedly put on my crow disguise and climbed a tree to mingle with and learn from the birds what I could.
It turned out that one morning, some weeks ago, ram Day of the conservatively curved horns felt hungry and, as is his wont, went rooting in the assorted constitutional detritus for choice nibbles. Purely by happenstance, as he pulled at a sheaf of yellowing paper, he drew out instead a scroll hidden underneath. Call it the luck of the draw, but it turned out to be a missing chapter of the famous book, The Constitution of Infamy, ghost-written by the magician and edited for content by the qutubs, the seven Lords of the Holy Establishment. It is a local bestseller and the editions sell so well that hardly a full moon passes without a new and fully revised edition appearing on the stalls.
Now ram Day is something of a scholar; with some effort he read the chapter, and learned that it detailed a hitherto unrevealed law that allows any individual or corporate entity, whether native or foreign, to register an espionage business as a public limited company or corporation, and issue shares on the stock exchange. Ram Day ran with the scroll to the Lord Chief of the Crows who is not only an ardent reader of The Constitution of Infamy but also runs a large reading club of the devotees of the book. At a hurriedly called séance of the devotees they devoured the chapter.
At that point ram Day is supposed to have raised an objection to the inherent bias in the chapter towards sole-proprietors. He insisted that their interests should be protected in the Constitution. The personal history of the Lord Chief of the Crows is writ with entrepreneur action. Furthermore, he had tried once unsuccessfully in the past to register his own little part-time espionage business. He got the hint and made the necessary amendment, declaring it a part of the Constitution with a stroke of the pen. Thus raven-activism brought about the publication of a document whose contents had not been broadcast outside the select fellowship of the qutubs. It was the same document that the crow-ram duo disseminated in copy in the neighbourhood. I obtained a copy and upon perusal found it a remarkably liberal and progressive piece of legislation aimed solely at improving espionage quality by encouraging a healthy competition between foreign and local businesses. I hear that compulsory deductions for the pension plan to safeguard the interests of the workers are next on the Lord Chief’s agenda. Also a group insurance plan is being considered. The large number of foreign operators currently employed here frequently incur out of pocket expenses for the dressing of injuries obtained in the line of duty.
IN AN EARLIER LETTER Master had inquired about the latest fashion trends so that he could arrive with an appropriate wardrobe. The fashions come and go but there is a certain aesthetic called hairy-noir which is forever in vogue. It is witnessed in a variety of genres, styles, mediums and trends, and has come to define the national audio-visual identity. One witnesses its influence in various manifestations, right from the layout of the front page of Urdu dailies, to the tone and tenor in which the talk show participants conduct public discourse, to the very latest fashion in nose-hair, to the manner in which softer emotions are communicated between the sexes, to the cut of designer vestments. I sent some samples separately by parcel post which will give Master a flavour of the place and open a window into the soul and disposition of the creatures from whom a large body of saline water has thus far happily shielded him. Upon Master’s arrival on these shores I will have his current wardrobe altered in the current style. Master will also need private classes to adopt it in social discourse too, in order to sound logical and convincing.
MSOJOURN HERE HAS CONVINCED ME that Master should be inducted into public life ‘through proper channels.’ As far as proper channels go there are an assorted number to choose from, but the best way to accomplish it would be by launching a new political party. I know Master is averse to organisational work and building grassroots support, but Master need not worry: the qutubs have agreed to provide these services. They have worked long and hard to develop expertise in these areas. I saw them at work during the last few elections and they do an impressive job. So that area is all covered. All they ask from Master is a plausible ideology or platform. I would suggest that Master name his party the Potluck Party and make it known that everyone who wishes to join his party must bring one ideology to it. It would be the best and the quickest way to develop broad-based support among the masses. Moreover, it would give everyone a chance to join without burdening Master with supplying ideologies to their taste. The Potluck Party would have the advantage of having the most current ideology to guide it, and there would be no longer any justification or reason for another political force to seek its overthrow. The change could always come from within. This is a formula which the qutubs have endlessly sought but never found. As the ideological figurehead, Master would represent the latest and most popular ideology which would ensure the perpetuation of his reign. It would give the lie to those who call Master an ill-starred celebrity, subject to violent eclipses. Working in intellectual tandem with his faithful Jassasa, Master would thus overthrow the establishment of the qutubs, and the eschatology that they had subverted to their benefit would be finally rewritten. Amen!
Your own,
Jassasa