Stamping The Dead
It was an unwritten law of the land that no dead person was to be buried until his left buttock was properly stamped with the royal seal by the officials in the capital. Those who buried their loved ones without the royal approval were punished severely—the buttocks of the bereaved relatives were publicly branded with a red-hot iron—and the dead were disinterred and denied proper burial for good. The exhumed corpses were hung high above the gates of the capital for everyone to see and learn the intended lesson. But it happened very rarely as the people of the kingdom were very docile, patriotic and law-abiding. The ceremony of stamping the deceased’s left buttock was held only once a year; that day was sacred and it was a public holiday. The subjects—men, women and children—would bath, don their best attires and converge at the royal parade ground where the ceremony was to take place.
The subjects were strictly forbidden from keeping their deceased at their homes for more than an hour. The bereaved strapped the dead unto a makeshift stretcher, loaded the stretcher on a donkey, camel or mule and set off for the capital. While chanting devotional songs, they trekked for days, weeks and sometimes months before they reached their destination. Upon reaching the capital, they placed their dearly departed in front of the dark and formidable gate of the royal palace. Here, the palace attendants received the registration fee and the dead received leather registration cards in return. Then the guards would point their shod feet to the parade ground where the bereaved were supposed to place the bodies.
Only a few were exempt from having their left buttocks stamped when they passed on. The exemption list was kept top-secret but the subjects conjectured that it included members of the royal family, top-brass generals and high priests. In the kingdom, this convention was enforced more strictly than other law. For instance, crimes like theft, rape, kidnapping and even murder were not taken half as seriously as the stamping of the dead. Those who criticised this convention, no matter how secretly they did it, were given the option of being roasted alive over glowing coals or being fried alive in virgin olive oil.
The citizens of the kingdom would dwell upon this time-tested tradition—the stamping of the deceased’s left buttock—for hours at home, in cafes, and in offices. Compared to this topic, all other topics were considered frivolous and insignificant. Scholars would write highbrow theses and hold weekly international seminars in which a galaxy of intellectuals delivered longwinded speeches on the beauty and philosophy of stamping the deceased’s left buttock. An emotional audience listened, eyes liquid with devotion. The prestigious newspapers of the kingdom carried daily news features on this subject, and poets would compose epic poems about this theme. The best poem would get the biggest national prize and the author of the winning poem was spared, at his death, the trouble of getting his buttock stamped with the royal seal. So it was the innocent wish of every selfless poet to write the best poem. The rulers maintained that it was this golden law of stamping the deceased’s left buttock that had kept them united throughout the centuries. Otherwise, they were an insane collection of different sects, races and languages.
The origin of this time-tested tradition was lost in the mists of time. Different philosophers gave different reasons for it, though they differed, they never bickered over it. They agreed that all are in the right as long as they followed and respected the custom of stamping the deceased’s left buttock.’ Sometimes differences emerged as to which buttock was best to be stamped. Some said it should be the left buttock while others maintained that it should be the right buttock, while some others were indifferent about which spot of the buttock was to be stamped. Some were of the opinion that it should be affixed right in the middle, on the cheek of the buttock, some contended that the stamp was to be affixed a little to the left, whereas others believed that the stamp was to be impressed a little to the right. When the debates reached a crescendo, the high priest would intervene and the differences were resolved amicably. The public was ordered not to discuss this topic for ten years but hardly had the deadline passed when the scholars reignited the debate. Before the argument could reach a dangerous pitch, the royal priest would interfere and settle the matter in a pleasant way.
People kept dying throughout the year and the dead bodies kept amassing before the royal palace. The corpses would fester and rot, the stench was unbearable and clouds of flesh flies droned. The corpses would leak smelly, yellowish, red juice through camphor white shrouds making the ground beneath them wet and slippery. The king’s officials would ride out of the palace and lecture the bereaved about the health benefits of the stench. They commanded the bereaved not to cover their noses against the stench as it was disrespectful to the dead. ‘It will hurt the souls of the dead,’ they said.
Squatting around the dead, the bereaved shooed away buzzing flies from their corpses, while chomping their bread. But soon their victuals were exhausted and they begged the other relatives for food or they went into the city to get some… Sometimes, all the bereaved would run short of food at the same time, and they would flood the streets of the capital to plead for scraps and crumbs. The kind residents of the capital never turned the hungry away from their doorsteps empty-handed. The starving relatives had hardly turned the corner when stray dogs sneaked into the parade ground to lick the yellowish-red juice that trickled from the corpses.
At noon, the bereaved were directed to move the dead bodies to the cool shade of the ancient trees that lined the boulevard in front of the royal palace, and in the evening they were bidden to shift their lifeless charges to the grassy ground that stretched at the back of the palace. Every morning the bereaved were required to wash their dead and bring them to the grassy assembly ground before the right-wing of the palace. The musicians blared rusty trumpets and pounded on huge drums while the bereaved propped up their dead relatives and raised the corpses’ stiff right hands to salute the king, who ghosted along the curtained balcony of the palace. Some attendants believed that they saw the king, some argued that they did not see him while others said that they were not sure.
The aristocrats usually boasted that their ancestors’ buttocks were lawfully stamped for twenty generations without fail, while more righteous and high-minded people would wonder if their fore-fathers passed the twenty generation test. The mere thought of this made them so upset that they could not tell whether they had eaten their meals or not. Then they would consult a scholar who was an authority on buttocks-stamping. The scholar, after taking a hefty fee, would advise them on how to atone for the crime of their dead ancestors whose buttocks may not have been stamped with the royal seal. The scholars would advise them to do charitable work or bare their buttocks and sit on a platter full of scorpions, or let themselves off the cliff next to the palace.
The subjects of that land had three bulky dictionaries of swear words but the worst of all pejoratives was to call someone, ‘O, the seed of the father who was buried with his buttock unstamped.’ Just one day before the stamping of the dead’s left buttocks, the bereaved were ordered to go to the clerks and request them to write an application to the King for permission to get their deads’ buttocks stamped. The aged and dishevelled clerks sat on threadbare, empty gunny sacks under an awning before the royal palace. The clerks—who were supposed to be experts in writing such applications— were deaf and half-blind, and the bereaved would spend hours explaining the purpose of their application to them. Fortunately, the clerks had assistants who would jibber into their masters’ hairy ears, and the clerks’ muddy eyes would brighten up. The bereaved would then pay a heavy fee to the pen-pushers and their helpers and then submit the application to the High Clerk.
Early the next day, the High Clerk stepped out of his office holding the royal seal in his gloved hand. The murmuring multitude fell silent and bowed their heads. The High Clerk ordered the bereaved to turn their dead on their right sides so that the deceased’s left buttocks were up and open. The relatives submitted stamp tax for the royal seal before the stamping. This tax was the highest and most respected of all taxes in the kingdom. In less than one hour, after the High Clerk stamped thousands of dead bodies, the bereaved were so relieved and happy that they would yell with excitement and fall into chanting. In their songs, they would eulogize the benign king and pray for his health and long rule. They would hoist the freshly-stamped deceased on the backs of their draft beasts and turn their feet towards their homes. Then they would bury their dead and for months tell their neighbours and friends the stories of the king’s hospitality and benevolence.
However, a revolution was brewing inside the palace’s thick mossy walls. The cause of the revolution carried no economic, social, religious or political motives but it was something personal. The youngest of the four grandsons of the hoary king asked his grandmother, ‘Grandma, tell me who will be king when my grandfather has passed away? ’
‘Your elder uncle.’
‘And who will be king when uncle is no more? ’
‘Your father.’
‘Who will be king when father has gone?’
‘Your elder brother.’
‘And who after my elder brother is dead?’
‘Your second brother.’
‘And who will be king after he is at peace?’
‘Listen darling and listen well, you are not going to become king if the entire clan is dead and buried.’
Upon hearing this, the young prince went berserk. For days he brooded in the dark corners of the palace, skipped meals and scribbled letters to his confederates. Before long, with the help of his confederates, he slaughtered all the living creatures that happened to be inside the palace except an old mare, a young Dalmatian and an aged minister, and declared himself king
Though not averse to spilling blood when there was a need for it, the new king was peace-loving and a man of the modern world. He believed in equality, justice, reform and good governance. Early in his reign, he signed a decree, ‘From now the right buttock of the deceased will be stamped with the royal seal instead of the left buttock.’
The public was so overjoyed with this groundbreaking reform that they brought fruits, flowers, honey and mushrooms to the king. The new king was benign and sagacious and his subjects were happy and prosperous under his reign.
One fine, April morning the people assembled under the moss-clad walls of the palace and started shouting unintelligible things. The sight of such a huge gathering sent ripples down the king’s spine. He was on the verge of ordering his guards to shoot a volley of arrows at the crowd when his dumpy little minister toddled into his bedroom. ‘What is it?’
‘Sire, the public is so happy and satisfied with your rule.’ The minister kissed the hem of the royal robe.
‘If they are happy and satisfied, then why are they shouting?’
‘They are not shouting in anger. They are shouting to get a small favour from your magnificence.’
‘Tell me what they want.’
‘They wish that from now on that both buttocks of the deceased will be stamped with the royal seal.’
The king scratched at the stubble on his square chin and said, ‘Go inform them that their wish will be honoured.’
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