The End of a Dictator

K Satchidanandan is a bilingual poet and writer from Kerala. He has won many awards including the Sahitya Akademi Award. His latest short story, published in a Malayalam weekly [Deshabhimani] is titled Robinson Crusoe and is about a contemporary dictator who is making waves all over the world. 

Crusoe

Crusoe returns from his last voyage as an ambitious man who wants to be the boss of the island. He has forgotten the hard days of the past, his Man Friday, the agriculture he had done for survival, his hut and the dog and the cat there, and so on. Now he is an impatient man with a huge ambition. He is a lord who has hoards of slaves.

This island to which he has now returned was once upon a time the habitat of cannibals. Not now, however. The inhabitants now speak different languages, wear different dresses, worship different gods. There are too many cultures and festivals. How can anyone rule over such a diverse people?

Brusoe came with the solution. Brusoe is as clever as Chanakya. He can make any beggar the king. “Fabricate stories and histories,” Brusoe counselled, “if you want to rule over any people. Get writers to make up stories about your adventures as a boy – how you put your hand in the mouth of a lion, how you tamed wild elephants, how you saved people from cataclysms when they were trapped in hazardous ravines… At the same time, these writers should portray you as a delicate soul with great aesthetic tastes. They should write about the great symphonies you composed, your great sculptures, poetry that surpasses Milton’s…”

“I haven’t even read one single book!” Crusoe exclaimed. “Who will believe these stories?”

“Unbelievers abound in every society and in every age. We will render them powerless. We will convert the whole island into your fans and admirers and devotees. We can do that easily by giving honours and rewards to the right people.” 

Brusoe

Brusoe advises Crusoe never to let people know how cruel he is at heart. Cruelty should stay hidden in the heart and kindness should be worn on the sleeves. No one should see the gun you’re carrying in the back pocket. Put out pictures of yourself caressing the peacock and playing with the squirrel.

“What about doing something good for the people?” Crusoe asks.

“You have an eloquent tongue. Proclaim huge plans and projects. If people start questioning the non-implementation of the projects, announce new projects. The secret is: never cease to talk. When you cease to talk, people begin to talk.”

Soon, guided by Brusoe, Crusoe bans all animal food on the island. “When people crave for flesh, they will begin to kill each other and eat.”

Brusoe’s strategies begin to bear fruit. The people on the island who were living in harmony so long, now begin to fight with one another in the names of gods and religions and cultures and languages and dresses and food. No one trusts anyone anymore. Who is genuine and who is fake? No one knows. Who is a patriot and who is a traitor? Who is with you and who is the King’s spy?

Some good things also happen. Poverty, for example, is vanishing from the country. The poor have been eliminated. Their lands are now Special Economic Zones or huge government projects or dominated by colossal statues. Crusoe loves immense statues. Another thing he loves is prisons. He built many prisons and threw in them all those who dared to question him.

Different languages are a menace, Brusoe counselled. There should only be one language in order to avoid conspiracies against the government. Our language should be the only language valid on the island.

It was all going well for a long time for Crusoe until he begins to be afraid of himself. He gets nightmares about the people whom he tortured and killed. A lot of bad omens appear in the country. People transmute into wild beasts. Viruses eat into human brains. The drinks shared by lovers turn into poison. Flowers fail to mature into fruits. The fields dry up. Rivers die. Unseasonal floods submerge the urban roads.

There is blood on the clothes of people now as they begin to surround the King’s well-guarded fortress where he had recently installed a magical sceptre.

The sceptre begins to bend like a weapon against the king. Birds now look like missiles coming towards him. Labourers who had lost their jobs, farmers without lands, unemployed youth, intelligent people who had refused to become flatterers, Adivasis and tribals dispossessed of their habitats, fishermen whose coasts were handed over to the corporate honchos… They all became missiles laying siege to the King’s fortress. Where are the guards now? Where is Brusoe?

Three shots are heard from the King’s bedroom.

Should the nation declare a mourning or should there be celebrations?