A Divine Tragedy – Dhee Sylvester

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A Divine Tragedy

“WE SHALL MAKE WHORES out of our most beautiful virgins!” The Thinker declared, as he laid the details of his long awaited proposal before the Council. Lending the room a moment to reason out the ambiguity of what he said, the Thinker took a step back, let slip a queer smile, before proceeding to drill home the nuts and bolts of his proposal.

“We shall have them in scarlet robes and purple scarves. Neat them up clean and proper, have them bathe in scented salt and sprayed with sweet dew. We shall cast their hands and necks in precious stones, and grace their feet with sandals forged from the purest gold. We shall give each a name befitting of their beauty and breed, and build each a brothel worthy to be looked upon as you would a palace. A brothel so befitting of a king, it shall come to be known as the House of King. There shall be no definitive article before the title, for we shall agree upon the fact of there being only one indefinite king as well.”

“We came to you hoping to find a solution to the chaos ravaging our world, and there you stand asking us to pledge to your madness?” The Patriarch queried, the three folds of skin on his forehead leaned against each other like three tired Ms.

“Many years ago,” the Thinker replied, “when I was yet a boy beneath the sun, my father taught me the best way to achieve order is to disguise chaos in the form of what the people love. Our people love being different; why don’t we exploit that love to bring through that which shall found a modicum of control in their lives? All I’m saying is there is no order without control and there is no control without its own form of madness.”

“You do have a point. Yet, how are we sure this proposal would achieve anything? The Crafter inquired; his beards veiling the movement of his lips.”

“When a man is content among his ilk it is easier for him to be indifferent to the contentment of those he doesn’t like.”

“And what if the man is discontent within himself, even though his people are content?”

“In that case, these whores would serve to provide him hope and a sense of escape.”

“Hope? Tell me Thinker, what can a man ever hope for except to escape this life through death when he’s all grey and weak?”

“We can make him hope for a better life after death.”

A sweeping ruckus rose among the crowd in reaction to the remark of the Thinker. There was tension and confusion in equal measure, for the Thinker’s words not only stirred a nest but also struck all the wrong notes. A well-read literate like him should know there is no such thing as life after death, some argued, while most were convinced that in his search for wisdom, the Thinker had indeed found madness.

“Please…Can I be allowed a moment to bring clarity to my words?” The Thinker appealed, and though the agitation simmered, a few at the back continued in their murmuring.”

“Just like every one of you gathered here today, I also disbelieve in life after death. We all know it is an Egyptian myth the Babylonian’s made famous. But this is not about what I believe, or what we ought to. This is about us giving the people something to believe. When I speak of life after death, I don’t speak of existence after extinction; rather I speak of existence after expiration. There’s a difference between the two, huge difference, and I hope for us to understand this. Extinction is the state whereby the subject is permanently absorbed into void; while expiration is the state whereby the subject is no longer valid as it were. To convince the people of this, we shall create a pseudo-theological idea on the mono-duality of human existence.”

“And how do we convince the people about something even we understand not?”

“By making the one we shall make King, an entity beyond the fallibility of men. He shall belong in a realm the people would live their lives aspiring to attain, after their deaths. The knowledge of consequence, the awareness of conscience, shall be fed into the consciousness of the people such that our different clans and cultures will serve as mediums through which the pseudo-theological idea I spoke of, is intensely propagated.”

“Sorry, Thinker, but what shall belief in this all-powerful King actually do? Do our men stop raping their daughters because they are in love with the whores this King would call wives?”

“Frankly speaking? Yes, they shall. Listen, I do not speak of any kind of whores here. I speak of whores that would captivate the people so much that they shall derive pride, honour and meaning in bearing their names and being in subjection to their whims. They shall fight for them, hate for them, kill for them, live for them, and when they feel like it, the people will be devoted enough to die for them. I do not speak of just any ordinary King either. I speak of a King many would come to structure their humanity base on fables men like me shall write about him. In fact, their idea of good and evil would be based on the morality of this idealistic entity, so much that evil would be done for his good. This sense of morality might not necessarily make the people better, but surely it would infuse a sense of responsibility in them. And when there is responsibility, chaos finds it difficult, if not impossible, to thrive.”

“Going back to the whores… You know, we cannot go about calling them that if our people are to take them seriously.”

“Exactly. Thus, I made provision for a name we could give them.”

This was the defining moment of the Thinker’s studies, for this was a name that shall outlive his own name, and shall dominate every aspect of human life there on. He folded his papyrus scrolls, cleared his throat, and stilled his excitement, all the while basking in the majesty of the moment, and in the fixation of the eyes desperately begging for him to say the word that would change the world.

“We shall call these whores Religion.

Dhee Sylvester is a self-professed madman whose passion for writing borderlines obsession. When he is not writing poetry, music, short6 stories, essays, or football, he is working on his novels.


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