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The Chronicles of Chheechkaduni
(© Biswapriya Purkayastha)

This contribution is part of a series:-
1. The Chronicles of Chheechkaduni (15-Aug-2014)
In the far distant future, when the seas have dried up and the rivers are gone, the renegade lord Onek Mangsho and his wives flee being turned into meat to feed the people.
2. The Chronicles of Chheechkaduni (Continued) (30-Jul-2015)
Three new tales of danger as Onek Mangsho, Opodartho and Chheechkaduni make their way through the world of the far distant future.

Page 1

Caution: Contains strong violence, cannibalism and mild sexuality.


In the hundred and tenth year of the Third Era of the Great Famine, the honour of being converted into food for the community fell to a certain Onek Mangsho.

This was the ultimate honour, as everyone was well aware. This was because the only way of providing any more food for the people than one was already doing, where every action was directly or indirectly concerned with the search for edible material, was to offer oneself as the main course. And of course such self-sacrifice was a tremendous honour indeed, so that those who were chosen had their names commemorated and written in stone on the Sublime Pillar of the People.

Onek Mangsho had, of course, already done his bit for the community. Of the eighteen children his loins had partaken in producing, fifteen had naturally been given over to the kitchens for lesser feasts and to stave off the pangs of the common hunger. One, who was sickly and bony, had been judged not worth the eating, and had been used up as bait to trap a dire lioness who had been preying on the community, unsuccessfully as it turned out; the big cat had dragged off the bait and come back to finish off half the hunting party as well. It wasn’t a total loss, though, since the survivors had managed to salvage almost two of the hunters’ corpses, so the people didn’t starve.

Yes, Onek Mangsho had done his bit to provide meat for the people; but that had been only his duty. Everyone had to breed meat then, as now; you, gentle reader, must have bred children for food if you qualified for training to read and write. But Onek Mangsho’s people were far less soft than ours are, in these degenerate times. That was the age of people who knew what to do to survive, and they had no problems doing what they had to do to keep the flame of life going. We should learn from them.

However, Onek Mangsho was one of those regrettable people who do not wish to sacrifice their lives for the common good;  and, when he heard of the honour he was offered, instead of going forth boldly to offer up his bared breast for the sacrificial knife, he decided to run away.

Difficult as it is for us, in this lax and permissive age, to believe such an evil deed, it was even more of a deadly and unforgivable sin in that era, when men were men and bravery and self-sacrifice was the code everyone lived by. It is, in fact, a reflection of how utterly contemptible Onek Mangsho was that – instead of offering himself, unasked, for the honour – he waited for it to be bestowed upon him, postponing the moment by every means possible; and when he could postpone it no longer, when the Grand Assembly had decreed that it be his name that should be engraved on the Sublime Column, he decided to run away.

Now this Onek Mangsho was – physically speaking – not a bad specimen, overall; he was not as scrawny as the average man of the time, which means he was – by our standards – almost obscenely obese. Have we not, all of us, seen the art and sculpture of those eras, and salivated at the prospect of sinking our teeth into those succulent muscles, of cracking those robust bones for the marrow? And yet – and yet we are assured that there was once a time when even the men of that era might have been considered emaciated almost to the point of death. It is difficult for us today even to begin to imagine such a plenitude of food, and doubtless there is some truth to the idea that it was a cruel jest passed on down the ages. But, jest or not, the truth is that we are getting thinner and thinner, weaker and weaker; and yet our moral fibre degenerates, and perhaps tomorrow we shall even refuse to eat our children.

To get back to our account: this Onek Mangsho, coward, hypocrite, self-centred scoundrel and moral degenerate, had – when the time finally came, and the Grand Assembly had decreed the honour to be conferred on him – decided to run away. To this end he had, obviously, schemed and prepared for some time, for when the bonfires had been lit and the spices, herbs and oil gathered for the cooking, when the knives and cleavers had been sharpened in preparation; at the end of the three-hour period that the honoured person used to be given to fully savour the honour bestowed on him, when they went to fetch him, they found him not.

[ Continue to page 2 ]

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Genre:General Horror
Type:Long story
Rating:8.75 / 10
Rated By:12 users
Comments: 3 users
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