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The Village Clown who can't Provoke Laughter

There comes a certain time. That time must come when the audience may become murderers. It would be the moment when the once gullible audience could not bear it anymore. They would be tired of the silly things that had hooked them to this village clown. They would drag him to the market, strip him naked and flog him. Their intention would not be to kill him but to reduce him in worth. And especially as a deterrent example – against inept, greed, looting, prevarication, pride, wrath, envy, lust and sloth.

This village clown or whoever he represents must be attainted so the stung villagers could laugh and laugh at him. It would be their turn to crack expensive jokes when they should take his demise seriously. They would clap and dance, they would turn their heads to heaven and cry – for joy. And they would voice their sufferings to the Woman up there who has been imprecated several times by the village clown.

The audience aggressiveness would not be because they detest the clown but because they finally realised the silly jokes had been on them. Such day would be fatal as nothing will pacify the sad and angry audience. They would scorn the queer clown who had subtlety played upon their intelligence for quite long. The risks involved in such an audacious moment would not be the key but the impressive great courage and confidence exhibit.

But how did this village clown manage to carry the audience along – for so long? Although he is being regarded as a humdrum, he has entertained the villagers for more than three decades. It thus inspires horror how he managed to do it! It is shockingly repellent to see how knowledgeable villagers like professors, judges, lawyers, doctors, teachers, newspaper boys and girls etc. queue at the entrance - for more - especially when this clown lacks a wonderful whimsical sense of humour.

Perhaps he had kept the audience enchanted with wacky joke ideas. Even at that he must have been very lucky to escape the ire of the villagers, for instead of using the proceeds to build hospitals and schools, the ducky son of the village engaged in building whorehouses and palm-wine parlours. "Let them dogs eat bone or die" is a short section of his musical composition. He would tell the spellbound audience the importance of broom; they must see their population as strength; vulture is a patient bird; there's no perfect village; other villages have similar problem.

He definitely knew how to cajole the audience, for they kept listening to him. They kept cheering him until one day when miracle happened in their lives – they finally knew the truth. That was after he had had sex against the will of almost all women in the village. That was after he had joked about the inability of his fellow villagers to copulate including the king.

There was a particular time he joked about famine in the village, saying "a severe shortage of food resulting in violent hunger and starvation and death is the work of God which is beyond any human power…some people are born to suffer, therefore there's no cause for alarm…operation moon testing better than operation feed the villagers…raping women is part of the village’s cherish culture…security of lives is absolutely in the hands of God…”

One would have thought that such dictum has gone beyond a joke, however, it was never a bitter pill to swallow for the teeming audience. Although some deep thinkers among the audience frowned at such jokes, nevertheless they joined the larger crowds who had started cheering – as usual.

The villagers could have revolted that very night but they were few who could deduct and induct. Even when they voiced their opinions – albeit reluctantly – these “village brains” were quickly rebuked. They were called prophets of doom for warning the villagers about the fact that the more the village clown joked, the more famine in the village.

And so there was a live rendition of three pieces by the village clown: he has marvellously taken away our hunger and sorrow with his jokes; we love him for he is the messiah; he is the father of all clowns…he is the ducky son of the village…in his hands lies our salvation…there has never been and there would never be a villager like him…he is God.

And that was the sign - of the last straw. It was over. No one knew how it all happened. But it’s over, and that seems to be the bottom line. The villagers could now understand the horror behind their horror. The village clown had been a spin doctor for the king whose raw ambition was to rule forever. It was a puzzling moment in the life of the villagers. But it was also the moment of enlightenment. Time to invoke evil upon the head of evils or be damned.

Day by day they got to know that majority of the audience had actually been recruited to cheer at whatever came out of the village clown's mouth. And that’s how he had become popular in the first place. The applauding audience would secretly collect their share of the proceeds after each show. But now it’s over. The villagers had finally summoned courage. They chased away the village clown and the king from the village, which is now as clean as the palm of my six-month-old boy.