Dhon Keyothi Returns :: Maldives News :: Dhivehi Observer

Feature

Dhon Keyothi Returns

1 August 2006

Deep in the basement of his Hoaxes and Kneetremblers (H&KTM) office complex, Keyothi moves serene and confident, stroking a line of defecating bulls with a tenderness that few men can emulate. His staff waits patiently behind the animals, their shovels catching the dung as it falls and scooping it neatly into the gaping orifice of the H&K publicity machine.

Many profitable moons have passed since those early training sessions with his mentors Pharaoh and Felon, and our hero has learnt his craft well. He watches closely as the machine shudders and groans, belching professionally crafted emails, meeting notes, plans, and embossed reports.

'Impressive, aye,' says one of the shovellers, but the Dhon waves him silent.

'Wait! There's more… Here it comes,' grins Keyothi as wads of hundred dollar bills spurt forth. The staff cheers and they all stagger in a gale of celebratory wind released by the tethered beasts.

The job done, Keyothi strides towards the lift, pausing briefly to issue one final order: 'Get the dough over to our accountants at TaxDodgers & Daughters, and steal some extra hay for the bulls.'

Minutes later, high and smiling in his sixth floor apartment overlooking Soho square, Keyothi watches with barely suppressed disinterest as the H&K security staff pepper-spray and truncheon a crowd of protesters. 'Bloody losers,' he mumbles beneath his perfumed breath. 'Some people never learn - the truth hurts.'

It will surprise our gentle readers that Dhivehi Rajje's famous hero is not content. Like all greedy men, he yearns for more, and is never happier than when a fool gives it to him. Since the payout in the basement, Keyothi's journey in the lift to his apartment has been bereft of reward. The sense of financial deprivation is becoming acute, until his mobile suddenly shrieks with pleasure.

'Keyothi, it's Tony,' a voice blares.

Ah, a prime mug, thinks the Dhon. 'Yes, PM, it is I… Keyothi, master of magic.'

'Well, you can add a few more expletives to your name now. I just signed your peerage appointment. And by the way, thanks for the donation.'

'No problems, Tony old boy, it was counterfeit anyway.'

'Hahaha, so is your title. I have made you Lord Dhon Keyothi of the House of Fanditha. Your crest is a blue shield with three tuna. OK, have to go now; got a few wars on.'

The phone is deceased for a second and then shrieks again. Our hero answers modestly.

'Good morning, the lord here.'

'What the f…, is that you, Keyothi?' The porcine squeal is unmistakable. It's the Father of the Nation, and our hero snaps to attention, farting respectfully as his mobile sags under the weight of his leader's words.

'I want you back here in the island of Blood as soon as possible. There's a raging party going and you shouldn't be missing the fun. And I got a new toy, an executive jet at Luton airport, use that and bring our ambassador Mr Jangiyaa with you. I want everyone here for the cutting of the cake. No need to score any drugs, we salvaged plenty a few months ago.'

Lord Dhon requires no further prompting – a free flight to paradise in diplomatic company is just what he needs.

*****

Several hours later, the Indian Ocean gleams thousands of feet below as our peerless peer turns to his companion. 'Cotton, isn't it great to be going home at last?'

The ambassador nods drunkenly and slides forward off his chair and onto the floor. 'WHO PUT THE BRAKES ON?' he yells as his head hits the carpet. 'FASTER, FASTER!'

'Er, I wouldn't say that if I was you,' warns the Lord of Fanditha. 'This aircraft gets a bit unstable at high speed.'

'RUBBISH, KEYOTHI! YOU'RE THE ONLY UNSTABLE THING AROUND HERE! GIVE ME FULL THROTTLE!'

The jet surges forward, its engines howling, and as the ambassador calms down, he looks fondly at our hero. 'Tell me, Dhonnybe, what sort of underpants are you wearing… I'd love to eat them.'

'The same pair I've had on for the last two weeks, CJ. You may find them an interesting meal. I had a little accident at an Indian restaurant a few days ago.'

The ambassador is still ingesting the full import of this revelation when the jet begins spinning slowly in the sky. The two men are hurled together, their faces pressing uncomfortably against a window.

'WHO PUT THE OCEAN UP THERE?'

'Interesting question, CJ,' comments our hero as he uses his magic powers to drift towards the cabin door and prepares to launch himself on the rest of the journey. 'But I must bid you farewell. It's been a horrible experience knowing you, and I regret that your death will not be slow and painful.'

Dhon Keyothi, Lord of the ignoble House of Fanditha, pops from the cabin with all the aristocratic grace he can muster, as the jet and CJ hurtle down into the sea.

*****

Heading southeast through the darkening sky, our hero glides over the atolls that spread like massive seagull droppings into the dark blue horizon. The unaudited splendour of his homeland is simply overwhelming for our simple magician and he almost loses his bearings for a moment or two. Then the foliage of his favourite mango tree glistens in the fading light and he lands suavely in its welcoming branches. The long flight has not been without its stresses, and he finds solace in the damp soil below; his relief compounds when he notices that some of the leaves are yellowing from lack of fertiliser. My country needs me, there's no doubt about that.

'About time you got here, Mr K,' yells the Beloved One from the palace balcony above. 'Where's my jet and that useless ambassador?'

'Both gone, I'm not sorry to say - crashed and splattered in the oceans of our ancestors.'

BO utters a thoughtful 'Hmm' as he sucks at a joint in his right hand and then performs a similar act on the young minister standing obediently at his left.

'Looks like you've solved a couple of problems for me already, K baby,' says BO exhaling. 'Let's join the street party; time to celebrate!'

To be continued .....