A scary tale narrated on the night of 20th January 3334 AD: once upon a time, about 300 years ago, when India appeared to be free, there appeared a man with a beard who was a messiah for billions. He was considered to be an incarnate of the omnipresent, and was such an exceptional orator that the mutiny in disparity under his tenure spread far and wide across the country, so much so that the common people were ready to take "panga" with their own kith and kin to defend the messiah's honour (or the lack of it)! In a country of billions he was considered such a harbinger of hope, it appeared that the country was on dope. His speeches won elections and people were content just hearing him. Such was his charm. No harm, for all the recurring pain the people just applied Zandu Balm. He uttered one word, "Mitron", and billions of people, the Indian currency and an entire economy went weak in their respective knees. He claimed that his predecessors bathed with raincoats ON, though, none could really understand his habit of peeping into others' bathrooms. The messiah was brief, and he never ate beef. Of course, when the economy and his own fortunes were in deep trouble, he shed tears of grief. The messiah also had a Cabinet full of soap opera queens, actors and saints with stains who were always at his beck and call; despite their questionable credentials, none of them ever had a great fall. The messiah had a competitor too, one who was so Fair & Lovely, ate Italian Pizza soaked in Indian sauce and constantly rolled his kurta sleeves. This short story doesn't have a moral, though, the characters appearing in the story may bear a strong resemblance to the living, dead or to those lurking somewhere in-between thanks to the messiah's marvelous economic fallacies. So jaao. #EkSamayKiVaatHai #SomeStoriesAreOralWithoutAnyMoral