ommo, a pussycat and Ooty an owl, both employed as vermin controllers at the Wallside Restaurant and Bar were chatting over their beers courtesy the Wallside management. While the pussycat puffed on a coffin nail he had filched from a customer at the bar to accompany the beer, the owl drew the brew through a straw; it was the design of his beak you see.
“One thing, our governors’ approaches to most things don’t change, do they? I don’t think they will ever,” meeowwed pussy after a slurp of beer and a puff on a half-way down coffin nail.
“What part of their habits or culture are you talking about?” hooted the bird.
“A minute ago, out of the blue, I remembered a tale that involved some prisoners in World War 2. You know the thing that sparked a calamity over half the world by a nutty governor named Hitler who was aiming to dominate Uuurope…( pussy could get the pronunciation right) and probably the world. Meeooww, and a number of countries got involved in that wholesale murder. Governors from Uuurope got involved in it first; the Yanks, Ruskies and the Japs showed up later. Millions died in it because a mustachioed mad hat was trying to establish a ‘pure Aryan race’ to be the lords of planet Earth. And there are many stories on how he and his Nazi party got about it. Jews got the worst of it. It had been dreadful, I have heard governors say. But do you know that some of our own governors had been in the war fighting on the side of the British that ruled this country at that time?”
"From the time our governors chanted, ‘Go Yaha go, go Yaha go,’ the Yamayas have played all kinds of dirty cards to pull down the Yaha crowd in disappointing progress; but progress it was and still is "
“Whooom,whooom,” the bird went, “how do you know that?”
“True or not, through a war tale that doesn’t do much good for our governors’ reputation. Apparently some of them had been sent to Italy during this war. I don’t know how well our governors fought, maybe they didn’t fight at all; ‘not worth fighting for King George who is kicking us around and ‘ look at the pay and the food, machan’ appeared to have been the thinking to eh…eh…take things easy…and shun the battle front. In any case it was not their war. Anyway I haven’t heard any of our governors dying in it but that doesn’t mean that none bought it, but anyway I heard a lot of them had been taken prisoner and landed in huge holes dug somewhere near the Sahara,” purred pussy puffing heavily on his coffin nail.
“Landed in holes? You mean in prison huts.”
“Meeoowwnah (nah). The Germans or Italians had no time to build prison camps. They just dug giant pits, dumped prisoners into them. jammed their perimeters with barbed wire planted armed guards to prevent escape. And it was rough; the captors were not interested in providing prisoners home comforts, but they allocated ‘pit prisons’ by race; one for Frenchies, another for Poles, one for the John Bulls another for Yinjuns and so on. Here’s the tale that painted our governors with a classical identity that has stood the ravages of time.”
“Wow,” hooted the owl, “that sounds mysterious.”
A gene was to blame
“Well,” purred pussy, “although it was war time the methodical German governors inspected even their pit prisons. It had so happened that a German general had thought of inspecting them that were unique in concept and design-as you can imagine. During a guided tour, the German top gun had stopped at a pit with its mouth festooned with barbed wire and sentries armed with machine guns on guard. “Who are these fellows?” the general asked peering into the depths of the pit.
“They are Poles sir,” explained one of his escorts. “And these fellows,” asked the general at another similarly guarded pit. “They are from the French Underground.” “Who are in that one?” asked the general pointing at another well guarded pit a distance away. “Dutchmen, sir,” was the reply. The inspection went on until the team came to a pit with no barbed wire or a single guard in sight. “I say who is guarding these fellows? From where are they?” asked the curious general.
“Ah, they are from a place called Ceylon, sir.”
“But good heavens man, where’s the barbed wire and the sentries? These fellows can make a bolt for it any time they like,” the general stormed.
“True, some of these prisoners have tried to escape by scaling the sides of the pit, but we have no fear any would escape, sir.”
“How’s that?” barked the general.
“Every time someone was seen scaling the sides of the pit wall to escape, others pulled him down. From the time they got here two years ago, no-one has gone missing.”
“Oh my goodness,” hooted the bird. “Weren’t those Ceylonese related to today’s Sri Lankans?”
“Oh sure, it’s the same family with a few developments here and there. Many don’t know that they carry a dominant ‘prison pit’ gene that makes Ceylonese and Sri Lankans somewhat averse to others climbing towards better things. This rogue gene in our governors makes them pull down governors making their way to the top or take the country to new heights. It’s crazy.”
“What a crummy crowd,” hooted the disgusted bird.
“Purssh, you are telling me. Take their current politics. Ordinary governors battered and bruised by a no-good Yama regime finally got rid of them through two Yaha thinking stalwarts who promised ‘good governance’. And by gad the pair got the ball rolling in the most ingenious way. The kick off was so delightful ordinary governors floated in the air with relief. But our ‘Sri Lankan’ governors, direct descendants of the Ceylonese in the pit prisons of yesteryear have not changed at all. In fact some say they have mastered the art of dragging down brothers and sisters trying to get somewhere better or politiccas of the Yaha type.Theoretically Yaha themes are to benefit our governors, but see what has happened in reality. From the time our governors chanted, ‘Go Yaha go, go Yaha go,’ the Yamayas have played all kinds of dirty cards to pull down the Yaha crowd in disappointing progress; but progress it was and still is. The Yamayas were not concerned about the country and its people; they only want to pull down the Yaha lot just to regain the power they lost. But, remember what happened to the Ceylonese in the pit prisons. Because escape was prevented, they all sat at the bottom of the pit until the war ended.”
“Bloody fools,” the bird snorted the way owls do.
“Meeooww,” purred pussy throwing away his butt. “Just like the Ceylonese who were stuck in a pit prison because escape was prevented, today’s Sri Lankan governors are sure to end the same way if the Yamayas keep pulling down Yaha attempts in Yahapalanaya. So it’s likely there would be no progress at all.”
“Thuhooot. What a bloody situ. What about our ordinary governors, then?”
“Purshsh. I pity them you know. They did their bit but some dastardly
Yamayas don’t care about their welfare; true to the Ceylonese-Lankan gene, they’ll keep pulling down the Yahapalakayas.”
“Thuhoot! Surely something can be done about that.”
“Purshshsh! I doubt that; it has been in our governors’ bloodline for far too long.”