The Pig Story

Once upon a time, there lived a pig called Slimy, of traditional upbringing. He was simple, naive and pure. Yes, pure, but inwardly. His thoughts were immaculately shaped by the pig community around, with frequent inputs from goat aunties and dog uncles, from nearby localities.

So, as we can hope, Slimy's idea of the world was more or less structured by what his society had told him, what his middle-class pig-parents perceived it to be and how his friends who opposed the norms were looked down upon by the people around. Being an adolescent, he developed some carnal cravings, but he was too shy to disclose it to anyone. It would have been an act of insolence for the wise society, he thought. He blamed it on his age, and tried to forget about it but all in vain.

As soon as Slimy turned 12, Daddy-pig thought of sending him to the 'The Pigland School of Dinginess' for higher education, which was in Swineton - the ultra-urban capital of the mighty state of Pigland. After clearing a series of rigorous examinations on various insipid subjects like 'Urban ways to eat waste', 'Rural Garbage Management' and 'The Shit Psychology', Slimy was found quite eligible for admission in the reputed B.Crap course in the institute and hence forth his journey for knowledge began.

It was an emotional moment when Slimy left the neighbourhood that comprised of his childhood friends viz. Lily - the goat, Champ - the chimp, Robin - the bitch, Jack - the Jackal and Hazel - the hen.

Slimy came after having a long hot water bath in the nearby bog, that was constituted of human sewage, and carried his heavy suitcase of left-over plastics, aromatic garbage and discarded polythene bags across his house. After a touching adieu to his friends around, Slimy wiped his tears, while sitting in his Daddy's vintage convertible, with seat-belts on and paid heed to what his wise Daddy had to say.

'You have made me proud. You know, you happen to be the first person in our family to make it to the prestigious Pigland School of Dinginess. You've glorified your forefathers' name. How happy your Grandpa Filthmaster would have been, if he had been alive to this day.' The Daddy-pig bragged gleefully.

Slimy just nodded in unison, trying to hide his smile beneath his long piggy snouts, which shone pink with pride.

'Just make sure that you live up to our expectations. Since you're going to a city, hear out my advices carefully. Just be aware about the pigs from city there, they are very canny and they woo simple and talented guys like you and introduce you to fresh water, aromatic scents and simple vegetarian food. Also, beware of the she-pigs of Silly University, who are infamous as male-trappers and they try their best to find young pigs like you from the School of Dinginess, who are assured of a high paying job after graduation. I could never stand you with a wife from a different community than ours, I hope I am making myself very clear. I've a big name in the society and I expect you to glorify it.' The Daddy-pig continued, with great articulation in his speech.

'Sure Dadda, I will stand up to your expectations. I promise.' Slimy said, with a surreal grit in his voice, that came from his fat and hairy throat.

The proud Daddy got his admission into the elite college and came back to his small town. He called all the prominent people of the city and basked in the praise of his son's God-gifted talents in being so intelligent, clean-hearted and dingy since birth. He also praised the reputed Professors with degrees from the famous Ivy Pig Universities, and the greatly beneficial courses at Pigland, which his son had already mastered under his able guidance, if we're allowed to trust him with his words. While Slimy, on the other hand, was having a real difficult time in the completely new atmosphere of the city.

Little did our Slimy know that there was a beautiful surprise waiting to mesmerize his stay at the premier institute and would make him traverse a path less travelled. It was not a she-pig, rather it was something more exciting. Yes, the surprise was beautiful - and they called it the lush green-n-clean campus. For Slimy, this surprise was not a pleasant one. There was no bog, no stinky ponds and surprisingly no open human sewage channels to clean his chubby body with. It brought great disdain to our dear Slimy who in his childhood dreamt of becoming the next Dingy Minister of Pigland, some day.

Slimy for almost a week was baffled as to how do pigs bathe in the city, with no swamps, no open drainages and no sewage channels. He promised his father on the Piggy-phone that he would not bathe in clean water, as it was unholy for his religion and therefore, he stopped bathing. He also reconfirmed the Daddy Pig that he was taking strict precautions to avoid any she-pig that comes in his way. He proudly related to his father how he once accidentally boarded an elevator full of she-pigs and how he didn't even respond to their kind and flirtatious 'hellos', despite the fact that one of the 'hellos' came from a frail old lady-pig, who even had trouble speaking. The Daddy Pig was happy, very glad that his son heeded to the advice he gave.

The next week, he was allotted a hostel room and simultaneously classes began. Slimy, as his habit was, always used to be the first one to get up in his hostel and went out for a jog. This habit of running in the morning was inherited from his father, who inherited it from his father i.e. Grandpa Filthmaster. If we were to believe Daddy Pig's words, once upon a time, whole community of Pigs were in danger because of a slaughterer who came in the locality, and he was supposed to kill each young swines within a day. And it was Grandpa Filthmaster, who carried thirty five of the small ones one by one, holding them in his mouth, at lightning speed thirty five times to a different town, and saved whole of the generation that was to come. And so 'running' ran in the family blood of Slimy.

Settled, Slimy realized that the new place was something that he had been missing throughout his life. It had everything he would ever want: 24 hours dirt-net, a safe and secure campus, the ultra-modern capital Swineton with swooshing metros, hi-tech buses and lots of restaurants, 'dingeons' and stink-bars. He even enrolled himself into the gym nearby and started working on his biceps, not to impress the fatter sex but rather to live in the glory of his mighty grandpa.

One day, while he was waiting for a bus, a fragrance captivated him. It was the same smell of filth, dirt and utter rotten vegetables that he was missing in his life at Swineton. He looked around, with his protruding snouts and went behind the smell trying to trace its origin. It was a she. He had never come across a she-pig face-to-face, eyes-to-eyes. Those eyes, surrounded by fleshy eyelids and black and silky eyelashes; those soft pink snouts looking as though they were created to kiss him; those ears, horny, petite and submerged, telling him that silence would speak louder than words; those legs, soft and tender, holding her 'bigness' on those small flat soles; and that tail, which swayed flirtatiously, which would swirl the masculinity of every single pig in the locality.

He stumbled at the sight. It was sheer love-at-first-sight. He wanted to speak. She waited to hear. He mustered up courage to finally mumble.

'Hello, I'm Slimy.'
'Hey, I'm Shabby.' She said, in a seductive tone. Her tail waived at him. He was uncomfortably seduced. Delighted, excited but short of words. She realized his inhibition and began the conversation herself.

'Where are you from, Slimy?'
'Oh, I'm from ... Kachra-town, that little place in Dungland. My father is the Mayor there.' Slimy stammered, shyly.

'Oh my Dog, I can't believe that. Are you really from Kachra-town? Oh my Dog! The prophesy has come true.' Shabby said in an exhilarated tone. She started jumping in joy, her tail danced like an eel. She stank, big-time. He loved the smell.

'What prophesy?' Slimy asked, perplexed.

'When I was a child, an enlightened baba from Pigalayas visited our house. He declared that one day, I would meet a pig with name starting with 'S' from Kachra-town and eventually I would marry him. You're the love of my life.'

Shabby jumped forward to hug Slimy. He stepped back. His Dadda's words, 'I could never stand you with a wife from a different community than ours,' resonated in his ears. He felt guilty.

'I think you're mistaken. I might not be the ONE.'

'You're the one. Didn't you get attracted to my smell?'

'Yes, I did. What about that?'

'See, that's the sign that we are made for each other. As asked by Swami Pigananda, I'd been bathing in the gutter since the last 7 years, waiting to someday attract you with my peculiar smell, and now that you're here, you're doubting the destiny.'

'I can't cheat on my Dadda. I can't shun our family's glory for you.'

'Your Dadda treats you as an object of flaunting. You're nothing more but a flashy asset for him, so that he flaunts it in amongst his peers.'

'Shut up. I can't tolerate your insolence. Get lost.'

'Go wherever you want, it's in our destiny to be together - we'll be. No-one can change the fate, not even your fear. You yourself will fight with your father when you realize how had he been using you. I'll be waiting for you.' Shabby turned back angrily. Her tail went up and down as she went ahead. Slimy was stunned, all too confused to think about what had happened and what would.

Desolate, he called his Daddy, 'Dadda, I met a she-pig today. She claimed that we were destined to be together. I fear what if she is true. I don't want to spoil our family's glory.'

Daddy pig got tense. He didn't condemn Slimy but said in a serious tone, 'Oh my dog! I knew it would happen. Does her name begin with an S?'

Slimy got worried, seeing his Daddy worried, 'What? How did you know that?'

'Nothing, son.' Daddy-Pig replied in a contemplative tone, 'Don't worry son, I won't let her take over you. You're our pride, I won't let anyone evil eye you.'

'Dad, do you know Swami Pigananda?'

'Huh, how do you know him?'

'I got the answer Dadda. It's indeed in our destiny. You know what, she had been bathing in the gutters since she was 9, just because she was to meet me. Whereas you just treated me as an object to flaunt amongst your peers. Can you ever match the intensity of her love?'

'What are you saying son? Please don't be so brutal, Son.'

'I'm going to marry her. I can't let you play with my fate anymore.'

'The prophesy has come true.'

'Yes, the prophesy has come true, no matter how hard you try to stop it.' He disconnected the call and vowed never to call again until his Daddy-pig accepted his bride. Slimy was of a marriageable age, so his want to carry out his research studies being happily married was not completely unjustified. Child marriage was in vogue in his Kachra-town, even his friends Champ and Robin had been married.

He ran to search for the enchantress, the lady with the intoxicating smell. After running for seven hours without a break nor a glimpse, he thought of giving his weary body some rest. Sweaty and thirsty, he decided to take a stall in the nearest gutter that he could find. Unfortunately, it took him another half an hour in this ultra modern city of Swineton to locate a gutter. It was the king of all - the city gutter. Imagine a swimming pool with fresh faeces, greasy liquids and rotten vegetables and plastics! What more could be more pleasing to a tired pig? He took a full throttle dive into the gutter and fell into the fragrant water 'dhapaak' se.

His dive took him to the bottom of the gutter, where he encountered ultra-modern waste adorned with urban-sewage. He relished the experience. He started imagining about Shabby, fantasizing about her sexy body - how they would make love in the same gutter when he finds her, how his conservative upbringing had made sex a taboo and how now he was free to explore the unknown; how he would convey to her his love in immaculately emotional poems, such as:

I see you, in love and delight
I feel you, despite all the fight

I miss you, in compost and pit
I smell you, in garbage and shit

I hear you, in all the farts
I love you, oh dear sweetheart

A sudden splash awakened him from his fantasy. It was the queen of his dreams. He couldn't believe his eyes. She was gasping deep breaths with her eyes closed. He hid inside the filthy water, his voyeuristic pigness couldn't resist to stealthily see her bathing.

'Baby, come. I'm waiting for you. This is the place where I had spent my seven years, just for you.'

Slimy was perplexed. How could she see me with her eyes closed, and especially now, that I'm inside the gutter-water?

'Baby, what are you waiting for?' Shabby said in a ravishing tone.

Slimy was driven to madness. He didn't know that he would have to satisfy his voyeuristic desires with his own action. He swam near her, slowly. She was waiting with her protruding snouts, filled with filth, to kiss him. This was the moment.

Dhapaak!

Slimy was suddenly at the bottom of the gutter. It seemed that a sumo wrestler just jumped on his head. His neck seemed to have suffered every kind of dislocation he could think of.

After gathering his own weight and the weight of pieces of his broken bones, he somehow managed to battle with the heavyweight over his head to come out on the other side of the gutter. The sight that he beheld would make even the voyeurs of the voyeurs shy. Shabby was making out with another ugly fat pig - upon careful observation he realized that it was his senior schoolmate from Kachra-town - Sweepdirt, who used to bully Slimy all throughout his schooldays thus, making him a wimp. Seeing the culprit behind his jeopardy, the man in him spoke, 'Shabby! How could you do this to me?'

Shabby was stunned. So was Sweepdirt. Shabby retorted, 'Oh my Dog! You're intruding upon my privacy! How could you do this to me?'

Slimy started crying and in tearful grunts, spoke, 'You cheated on me.'

Shabby said, 'Oh, I didn't. You know what, I met Sweepdirt today. You were so right that there could be another Pig from Kachra-town with the name beginning from 'S'.

'No, it was me. Swami Pigananda even visited my house and foretold about the prophesy.' Slimy replied.

Shabby said excitedly, 'No, it was not you. It's him. I forgot that Swami Pigananda said clearly that the man's name should end with dirt. And, he's the guy. Meet ...'

Slimy uttered in rage, 'Yes, the daily-bather, neat-n-clean, human-like - bloody cowhole! In short, Sweepdirt.'

Shabby replied, 'Great that you know him.'

Slimy taunted, 'As white as milk, fresh, shiny, bloody cowhole!'

'Stop using those swear words otherwise I'll say something very bad.' Sweepdirt retorted. Slimy controlled his tears and triggered his wrath at him.

'Say all you want. Let me see how much spunk have you got, bloody detergent washed dog-dick!'

'Son of a cow!' Sweepdirt said, grimacing his face.

Slimy burst into tears. He pulled his wobbly neck up the ladder and walked away on the boulevard of broken dreams. He felt guilty of fighting with his Dadda. At the same time, he felt bizarre about the prophesy that his Dadda was talking about. He dared to call him to apologize.

'Hi Dad, forgive me, I got swayed away. I'm back. I'm back - filthy and dirty - as before. Nothing could touch my impurity.'

'Son, I'm proud of you.'

'Dadda, what was the prophesy you were talking about?'

'That was the thing I wanted to tell you about. The prophesy that Swami Pigananda gave when you were a child was that you would fight with me for a girl upon getting admitted to the college.'

'Was it the prophesy? Didn't it have to deal with my marriage to a she-pig?'

'No, son. Swami said that God didn't make a she-pig for you.'

'Hmmm.' Slimy disconnected the call and went to his place. He never took bath in his life again.

P.S. Slimy Filthmaster devoted his entire life to studies and became a professor of Pigland School of Dinginess, later appointed as the Director of the same. His work on Universal Law of Crapination gave him worldwide fame. He was known for his isolation and bashful nature. He died a happily unmarried death on 31 March, 1727 and his epitaph contains his last words, 'All of us are pigs here. It's a sad fact that many are still running the rat-race.'