A 1946 parable from Sarada Natarajan

 Sarada Natarajan  (Subrahmanya Iyer Natarajan)1924-55 is Telugu writer whose mother tongue was Tamil. He was also well-versed in Tamil when he landed in Tenali in 1937 and started working as a waiter. He learnt Telugu and started writing in Telugu. Tenali at that time had many writers with various ideologies. Sarada was pen name and he became quite famous mostly posthumously. Here is a short piece by him translated by Rohith which I found on his wall.

Mister World Has Fallen Sick

- Sarada, July 1st 1946 (translated from Telugu) 

Mr World has fallen sick. He is bed-ridden. Mr Imperalism immediately sends a message to Sir Bourgeoisie. 

The car of Sir Bourgeoisie creeks to a halt outside. 

Mr Imperialism offers a chair to Mr Bourgeoisie to sit. 

"Sir Bourgeoisie, Mr World is unwell. We don't know the disease yet. We should send for a doctor." says Mr Imperialism. 

Imperialism thinks for a while and says "Call Dr. Socialism"

Sir Bourgeoisie takes off his specs, clears the smudge on the glass, puts it back on saying, "Him! Oh, no no.  He gives injections of equality and solutions of revolution for every small thing.' 

Mr Imperialism retorts "Oh, it's not for treatment. Its only to have a precise diagnosis. He knows the nature of Mr World very well. Call him."

Bourgeoisie calls Dr Socialism right away. He comes to help. 

Mr Imperialism and Sir Bourgeoisie asks Dr Socialism to diagone the disease of Mr World. 

He looks at the palm of Mr World, "This is a dangerous disease. It's called the sickness of servitude. It needs a high dose of revolution-medicine. And then, injections of socialism are to be infused into veins. Only then he can recover." 

The other two oldies jolted to conscience saying, "Did we ask you to prescribe medicines? We needed you to only diagnose. Take this 'dollar' and leave." 

Dr Socialism leaves. 

Mr World's pain intensifies after Dr Socialism leaves. He is writhing with pain on the cot. The situation has come to a stay. Dr Socialism is out of question now. Mr Imperialism and Sir Bourgeoisie ties up Mr World to the cot and begin thinking again : 'how do we cure this?'

Sir Bourgeoisie suddenly reckons: "Don't we have our  Fanatic-Priest Rao Bahadur Sir. He can treat with our own homemade pills and domestic oils instead of those toxic foreign medicines. I am calling him", and takes out his phone. 

Fanatic-Priest Rao Bahadur Sir comes by his own chartered flight. He takes a look at the hand of World. "May God Bless Him, Misters! This Mr World has the typhoid fever called atheism in his body. That's why he is twisting with pain. It's not something that can be cured. I will give a blended spirit to sedate him for now." 

He gives two ounces of vedanta, two grams of desh-bhakti and three ounces of non-violence. 

"That's better. He makes a lot of nuisance awake. Let him sleep.", says Sir Bourgeoisie with a sigh of relief.