“Does it even make sense?”

“That is the question.”

The new situation was not that unclear as much as the villagers liked to exaggerate: one thing was known to every soul in the village, that there was a new King in the village. And, hence, one inference could be drawn from this piece of important information: a new King always meant either an expansion or a contraction of territory. And from this inference the intelligent of the villagers were able to draw one more inference: no matter the position of the boundaries, if at all changed, blood had to be spilled in these situations.

Such dialogues were heard all over the village. Having many variations but the main idea was invariable—we do not understand. Though these dialogues were the only form of freedom they had got now in the matter of new and vague development—talking in absolutely vague terms about the absolute vague situation.

This was where the essence of the new situation lay. The villagers were not called forth till now to give themselves as sacrifice to the new King, or as a gift to the old one.

“What is up with the King? Is he delusional?”

“Why don’t you call me, O King?”

At last a guard on an old mule was sent around the village to clarify the matter.

“The gracious King has sent me to tell you that you can be in good faith with your neighbors now.”

As soon as these words were heard by the villagers, the blood, which had almost frozen under the stress of the new situation, boiled again, and to an alarming degree, and they saw red blobs flying all over the sky. They quickly ran over to the guard, dragged him down, stoned him to death, and, without looking in each other’s eyes for even a brief moment, hurried back to their homes, and waited, as they called, for their friend fate.