All in the name of a goat
A goat’s best friend is Mervyn! The populace has been cruel to him. Ok, to the goat too, but I am talking about a man willing to be incarcerated just to liberate a hapless animal. Thankfully, the President interceded and saved the day for both.
The Minister had promised to defy a Court order and come to the rescue of the beasts at a traditional sacrificial ritual at the Kali Amman Kovil in Munneswaram, an act that would have earned him an inevitable stay at the Mahagedera of Welikada fame. A noble act in the eyes of some but the last thing the islanders want is another communal crisis, this time over a goat!
When Mervyn Silva speaks, all listen. He avers in true Dutugemunu style, brandishing amour-propre and intellect. It is his choice of crusades and penchant for the audacious which often lands him smack in the middle of television cameras. He has been fittingly endowed with a portfolio that makes any public business his own business.
So folks the man is just doing his job, for which he gets no kudos except from his electorate. The man will be re-elected and make no mistake he will continue to fight for the goats.
I can swear I spotted a goat on the Blue Moon. Mt. Lavinia beach resembled a sea of revelers. My expat friends Andrew and Maureen wanted to sip a sundowner while our families waited for the lunar spectacle but the chappie at La Mont Blanc politely reminded us of the somber occasion on account of the Poya. He also said that plain-clothed cops were very suspicious of tea cups, so we didn’t have tea.
Mt. Lavinia, Sri Lanka’s most faddish stretch of seafront is a crying shame. There’s no okey dokey access or parking; no infrastructure requisites or value-additions befitting such an iconic destination. An aerial passage for the train lines would nicely free up valuable land and imagine what you could do with that! Once this whole goat episode is cooked and done with I hope Minister Silva will take it up as his next crusade. We are talking of a huge vote bank waiting to be had on the beach for the blue clan!
Larry and Marvin, meanwhile, were headed home after a big night on the town when Larry hits a goat. Marvin being the animal lover jumps out of the car and revives him. Marvin insisted they take the goat home but politely asked Larry if he was ok with the smell. “That’s ok, we’ll hold the goat’s nose,” he said.
Finally, I met the protagonist of my story. Not the goat you fools, the Minister! He looked angry and lunged at my throat as if he were catching a goat of the green types. “You idiot, you called me a goat!” he yelled. “You goat, I didn’t,” I yelled back, instinctively grabbing his neck myself. A duel of the Dutugamunu-Elara magnitude was in the making. A seemingly routine meeting with a constituent had assumed goatly proportions. December 21 suddenly felt very real.
“You goat, are you trying to strangle me!” I woke up in a bath of sweat as Michelle, my wife, struggled for breath. For a moment I thought I had really written a piece derogatory of a hardworking Minister. But it was only a dream.
I’m late. I have a column to write and a deadline to meet.
(Dinesh Watawana is a former foreign correspondent and military analyst. He is a brand consultant and heads The 7th Frontier, an integrated communications agency which masterminded the globally-acclaimed eco tourism hotspot KumbukRiver. Email him at dinna7th@sltnet.lk.)
