The grim fairy tale of Prince of Haathpur
Once upon a time in the land of Haathpur, the loyal junta had just one task to complete every day for their royal princeling. They had to trudge up to the palace and hold out their hands to either receive a warm handshake or a rap on the knuckles, depending on how their dear Prince was feeling.
Actually, he was a sweet little fellow, dimpled and fair, if a little difficult to understand. Most of the denizens of Haathpur, however, knew their fate would be sealed if they did not bow or scrape, or perform the daily courtesies that were expected of them. To make it simpler, all they had to do, really, was to remove their brains and freeze them for a future time when they could be used again.
Haathpur was so named because it was put together by many hands. These had been earlier dexterous, but were now drooping especially as the handsome Prince was not ordering them to build new empires or conquer fresh kingdoms. In fact, he would just usually wander amongst them with a sunny if somewhat dazed smile. It had lately dawned on most of the poor dwellers of Haathpur who had been lured in with promises of gold and silver, that the princeling was really quite reluctant to take on any fresh endeavours.
What he liked most, in fact, was his magic cloak. This he would wear whenever he wanted to disappear. Off he would zoom, leaving behind a bunch of wearied sycophants who were tired of the sheer ignominy of not having a Prince whose hands they could kiss, and at whose feet they could rest their exhausted and now brainless heads. Why, why was their beloved Prince so fond of his magic cloak? After all, they had been promised a princeling they could adore and languish for. That's all they had ever wanted! If he wore his cloak and left them - how could they kiss the hand that fed and petted them?
But paying no heed to these beseeching, plaintive cries, the Prince donned his many coloured, vanishing cloak and sped off. It was for him perhaps a necessity to get away from those longing hands, those constant clutches at his princely white attire. He needed to think about his great and noble ideas, his wondrous philosophies and grand visions far, far away from the dirt and dust of Haathpur. How else could he return, recharged and refreshed, to his people, if he did not take time out to contemplate?
"Can't you see, you little, gentle, sweet morons," he ticked them off... "I am doing this for you! To make you better! If I go away and think these wondrous and noble thoughts, these grand visions and deep philosophies, I will come back to rescue you from the dragon that snaps at you, from the demons that keep you awake at night."
"Oh but princeling," wept his followers, "just at least tell us where you are going?"
"Oh no," said the clever Prince, "if I told you that you would follow me."
"Oh but princeling, at least give us your hand!"
"Here it is," said the bonny and charming Prince, as he swept the magic cloak around him... Then he lifted his amazing arm, on which glowed that gorgeous, fabulous hand, and off he went.