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Constellation Koli Dhon Keyothi October Referendum 2003 satirical report Where'd the Dhon go? The renowned founder of Fanditha Inc., Dhivehirajje's biggest global conglomerate, slipped from the media spotlight soon after the announcement of a multi-million dollar magic coconut deal with Resortrajje. There were rumours Dhon Keyothi had retired to London with a bevy of wives, and even an unkind suggestion he was lazing away his days in government-sponsored comfort at a health camp in Maafushi. We rang the Dhon's mobile and were delighted to find him trading vigorously in the spicy atmosphere of the Colombo stock exchange. After a short chat about his latest tea plantation investments, Keyothi made the astonishing admission he didn't even know the referendum was on! Our hero apologised for neglecting his nation in its moment of need, and offered us exclusive coverage of the real story he knew must be lurking in the island of Blood. 'I'll catch the next CID Airlines flight,' he promised. We join Keyothi as he cruises in safe custody through the azure skies en route to peace and stability. Heading back towards my atoll homeland always makes me a little emotional. Sri Lanka has its attractions – good food, room to move and freedom to think – but there's nothing like a bit of Dhivehi discipline, especially if you live somewhere else most of the time. I decide to rough it and stay at the Gabulhi resort but when I ring from the plane to make a booking, they say I'm not welcome! And to think I used to virtually pay the staff's wages with my rosewater bills. The sky gets smokey and dark as we prepare to land near the island of Blood, and shadows float in the seas beneath us, drifting eastwards in the hulhan'gu currents. This is weird... referendums popping up for no apparent reason (we all know what the result will be), growls from the Gabulhi, low visibility readings, and now this fureytha infestation. I've only been gone for a few months and the whole country is falling apart! Yet, in the midst of chaos, my friends from the Fort are at the airport to greet me, creating with their crisp presence that aura of security which is the envy of so many other troubled places. It is the first time I have manifested myself as an international media personality, and their tears of frustration flood the tarmac. We pretend it's just a sudden monsoon shower, but I can't help noticing the boys aren't carrying their guns. 'Historic heroes of the Blood empire, what happened to your blunderbusses?' 'BO, the Beloved One, confiscated them, just because we blasted the fureytha for target practice.' 'Hmm,' I surmise with a wisdom beyond my peers, 'no doubt, the great BO would rather see you engaged in more productive activities?' 'Yeah, he told us to hassle all Internet users with dyed hair and smiles on their faces. It's easy, you can spot them a mile away and Blood island's a lot smaller than that.' I glanced over towards the capital. 'But how can you find these iridescent addled cyberfiends in all that smoke and fire?' This unexpectedly perceptive question, the fruit of years of journalistic experience, startles my listeners who are now aware I am a lot sillier than I look. They move around me, preparing for some sort of Maldivian bonding session but my expense account doesn't allow for cultural digressions. 'Take me to your leader,' I demand. For my own protection, I am tied to a mast with a bag over my head as we approach Blood harbour, preventing me from seeing the red stain covering the Fort jetty and marking a remarkably formal corridor for my arrival. Nor can I hear clearly the spontaneous cries from women along the shoreline. As we moor, my creaseless companions rip the bag from my head and lift me, in fully insured splendour, up onto their shoulders and towards the thickest of the blazes. There, surrounded by flames and an eerie haze, a single ornate building buzzes with dark decorum. We hurry into a large office where a bespectacled clerk sits in air-conditioned silence surrounded by thousands of small pieces of paper. He looks up, and his squeaky voice commands the room. 'So... Mr. K... we meet... at last.' My fearless friends throw themselves on the floor, whimpering and writhing in supplication. Within seconds they drift into deep and satisfying sleep. Holy shit! I think. It's BO! 'Greetings, felicitations and heartfelt salutations, oh timeless leader of the eternal presidency. How's the referendum going?' 'Fine. I am preparing the votes right now and it looks like I win again.' 'Excellent, your excellency, but isn't that a job for your loyal and loving people?' He smiles a little, amused by my naivety. 'Voting is such a strain for simple folk, Mr Keyothi. It is my job as their elected leader to personally take responsibility for such matters which may, if left unattended or in the hands of those less qualified, cause violence and instability in this beautiful and serene land.' 'So when will people be able to do their own voting?' I ask, genuinely curious. BO smiles again, 'When they are the leader, of course.' What can I say in the presence of such brilliance except, 'How do you plan to sneak the fake votes past the people?' 'That will be done, Mr K., in the proper place and at the appropriate time.' Eastern sky from the island of Blood Saturday morning 1 am , 18 October 2003 The room swirls around me and I slump to the floor among my unconscious companions. It is past midnight when I awake in the empty room. Where are the votes? Suddenly the whole city plunges into darkness. Feeling my way outside, I stumble into a broken mango tree stump and magically the haze clears in the eastern sky. Asthaafir Allah! the power of the asterisms! A waning Blood moon in the middle of Gemini with the asteroid Ceres and Saturn! No need to ask questions when you have answers like this. The choking smoke returns, accompanied by the delicious smell of fried fish. The world must be told about the universal laws that guide our national destiny. My people want facts, not ravings and ill-informed opinions from anonymous squawkers. This call must be Keyothi's! The power's cut, but my lungs are filled with the traditions and spirit of our ancestors, and from my mouth comes the bellow of an unstoppable Dhivehi koli: 'Ey oay! Ey oay! Ey ooay! Ey oay! Ey oay! Ey ooay! Ey oay! Ey oay! Ey ooay! Suva bodu ithuru dheyvathaainge kashadhaana bodukamun mi Dhivehi Raajjey raees kamah Leggi Saalimu ge fuiy Baburu Naibu ge fuiy Kalhu Ali Maniku ge fuiy Dhon Maniku ge fuiy Dhonthuththooge fuiy Dhon Seedhee ge fuiy Abdullahi Maumoon hovijjeyathee koli. Mihen ahai dheki dheni thibe kee komme meehaku urannai.' top

More Dhon Keyothi Fanditha Inc. a meeting with the Blood bodun

Maldives Culture is an independent internet magazine of Maldive cultural issues.
Editors and translators: Michael O'Shea and Fareesha Abdulla, Australia
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