The Unedited Fairy Tale of Safina and Zordar

Once upon a time, there lived a badshah, who ruled a vast, rich and splendid land. Predictably, this badshah had a daughter: the beautiful princess Safina. Safina had hip-length golden hair, a slender waist and yadda yadda yadda, she was the fairest of them all. To be honest, she was quite heinous and annoying, but her abbu, the badshah, had paid trainers and cosmetic surgeon vast amounts of money to whip her into princessly shapes. The highest-ranked beauty parlour performed its wonders every day and Safina actually managed to fool on-lookers that wealth could buy beauty.

When she was 22, losers, cheapsters and free-loaders from far off lands, looking to make a fortune overnight, appeared in droves and asked the king for her hand in marriage. They drooled and ogled (force of habit), they begged and pleaded, they bribed and cajoled, but the badshah had three shartain (conditions) he wanted met before he would give up his daughter. Many tried to fulfill the badshah’s shartain, but all died a gruesome, horrible, untimely death.

Enter Zordar: mean and handsome, greedy and fearless – you know, the whole nine. While engaged in raping a poor peasant woman behind some trees in the jungle, Zordar caught sight of shahzadi Safina cavorting with her friends on her weekly visit to Lake Sakoon. He saw, what-else-butt, her reflection in the lake and fell instantly and madly and quite irreversibly in love with her (well, that was his story, anyway). Finishing up his job, securing his kamar-bund, and dusting off the twigs, he walked up to the shahzadi’s tolee. "Who is that fair maiden?" he boomed at Neeli, the princess’s companion. " Shahzadi Safina, daughter of the badshah" came the reply. "Hmm. And your name?" the svelte Neeli had Zordar intrigued. "Nnn…Neeeeh…Neeeeeh…Neeeeh" "Accha.Accha" Zordar found her neighing tiresome and waved his hand dismissively. "Go call your mistress. I am shahzada Zordar." Neeli, relieved to have thwarted his lecherous overtures, ran off (the neighing seemed to work every time). One look at him, and she had known he was no shahzada, but she knew her mistress would reward her for being introduced to those biceps. Shahzadi Safina, suitably damp from her acquatic adventures, and excited by Neeli’s descriptions, arrived breathless. Their eyes met and yadda yadda yadda, he dusted the twigs from his shirt and secured his kamar-bund for the second time that day.

Zordar, convinced that he had found the wife his financial advisor would approve of, and encouraged by they princess, went to the badshah and asked for Shehzadi Safina’s entire body in marriage. The badshah said he would be happy to oblige and throw in her brain, as a gesture of goodwill, if he could fulfill the infamous 3 shartain:

Kill off the awful demon Saabir, who had started a peasant revolt in the west
Recapture the hills, which had been taken over by the fire-worshipping heathens in the north
Fancy some with the badshah


Zordar, more intelligent than his predecessors, negotiated more of (3) with none of (2) and accomplished (1) with no trouble at all. In a week’s time, the badshah announced a feast to out-do all feasts, to mark the wedding of Safina and Zordar.

50,000 cows were slaughtered; 100,000 lambs were gutted and 300,000 chickens skinned. All the cooks in the kingdom were forcibly rounded up to cook all this high-quality protein into scrumptious kormas and biryanis and kabaabs. And any child wandering the streets (there were about 200,000) was enlisted as a bearer. The fire-worshippers’ best wine was bought, in a secret wine-contra deals in which both sides made a killing. Neighbouring kings and queens, shahzadas and shahzadis – differences momentarily forgotten in shared gluttony – shared the same dastarkhwan. They arrived in splendid silks and brocades, riding cars, beasts and humans. Gold and gems suspended from every pierce-able jiggling part of their anatomies. The men exchanged notes on the size of important issues like their kingdoms (or was it condoms?). The women ooohed and aaaahed over each others’ kapray and zayvraat. The obese bard sang praises to the badshah while everyone ate too much and drank too much and made themselves sick.

But after 2 and a half months of binging, diarrhoea and hangovers, the party finally ended. The bard keeled over his last high note; the fire-worshipping wine ran out, and the masses were down to mice and beans for high-quality protein. The badshah called in the local beard-wallah and asked him to do the needful. The bearded fellow, not one to mince words, informed the shahzadi and Zordar that it was now okay that they had been having sex since their meeting at the lake. And millions were finally transferred from the badshah’s Swiss account to Zordar’s.

And they lived happily ever after… well, not quite…

For one thing, Zordar discovered that though Safina’s mind was her own, her uppers were mostly silicone – too cool to the touch, when the heat of passion was gone. And the layers of make-up, carefully applied at the beauty parlour came off at night to reveal a hideous sight. She also had a very annoying way of discussing the most mundane details of her life in a nasal, monotonous voice: "you know, when I went to the bathroom this morning, it was kind of green and I don’t know what I ate last night. How was yours? Did you eat the spinach?" Safina too realized that her husband suffered from a terrible-terrible flatulence, and that is why he was named Zordar. He had no interest in what she had to say and he had no patience for one or two – fore was quite out of the question – play. She felt cheated, emotionally and physically. Zordar quickly found ways to amuse himself; there were peasant women aplenty. And Safina quickly found ways to fulfill herself – there was an endless supply of rass-malai and videos available for a pittance.

They remained wealthy and wedded, indeed became wealthier, as the rich are likely to do. Zordar had earned renown for putting out peasant revolts and had formed a private army that diversified into massacring any unsavoury types. Safina got involved in philanthropic causes when taking a break from rass-malai and filums, and had many photo-opportunities. Her bleached golden locks and sweet smile still made a good insert. (Some of the widows she donated sewing machines to, refused: "Mian bewa karta hai aur biwi machine deti hai"). After having produced four little safinas and zordars, Zordar reneged on the once a month arrangement, driving the has-been shahzadi to more mitthai and melodrama. So went life in the fairy tale.

And they lived happily ever after?...