Written by walter
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Monday, 7 July 2008

He was called Uncle Hunt. He died at the turn of the century. His shotgun was a muzzle-loaded rifle of 19th century. Another precious piece of equipment was his dented brass monocular. His ammo consisted of a gunpowder flask, a few slugs, some pieces of cloth and several percussion caps. His most reliable and ever ready tool to assess the velocity of the wind was a handful of soft dirt. He hunted simply to put some meat on the family table.

Once he, against his humble temperament, agreed to demonstrate his skill before the greedy eyes of some foreign investors!

Naturally, Uncle Hunt was an expert in the geography of his area and the behavior of the game. Before moving, he gathered his handpicked aids, and briefly explained his present location, destination and how to get there. Team leaders, all field-tested, knew their job very well i.e. leading the game to Uncle Hunt's position.

Everything went on according to the plan. The crucial moment arrived. The herd reached the command post. The master's shotgun was poised motionlessly on the rock. All looked fine, but there was no trace of the prized leading buck. This terribly upset the grand strategist. Something had gone wrong.

When the clatter of the hoofs ceased, he heard the alarming sound of the bucks. Turning around, he saw the leading buck standing on the top of a tall rock, right behind him. To his astonishment, the leading buck did not jump. Perplexed, Uncle Hunt's hand slowly let go of the rifle.

Both, for some seconds, breathlessly stared at each other. Then the old hunter found himself reading his opponent's mind:

"Uncle Hunt, you don't seem yourself today. You behave just like the other members of the pack. Turn around and look at the rivers of the blood your pack has shed because of the conviction that others should fall on their knees before you the homo erectus. One more and I'll finish. Do not tamper with nature! Cause no more man-made disasters. Put a halt on your unsafe technologies. Do not export your unsafe technologies, guns, tanks, planes, rockets etc, to societies that have not contributed to the development of that unsafe technology. Keep your stupid economy simple. Harness your greed. Keep your life, housing, social institutes etc, simple. And above all be sharing!"

Uncle Hunt for quite some time remained transfixed. He did not move until he heard his people's indistinct voices and footsteps. Before they reached the post, Uncle Hunt removed the percussion cap. Grabbed the muzzle of his shotgun and smashed the butt on the rock. Bent and twisted the barrel. Threw the deformed object down the gorge. He stood up and beckoned to his men not to follow him. Then he walked upward and toward the direction of the game. Somewhere, he sat down on a rock and looked at the game that was peacefully ruminating, with the leading buck sitting at the edge. They both exchanged looks. Before getting too late, they all rose and left for their proper lodges.

The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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