The Divine Indigestion Scandal
A celestial scandal unfolds in Indralok as Bashi Kochuri, a mischievous mortal chef, serves ‘designer rice cakes’ that send the gods into indigestion. A riotous blend of mythology, satire, and culinary catastrophe, this divine comedy explores what happens when heavenly palates meet mortal misadventures.
It was a black letter day in Indralok. The celestial city, known for its grandeur and divine delicacies, had never witnessed a scandal of this magnitude. The gods and goddesses, from Swarg to Yamlok, were gathered in Indra’s grand courtroom, their faces twisted in discomfort, clutching their celestial stomachs, as they were suffering from severe indigestion. Murmurs filled the air as Lord Yama himself sat grimly, fanning his face with a list of fresh arrivals who had prematurely entered his realm.
Indra, majestic but visibly distressed, slammed his golden mace on the ground. “Summon him!” he roared. “Bring forth the mortal known as Bashi Kochuri!”
Two apsaras dragged in a rather plump man with a mischievous grin, his potbelly jiggling slightly as he walked. Dressed in a half-sleeved, colourful shirt, loose trousers, and horn-rimmed spectacles, Bashi Kochuri folded his hands with exaggerated humility. His caterpillar-like moustache, evidently dyed, twitched as he grinned widely. Narad muttered under his breath, ‘Narayan, Narayan.’
“Pranaam, o Divine Beings! I am humbled! To what do I owe the pleasure of this invitation?”
“Enough!” Indra bellowed. “You dare act innocent? Our stomachs are doing Tandava inside us! Thanks to your so-called ‘designer rice cakes!’ How did you even dare to offer us your rotten wares?”
Bashi’s grin widened. “Ah, yes! ‘Swargiya Swad,’ the latest in divine gastronomy! A dish conceptualized, designed, and prepared by yours truly. Specially curated to suit the refined palates of the gods!”
“Refined palates?! My stomach feels like a battlefield where Ravana and Hanuman are having a rematch!” yelled Agni, the god of fire, clutching his stomach. “Even I, the Lord of Digestion, am struggling to process your so-called delicacy!”
“Ignite a fire within, they said,” muttered Yama, groaning. “Now look at me. I’ve been in the washroom so many times that Chitragupta has started taking attendance!”
“Enough!” snapped Saraswati, frowning. “Explain, mortal! What exactly did you put in these rice cakes?”
Bashi cleared his throat and launched into his sales pitch, his hands moving theatrically. “Ah, dear gods and goddesses! ‘Swargiya Swad’ is a delicacy ahead of its time! Aged rice, matured in the essence of forgotten granaries, fermented for a robust aroma, kneaded by the finest hands (mine, of course), and then sun-dried using my neighbour’s rooftop! The result? A sublime balance between nostalgia and indigestion!”
“Indigestion is right!” grunted Varuna, god of water. “I drank the entire Ganga trying to wash it down, and I still feel like I swallowed a cursed asteroid!”
“Wait, did you just say ‘fermented’?” asked Lakshmi, narrowing her eyes.
Bashi beamed. “Oh yes! A secret technique passed down through generations! I left the rice cakes in an old sack for months to deepen the flavours. Some might call it ‘expired,’ but I call it ‘vintage!’”
A collective groan echoed through Indralok.
“You fed us stale food?” Indra’s voice shook the heavens.
“‘Stale’ is such an unfashionable word, Lord Indra,” Bashi tutted. “I prefer ‘time-tested.’ It’s what makes it a designer dish! Your tongues have been blessed with an experience mortals would kill for!”
“I feel like I’m already dying,” groaned Kuber, who had just arrived from his golden palace, looking paler than usual. “My body is rejecting wealth at this point. I tried buying better digestion, but even that failed.”
Meanwhile, Narad Muni had been furiously scribbling notes. “This is going to be a best-selling scandal! ‘Divine Food Poisoning: When Gods Suffer from Mortal Misadventures.’”
“Indeed,” added Chitragupta, adjusting his spectacles. “I have been forced to create an entirely new section in my ledger: ‘Gods Hospitalized Due to Mortal Culinary Crimes.’”
“Enough of this!” thundered Indra. “Bashi Kochuri, your crimes are unforgivable! You shall be punished!”
“Punished?” Bashi blinked, pretending to be hurt. “For what? Bringing a new culinary experience to Indralok? Giving you a taste of what mortals eat daily? Ah, how ungrateful!”
Shani, who had been silent till now, finally spoke, his voice dark and ominous. “Perhaps we should send him to my realm for a few hundred years. That will cure his ‘creative’ urges.”
“Now, now,” Bashi said quickly, sweating slightly. “Why such extremes? I have a better proposition! A divine business venture! What if we take ‘Swargiya Swad’ to the mortal world? Imagine the profits! ‘Blessed by the Gods Themselves!’”
“That’s a terrible idea!” snapped Vishnu.
But suddenly, Kali, goddess of time and destruction, let out a laugh. “Wait, he might be onto something! We can introduce a new punishment in Yamlok. Make sinners eat these ‘designer rice cakes’ for eternity! Much more effective than the usual fire pits!”
Yama’s eyes gleamed. “I like it. They’ll beg for Narak’s fire after one bite!”
Bashi gasped. “That is culinary blasphemy! My food is art!”
“Yes, abstract art that kills,” murmured Saraswati.
Indra sighed and rubbed his temples. “Fine. Here is my judgment. Bashi Kochuri, you are hereby BANISHED from Indralok forever!”
Bashi’s face fell. “Ah, such a tragedy! Swarg’s loss, truly.”
“Oh, and one last thing,” added Indra with a wicked grin. “Before you leave, you must eat three of your own ‘designer rice cakes.’”
Bashi turned pale. “What? But—but I don’t—”
“Guards! Feed him!”
Before Bashi could protest, a group of eager apsaras shoved three large, stale, pungent rice cakes into his mouth. His eyes widened as the ‘time-tested flavors’ exploded in his mouth.
Moments later, Bashi turned blue. His stomach growled like a storm. He clutched his belly, doubled over, and gasped, “Oh divine digestive gods, spare me!”
The gods burst into laughter as Bashi sprinted out of Indralok, clutching his stomach, heading straight towards the mortal realm. “Never again!” he screamed. “Never again shall I ferment rice! I shall stick to frying puris!”
And thus, Indralok was saved from the perils of ‘designer’ food, and Bashi Kochuri became a legend—not for his culinary skills, but as the only mortal who ever poisoned the gods and survived to tell the tale.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, divine or actual events is purely coincidental and unintentional.
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