The Jalsa and Jilpa Snack edition

It was a cold winter day in Calais. The year was 1942 and the row-men in town were seething with discontent. Their boats were lying in disuse, waiting in the harbour, reeking of stale fish and memories. Business was slow, the winter was harsh and with families to feed, desperation was rife and often manifested itself as violence on the streets.

A delegation of Druids was in town, and as was their wont, they would climb every tree in town and gather leaves and herbs to prepare concoctions for every known malady. Babies with fevers, workmen with alcoholism and old men with hearing problems would come by to drink potions and go back healed. The locals called these long bearded, white-robed men the “tree men”. Legend had it that they could “hear” the inner machinery of people and concoct specific magic potions to cure illnesses, much like expert mechanics use their ears to listen for problems with cars and other contraptions.

The row-men union decided to do something about their woes and asked the Druids for help. “Give us a potion that will attract fish to our boats”, they said. “We wont do that”, said the Druids. “We can fix your health problems, but we will not tamper with nature”. The row-men pleaded with them, but to no avail. Soon enough, tempers frayed and one of the more unstable row-men took matters into his hands and screamed - “If we cant ply our trade, we wont let you ply yours”, and shot the Druid leader with his blunderbuss and then proceeded to hack his ear with his fish knife. “Now lets see you hear our problems”, he grinned maniacally. Soon enough, gunshots rang through the Druid camp and auditory apparatuses were being hacked and harvested like ears of corn.

While the union leaders looked on in shock, the man who instigated this took centre stage.

“We will change our trade. We will now be lenders. Druids are precious, but their ears are the real crown jewels”, he announced.

Soon the word got out: French row-men gun tree men, lend mere ears