A Peasant’s Parable

Krish Uttamchandani
Written By Minimax

Hitting the nail right on the head, the word “Camelot,” has been associated with King Arthur and medieval Europe everywhere I looked. As a history enthusiast, I had to try long and hard to resist writing about King Arthur and Excalibur, the coolest name for a sword. Ever. Period. It did make me think, yet again, about the best period to be alive in history (as a peasant of course, because of the sheer odds, given the populus). Through my research, I grew ever so fascinated by the nonsensical chaos and randomness, better known as Medieval Europe. I don’t think a piece can encompass all I read about, but it’s an attempt at quantifying the entertaining societal norms and terrifying statistics that we laugh at today. Please keep in mind that this piece is not entirely historically accurate, but an amalgamation of all reliable sources from different periods and societies in Medieval Europe. But then again, what really is entirely historically accurate these days? At least my bias is justified on the pretext of humor. Here’s a day in the life of a pleb back then—

Henry wakes up to the bawling of his bastard children William and John. Having contracted yet another unnamed evil disease that hasn’t been discovered or even named yet, the children would be no more than a statistic in a few days. But Henry couldn’t be less bothered by his increasing collection of short-lived children. All he was proud of was his virility single handedly causing a population explosion while, admittedly, also bringing down the average lifespan of a peasant in Medieval Europe. Moving on with his day, Henry consumed a customary morning pint. Gotta stay hydrated, you know? And alcohol was just, statistically speaking, safer than water at the time. And Henry cared about statistics, of course. 

Henry’s wardrobe was immaculate, including specifically his Cracow long toed shoes, a screaming reminder of the nobility he was born into. Henry was alive at a time where everyone dressed following set norms about what was prestigious and what radiated socioeconomic filth. For the majority, fashion of this period doesn’t strike us as weird at all, which might have something to do with the fact that global fashion ideals eventually followed suit, due to rabid colonization. Perhaps one day Henry could wear whatever he wanted without the fear of judgment. Perhaps. But a man can only dream before being pulled back to his sorry state of reality. He screamed at his mistress, kissed the wife good morning and set out for the castle, where his pig was yet again, on trial for trespassing. Not the first time his mistress and wife were in the same room, nor the first instance of his pig being on trial. One can only wonder how animals surpassed humans in terms of law and crime, a system that humans had devised and imposed upon every living creature (non-consensually, at least for the pig, might I add). On the way, he stopped by the market to use his leftover eels to purchase some gold. A bargain in tarnation, he thought to himself. One day he’d be able to afford salt and pepper, both priced thrice their weight in gold. There were just enough eels left to afford a slice of the bread that’d get him high later in the day. LSD was yet to be commercialized, but rotten bread would have to make do for now. 


He finally made it to the castle. Harassed and manhandled by the knights, as is customary, he prayed to God that they’d never be associated with concepts of chivalry. Sigh. If only the “protectors” would not become the “oppressors”. Bigger sigh. Henry’s thoughts were truly ahead of his time. The trial was quite short, actually. The court prosecutor read out the pig its rights and waited for the pig to present its defense. But all oinks were in vain. As it got convicted and oinked its last oink, Henry had mixed feelings about the outcome. It was an old pig anyway, at least his pork soup now had the King’s stamp on it. 


It was almost late afternoon and time for mandatory men’s archery classes. Henry hated this part of the day. He was far from what you’d call a “warrior.” However, if God willed it, there’s no questioning. At the time, one didn’t really see the difference between “God” and “King.” Henry sure hoped this would change in the future, or at least, somewhat improve. Sigh. Sometimes the King did say questionable things, you know? He claimed that football brings loud voices. Voices that God had warned him, bring evil. He was utterly confused about how him screaming “shag your mum” was evil in any context. It was merely a profession of his love for motherly coitus. Hopefully things said by authorities considered to be supreme would be questioned in the future. Sigh. 


Henry lived in a time where the idea of a supreme power was shoved down your throat. A time where the “higher being” controlled all discourse, development and lack thereof. If it isn’t in the Bible, we don’t care. If something good happens, the supreme power willed it. If something bad happens, the supreme power is punishing us for our sins. Humans were but a medium to spread logical fallacies that were self-referentially nonsensical under the facade of faith. Henry wondered why nobody would ever think about admitting their ignorance, or even questioning the very things that made sense only if you believed in them. Surely there’d be a better way to live? A better approach to life? A better way to deal with “evils” or justify “good”? Henry would surely live longer and be “happier” today, but I’m not sure if his questions would be answered. But hey, that’s just me (and Henry).

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