Ittooppu had prepared a new concoction for the occasion. The Junglistan cricket team had won a one-day tournament in Australia, a land beyond the seas where kangaroos hop mad, on and off the field. It called for celebration. The chief minister of Junglistan, Tortoise Kunhiraman, who also heads the BCCJ, had already reached, so had other board members.

The dailies had hailed the victory as second only to the World Cup win in 1983. They had drawn comparisons with the heroics of Kapil's Devils, but had to decide finally that the World Cup triumph was probably bigger because it was after all the World Cup. All except one, the dissenting voice coming from the Junglistan Telegraph. It was more worried about what could and would happen to Maharaj, who was till two years ago Junglistan's Gaurav.

Kunhiraman raised his head, putting aside the newspaper he was reading. He was visibly elated, actually ecstatic. Things were falling in place right before the elections. All this while he was accused of only managing cricket and ignoring what he was hired and paid for by the animals of Junglistan -- that is govern. But the budget just a few days ago had waived loans taken by his subjects, cut taxes across the board, and this now was the icing on the cake.

"All I have to do is milk the event," he said a little loudly, and repented doing it the next moment. Right in front of him was Nandini, the cow. She had moved a private member's bill in the last Assembly session also, seeking a ban on the usage of phrases like the one we heard just now, as she felt it derogatory and humiliating for all cows in the world and reminded her of centuries of exploitation at the hands of fellow animals.

"You saw how Achu and Rohu resisted Lee. We won the match right then. Finishing 10 overs without losing a wicket was something indeed, the next 10 overs were a bonus," said Duba Duba, taking a swig of rum from a barrel that was fast emptying.

"A special thanks to Achu for finally scoring in a final," said Ganapati, the elephant, with a smirk. 'Achu could have scored the century when Maharaj was the captain in the World Cup,' he thought, bitter that his idol had found no place in the team of the future. He had heard Maharaj and Kesu were dropped on specific instructions from Sheru Singh, the captain, and had vowed revenge at first opportunity.

"I admire Sheru. What a captain he has made," said Kuyilamma, the cuckoo, the pretty commentator who could speak volumes about Sheru's flowing hair, and the lack of it now. She had gone into depression when she heard Sheru was having an affair with a Bollywood actress but was relieved to hear it was just a bhai-behen thing, nothing to be scared of.

"Exactly. In the face of all that tension, he stayed clear, calm and composed. He has nerves of steel, heart without emotions, you know what I mean," said Chinchu, the monkey, running out of superlatives.

"Jungle-smart that's the word," said Kuku, one of the selectors.

"We should reward them somehow," said Kudiyan Paramu, the jungle's biggest drunkard.

"I will give them a year's supply of beer - free of cost," announced Mallan, a kingfisher, who had recently bought a team and named it the Royal Challenge, kicking off an unsavoury controversy. Animals were debating if he had named it after a whiskey he owned, or a beer he owned.

Mallan turned to his secretary, who was hurriedly jotting down points. "Call a press meet tomorrow. We will make a major announcement."

"Sir, how do we account it," asked the secretary.

"Say something. For the promotion of cricket and nourishment of young cricketers, for instance."

"Should we extend the offer to Maharaj and Kesu. They were not part of team."

"Their drinks are on me," Mallan was in a generous mood.

"We need something more," said Kunhiraman, who had so far maintained a silence. He wanted something that would raise a few eyebrows.

"Money, that's what we should give," said Ittooppu, serving his special brew and looked at Pichu, the owner of JPL. Pichu had an eye for the spectacular. When the juniors won the Twenty20 world cup, he had given a Porsche to Guchi for hitting six sixes in an over.

"Let us give Rs 50 lakh," said Thathamma, the parrot.

"Not enough."

"Make it Rs 1 crore."

"Still not enough. Even the Jungle Idol winner gets Rs 1 crore. Make it Rs 10 crore," said Pichu.

"That sounds reasonable," Kunhiraman gave his approval.

"Let us drink to that," cheered Mallan, to be drowned by murmurs of protest from Ganpati, and shouts of approval from the rest.

"And whoever said politicians are good for nothing," wondered Kuku, "We had as much a role to play as the players in these wins. Remember they coined slogans for every game, like we do for elections."

"Karo Ya Maro (do or die), that was one of the slogans," said Kunhiraman, "I wonder, who actually said this. I have a feeling I know him."

"And Khatm Karo, Ghar Chalo (Finish them, go home). Achu himself made it up. Must have been craving for tandoori chicken and paav bhaji. No wonder he played well in the finals. Otherwise I don't see a reason why he should do that," Ganpati was still upset.

"There were even rumours in the Australian media that our cricketers said Garibi Hatao."

"I will inquire into that. They should never have done that. Never bite the hand that feeds. Leave garibi and garib to their fate. Else what will we do?" Kunhiraman could tolerate anything but transgression of an MP's privileges.

"But the slogan that won the match was none of that," said Sharu, an actor who had just returned from an awards function where he was the master of the ceremonies, "And it works damn well. I raised those slogans and the audience lapped it up. It is the headline in our television channels."

"Teri maa ki, teri behen ki," Ganpati needed no prompting. He had been making monkey faces all along, hoping to pick a fight with Kuku and other monkey selectors of Junglistan. But his wish wasn't granted. The monkeys were too drunk to care.

"Raise a toast to that," shouted Mallan.

The fans replied in one voice, "Teri maa ki, teri behen ki."