Imolation

She was not called Maharanee Hairy for nothing. Her hair was long, dark, straight and flowed like a piece of black silk off her scalp, each hair well-moisturised from scalp to tip. She took immense pride when she walked past her naked maharajah each night and watched her hair caress his bollocks.

"Oh, my maharanee! Oooh..." her maharajah would coo.

The women in the markets were always admiring her hair in her face but calling her a slut at her back. Maharanee Hairy, they would call her. For the poor woman was, indeed, hairy more than just her hair. Nonetheless, she took pride in her looks. Her mama told her that she would be proud of what her parents had given her, never mind she had constantly got to pull off the occasional hair that has matured and thickened. You see, Maharanee Hairy was not different from an ape, except her hair, well, her hair is not as developed as an ape's.

Each day, Maharanee would coax copious amounts of jasmine scented coconut oil into her tresses and onto all the hair on her body. She was literally well-oiled, many a bug stuck on her hair and other parts of the exposed body when they bumped into her owing to errors in their flight plans.

She took pride in the way her hair was weighed down by the viscuous liquids, which accentuated the darkness of her tresses.

One day, a travelling artist came along and was completely mesmerised by Maharanee Hairy's hair when he spotted her shopping for her dhals in the morning market.

"Come," he said. "Come to me! I would love to paint your hair with my oils," he coaxed.

It was not as difficult as he had imagined. Before long, Maharanee sat naked in the stuffy art studio in the middle of the town. The used pieces of cloth used to wipe paint on and off the canvas lay all over the floor.

"Yes, raise your hands and hold your palm behind your head," the artist instructed. The bushy armpits were exposed, showing black fiery mounds of shiny hair, glistening with the mixture of sweat and jasmine scented coconut oil.

Maharanee Hairy had asked for a copy of whatever was drawn so she could place it in her bedroom, forever reminding her maharajah of her eternal beauty and slick hair.

The artist's progress was slower than expected. Maharanee Hairy got tired and lightly dozed off. She rested her head on a makeshift table that the artist had given to her so that she could rest her arms if necessary. Looking dissatisfied with his work, the artist walked out into the sultry afternoon heat and took a fag.

The cigarette smoke lingered in the air, the extreme heat of the day never allowed the hot exhaust to flow upwards and dissipate. Wiping the sweat off his brow, the artist decides to take a walk.

As he entered the neighbouring banana plantation, he sat under the shade of a rather large plant and lightly dozed off.

He next heard screams and looked up to see men and women carrying buckets of water running in the direction of his shack.

Joining them, he reached the flimsy wooden structure and saw thick smoke billowing out of the roof. It seems like there was a small fire raging somewhere... yes, that's where! It was near Maharanee's seat!

After the fire was put out, the people found a bald woman with burnt tufts of hair near her. It had been a flash fire. The well-oiled Maharanee Hairy spontaneously combusted.