http://photography.nationalgeographic.com/photography/photo-of-the-day/annakut-kolkata-india-food/

Magic beans never failed. It was a beautiful panacea, or whatever the word was for false panacea. Whenever the masses got riled up, the palace convened a Gifting. People dropped what they were doing to flood the royal city streets. They came from every corner of the empire, hands outstretched, to take what the palace gave them. As it ever was, and as it always would be.

Gifting was a simple, elegant policy. When troublemakers got loud, they needed to be quieted down. The riff-raff couldn’t shout if their mouths were full.

The Romans had a phrase for this kind of thing. Something about food, actually. He couldn’t quite recall. But he knew the spirit of it – people were dumb. And they could be distracted with games and prizes.

To his left and right, the balcony was stuffed with the sons and daughters of aristocrats. They were the older group, either at the end of their schooling age or just out of the palace university. Dressed impeccably as befit the moment in the palace’s official color scheme of blue and cream, they looked the part of the empire’s future. At their feet, huge baskets overflowed with magic beans.

This was the Duke of Ceremonies’ time. A quick speech. No sense in keeping the people waiting.

He lifted his hands to draw everyone’s attention. The balcony fell silent. Below, the roar settled to a soft din. The savvy and experienced began to prepare their carrying apparatuses. They knew competition would be fierce.

“People of the Empire, you have come! You have worked hard, you have paid your taxes, you have championed the empire’s glory in your daily lives. You are a symbol of the empire’s prosperity and its strength. And as is your due, today you are rewarded!”

The crowd clamored and cheered with verve. He grinned and turned to the kids. He nodded, and they took over. Each of them dug two hands into the nearest basket of magic beans and tossed them out over the crowd.

Gifting rules were straightforward – the commoners could take home as many beans as they could carry. As the first wave of beans rained down on farmers and carpenters, on the poor and the struggling, the battle began. Those beans were a lifeline, precious beyond measure.

“See that? It’s like I was saying. It’s a simple solution for a simple people.” The Duke was very pleased with himself.

“Yes, sir.”

“You still don’t agree?”

“Every time the people of the empire get restless, you give them magic beans.” His Apprentice was a slender, whip-smart son of a newly-elevated aristocratic family. “And they go home happy for a time, but the crops won’t grow the next season.”

“The palace gardeners are not fools, Apprentice. If we give them plants that grow seeds, they’ll be able to grow the crops entirely on their own.”

“And if they can do that, they do not rely on the palace, or the aristocracy to feed themselves.” The Apprentice answered in resignation, doing little to cover the distress in his voice.

“Precisely!” the clueless Duke replied, taking the young man’s answer at face value.

Magic beans flew, left and right in a white wave. In the courtyard below they clattered into open hands and cupped blankets. Someone had even brought an umbrella and turned it upside down. The resourcefulness of the poor was something the Apprentice always found inspiring before he remembered that they only needed to be so clever because people like him forced their hand.

This was the third time this year the Duke of Ceremonies had held a Gifting. In the western provinces, a group of political dissidents had grown in power and prestige. The emperor and his sycophantic advisors felt they were easily quelled with the same predictably responses; magic bean Giftings, temporary tax holidays and the traveling symphonies that brought music and cheer to a cheerless people.

But the Apprentice knew better. And he was not alone. Certain members of the ruling class understood the tide was turning. They knew the empire was weaker than it had been in ages. They saw the young men & women of the west not as easily distracted political dissidents but rather for what they truly were – revolutionaries. No amount of magic beans or string quintets would patch the wound this time.

“What’s that Roman phrase?” the Duke asked the young man next to him.

“Auribus teneo lupum,” the Apprentice whispered in reply.

“No no, the one about the games. Where the Emperor put on the gladiator games and had big feasts to distract people?”

“Panem et circenses,” the Apprenticed answered. “It means bread and circuses.”

The Duke clapped jovially. “Yes! That’s it. What a sage tactic. Truly stands the test of time.” He looked out over the crowd below as they cheered and shouted and clutched at the downpour of beans and he smiled, wide and stupid and completely removed from reality.

By his side, his Apprentice watched the same scene with a spreading sadness. He feared these were the last days of the empire, and he mourned a life he did not get to live. Had he and his like-minded reformers been born a decade earlier, it’s possible they could have made a difference. It’s possible they could have saved-

No. That was prideful. The distrust went too deep. He could see it now on the faces of the people below as they grabbed at the shallow gifts from a shallow man. They knew the beans would grow one season’s worth of food, knew that the resulting plants would bear shriveled, useless seeds. They knew it was a hamster’s wheel, and he didn’t think they would stay on it much longer.

Magic beans, much like bread and circuses, were for dreamers and fools.

Auribus teneo lupum. We have the wolf by the ear. And very soon now, he’s going to want it back.