Dawn

by Rakesh K Kaul

  The rest of the day was packed with fun activities that maej had planned for me. We played games and practised yoga—something that we enjoyed doing together. Then I danced to a new song that she had composed specially for my birthday. Then she created holographic images of my dance with me swirling inside and around. She was truly a genius when it came to computers! Maej doted on me all day and I was happy to be with her in our pod, especially on this day, isolated from everyone else in the world.

  My birthplace was Minneapolis, which was on the other side of the globe, but as far as I could remember, our pod was my entire world. I had asked my mother once why I had been named Dawn. She had merely shaken her head, flashed a half-smile and replied that one day, when I would be prepared, I would find the answer. I had also questioned her about my missing father, but she had broken into tears and had not said much about him except that something had happened to him. All that I had of him was an indistinct memory from the time I was a child.

  I looked out of the window and saw that it was a half-moon night. Oh my! How quickly the day had flown by. I yawned, feeling tired after a hectic day. It’s time to turn in. Then something stirred within me.

  ‘Sing the koori lullaby, please, maej,’ I pleaded, lying in bed. My mother’s gentle face broke into a warm smile and she rolled her eyes.

  ‘You are sixteen now, Dawn. Too old to have your mother sing you bedtime lullabies,’ she mock scolded.

  ‘Please, maej, one last time. I love the lullaby and I want to be spoiled on my birthday, please.’

  She responded wistfully, ‘Every mother is the first teacher of a child, and every lullaby imparts a teaching. But you have come of age, Dawn. Just like a caterpillar becomes a butterfly, you must now learn from your own efforts, experience and intuition, and evolve.’

  I was crestfallen. The moment she saw disappointment writ large on my face, she succumbed. She leaned over, stroked my long hair and then softly crooned the koori, a lullaby that had been written just for girls. I saw her kind face, full of unbounded love, smiling at me. Life could not have been better. The lullaby worked as it always did. I drifted off to sleep peacefully.

  An astonishing sight greeted me, so bizarre that I even forgot to feel scared. There he was sitting comfortably on the chair at the foot of my bed. A man with an elephant head, wearing highly sophisticated space wear in the latest grey herringbone pattern. His trunk waved at me in a friendly fashion. Surprisingly, his feet were bare and he had only one tusk. A white mynah perched on his right shoulder made his eye-catching appearance even more intriguing. For a moment, I wondered whether I had been watching too many reruns of Babar: King of the Elephants.

  Amazingly, I was not afraid and mostly felt awe. For some reason, one is not afraid of anyone if their eyes are closed. By contrast, the mynah’s alert eyes and pointy beak gave it a look of always being aware of everything around it.

  ‘Who are you?’ I demanded. When you grow up alone with your mother, you become extremely self-confident. Plus, I was in my home and I ruled here, not this intruding, elephant-headed fellow whose unworried air conveyed as if he was the lord of everything.

  ‘I have 1,008 names, but you can call me Yuva,’ he replied politely. His trunk swayed slightly. The mynah hopped a little and spoke sweetly in a woman’s voice, ‘I am Kira.’

  Calmed by his respectful tone, I responded, ‘I am Dawn.’ Something told me that they already knew that. ‘How old are you?’

  ‘Sixteen,’ he answered, but he seemed ageless. Kira stayed quiet.

  ‘What? You can’t be the same age as me!’ I exclaimed. ‘Are you even real? How did you get through Mom’s virtual reality firewall barriers around this pod?’

  ‘Oh yes, we are as real as real can be. Our inside is the outside, our outside is the inside.’

  I did not understand that at all, but it came to me much later.

  My initial surprise having worn off, I asked, ‘Why are you in our home? What do you want?’

  ‘Dawn,’ he replied gravely, ‘you are sixteen today. You have been chosen to fight Dushita. We are here to help you win.’

  I trembled involuntarily, my body turned cold and shivers ran down my spine. This was a name my mother had spoken in a whisper: D-U-S-H-I-T-A. Clearly, I was having a nightmare.

  Who was this entity named Dushita that had scared even my mother?

  Well, no one had seen Dushita, but according to my mother, the Dushita Algorithm controlled the Universe. It simply meant that the Law of Dushita governed humanity. Our humanity. Over the years, I had been told that the commandments of Dushita were taught to everyone. The priests of Dushita were everywhere, which is why I had been forbidden to leave our pod—our home.

  Our bio-habitat was inside a mountain. A sparkling stream winded through it and a dense thicket surrounded it. Inside it were farms and laboratories where I studied. This was the only world that I had known. I always felt that I had not missed out on anything in life because it was complete in every manner. There were no rules inside, only freedom to explore because this world was always changing. But I was curious to know and learn more about what lay outside it. The price of living in one place for sixteen years is that, after a while, you perceive everything with blinders on. Nevertheless, all my tearful pleas to explore the outside world were turned down by my mother. ‘Dawn, everyone that lives outside has the Dushita Chip implanted in them. You know it’s a coming-of-age ritual for these dangerous outsiders when they turn sixteen. I’ve tried to protect you from this all your life. Don’t go walking into the enemy’s arms! Think about it. Think about us.’ After my anger had subsided, I realized that the Dushita Chip—the mark of attaining adulthood—was also the baptismal into Dushita’s laws. Right now, we were outside the law. And the punishment for that unforgivable violation was death.

  I was at a complete loss for words, bewildered by what Yuva had said. ‘What! Why me? Why should I fight Dushita?’ I asked, my voice quivering with fear.

  He sensed my dread and spoke gently, ‘It is a lot to take in. Dushita has been around since the birth of the Universe, and he found a way to take control of it. He is the harbinger of death. Whatever he touches dies with no possibility of rebirth. He has to be stopped and only you can do it.’

  I was sceptical. Surely, this was a dream. It had to be. So, I decided to grill my guest. ‘How did he take control? It is impossible.’ No one knew what Dushita looked like, but his avatar always showed him as a wise old man on LeGoog. The LeGoog was our ancient, unregistered, holographic communications device on which we obtained information about the outside world. Ages ago, the LeGoog holographic projectors, which combined quantum signal processing with 3D printing of light photons, were described as ‘jaw-dropping’ by tech gurus. My mother had told me that the latest technology had made LeGoog obsolete, with the Dushita Chip directly injecting the desired holograms inside his subject’s brains by bypassing the eyes, so that it was just like seeing the desired scene.

  On LeGoog, Dushita’s avatar always talked about loving each other, equality and how adhering to rules is a win-win situation for everyone. He made perfect sense and had a mesmerizing quality about him, which was evident even in his image on the holographic system. Yet, he was someone who scared my mother so much that she was forced to flee to an extremely remote area in the trans-Himalayas.

  Yuva responded with intensity, furrowing his broad forehead, ‘Control? Animals see the reality and, in some ways, more acutely than humans do. What makes humans alive is the power of imagination that arises from being free. A central controller divides humans from each other,’ he said, his arms flying animatedly.

  ‘But where and how does Dushita come in?’ I said, highly confused. It seemed that Yuva always spoke in riddles.

  ‘Well, my dear, where do I begin? You see, to understand this, you . . .’ he paused and took a deep breath.

  With his eyes closed, he spoke again. ‘Imagination gives birth to stories of what humans are and can be. Stories have
a unique property—they travel from human to human, and so, they become known as folk stories. These folk stories create a social collective that binds humans and makes them act collaboratively with each other. Humans have infinite potential, Dawn,’ he said, suddenly opening his eyes and looking into mine, perhaps for emphasis. He then continued.

  ‘These timeless tales memorialize this infinite potential and unlocks it within you when they touch you. And this is how the right stories create a belief that makes you bigger than life itself. There is no technology that can match that.’

  ‘Unlock you . . . bigger than life? How? I’m sorry, I’m not . . .’ I trailed off, but he just smiled and shook his trunk.

  ‘It is stories, my dear, that have lives that are longer than anything else. Dushita is clever, very clever indeed. He took control of these timeless tales and slowly changed them to the point of self-doubt and closed possibilities. Dushita got humans to start believing in the wrong stories. After that it was easy for Dushita to get the humans to surrender. Soon, freedom gave way to slavery. Life gave way to death. Dawn, have you noticed that every story now praises death?’

  I stood up, stunned, and paced in front of Yuva, trying to find my footing. Never had I given a second thought to mere stories and tales. My mother had narrated thousands of stories to me over these sixteen years and I loved listening to those, but that stories had such a deep meaning was beyond me. I could not imagine in my wildest dreams what Yuva was saying could be true—that a story was the most powerful, technological force that there was and could be, and that it operated on such a massive scale. To me, they were just tales, and for someone living in isolation like me, they were just a source of entertainment. They seemed too simple, too ordinary. After listening to Yuva though, I seemed to understand the gravity of what possibilities a small, simple story could hold.

  ‘So, shared stories of friendship, love, courage, bravery and freedom inspire one to attain higher accomplishments?’

  Yuva smiled and nodded at me. Even Kira seemed to bob her head sideways in agreement. ‘You’re a fast learner. Yes, they inspire one to tap into the force within to pursue greatness.’

  ‘When did Dushita take control of stories . . . if that ever happened?’ I asked, still not fully convinced.

  A spark seemed to emanate from Yuva’s eyes. He spoke grimly. ‘It happened a long, long time ago. Fifteen hundred years ago, to be precise. In a faraway valley called Kashmir, the birthplace of stories. It produced real-life Niti stories that were so astoundingly creative in unlocking human potential that they were considered magical and mythical. But then Dushita took over the reins of the Valley. He destroyed their stories and culture and went on a killing spree. Exactly 1,001 years ago, your remaining ancestors escaped the genocide. Some went to, what was earlier called the United States of America, the place where you were born. They were refugees who had lost everything in their lives, except for one thing that they protected within themselves: their stories.’

  This was all so overwhelming that my head spun a little. Mother had never told me any of this! And how did this strange person even know where I was born! My mind was filled with questions.

  ‘Go on, ask, child.’ Yuva seemed to have read my thoughts.

  ‘How do you know where I was born? And about Kashmir? What is Niti? That’s a peculiar word from a peculiar person, come to think of it. And genocide, I have never heard about that. All this is bizarre. And to top it all, you proclaim that I am a . . . a Kashmiri?’

  Yuva only seemed to nod at my rant and then spoke, eyes half closed, ‘Niti means the wise conduct of life. It’s that simple and that complicated,’ he smiled.

  Cryptic, as always, I thought.

  ‘And yes, Kashmir. There was a poet Kalidasa from Kashmir who lived around 50 BCE, over three thousand years ago. He wrote a poem titled “Listen to the Exhortation of the Dawn!” prophesizing that one day a person named Dawn will save the world and destroy Dushita. He spoke of you, Dawn. It is a clarion call for the day that you, princess, take on Dushita.’ Yuva fell silent, his face bent down.

  I opened my mouth to speak, but no words seemed to come out. My mind went blank and numbness crept over me.

  Suddenly, Kira, the little bird, started reciting the poem in a low, beautiful voice.

  Look to this day!

  For it is life, the very life of life.

  In its brief course lie all the

  verities and realities of your existence:

  The bliss of growth,

  The glory of action,

  The splendour of beauty;

  For yesterday is but a dream

  And tomorrow only a vision,

  But today, well lived, makes every yesterday

  a dream of happiness,

  And every tomorrow a vision of hope.

  Look well, therefore, to this day!

  Such is the salutation of the Dawn!

  A mysterious glow appeared as Kira’s melodious voice filled the room. The incandescence gradually diminished as she finished. A prophecy about me. No! It can’t be! These extraordinary phantoms have to be a dream, I rationalized. I am just going to say no and this dream will come to an end and life will go on, never mind Dushita.

  Yuva read my thoughts even before they were complete. With eyes shut and a stern expression on his face, he spoke firmly, ‘Before you say no, Princess Dawn, you need to know this: your mother has not told you that you are the last girl child left in the world.’

  ‘What!’ I was stunned. It felt like I’d fallen through a crack in an icy lake and I was drowning in the deepest waters. I had grown up alone, but I did not know that I was alone in the world. This had to be a joke, a sick one. But . . . was this my birthday surprise? And why was Yuva calling me princess? Strangely enough, the serenity and sincerity in Yuva’s eyes had a calming effect on me.

  I exhaled. ‘Okay. So, tell me, what happened to the other girls?’

  With evident anger, Kira replied, ‘When Dushita established his rule, he ensured that with the application of gene technology, humans could live forever. He also created and supplied human beings with what he called “QuGene robots” who were . . . are virtually humans. This dark force, which sought to replace the Creator, had a deep hatred of women as they have the one power that he doesn’t—the power to create life. Immortal male humans and QuGene robots could serve Dushita fully . . . forever,’ she said in a low tone. ‘He no longer needed women for the purpose of continuing the so-called human race. And so, he declared them the enemy.’ Kira finished with a deep sigh that seemed to reverberate in the room. ‘Women as the givers of life had been declared as possessed by “evil” at the beginning of the first millennium. Two thousand years later, the last women survivors were slain.’

  I gasped at the horror of this unimaginable crime. It finally struck me as to why my mother and I had been in hiding. ‘But why did my mother not tell me all this?’ I let out a shriek of dismay and apprehension.

  ‘Two reasons,’ Kira sighed sadly. ‘Dushita knows about Kalidasa’s prophecy and was determined to leave no girl alive. When you searched for information on yourself, Dawn, weren’t you thrown off balance? That is because every bit of information out there is fake, the truth having been erased by him during what we call the “Data Deluge”, the great wipeout.’

  My hands shot up to cover my mouth. My eyes strained from their sockets.

  Kira went on, ‘Right now, even as we speak, his followers are combing the entire world to hunt you down. Once they capture you, they will all assemble. They have a ghastly end planned for you. The end of the female species will be celebrated around the world by Dushita’s robotic followers. After that, Dushita will have every man’s mind under his control. It will be the end of humans first and then the Universe itself.’

  ‘But my mother . . .’

  ‘Your mother needed you to grow up to be strong and not be terrified or fearful of fear itself, which is why she kept you in the dark.’

  ‘But h
ow does Dushita know that I exist? Maej has taken such care to hide us.’

  Yuva looked straight at me. His now open eyes narrowed to slits, glinting with anger. ‘Your father knew about you, and so, Dushita knows too. Your father is the second reason why your mother did not tell you anything about all this.’

  My father? My absent father? But I didn’t even know who he was. With a sinking feeling I realized that I had been kept in the dark about so much, and worse, I had been left with no choice. Suddenly, it seemed that death in the form of Dushita awaited me every which way.

  Given my desperate situation, I realized that this was my one chance to learn more about my father since maej never talked about him. I spoke up. ‘Can you tell me something about him? I want to know what the mystery about my missing father is.’

  Kira shook her head and answered, ‘No, my dear. Your mother is the right person to answer that question for you.’

  This was completely unexpected. My father seemed like a dark part of the universe that nobody wanted to go to. I switched the subject, trying to buy time.

  ‘Okay, so tell me what lies within the stories of Kashmir that can save the Universe?’

  Yuva broke into a smile. ‘Let me begin by telling you what Niti stories are, what they mean and how they are different from your everyday stories. The Niti stories have within them a secret kick-starter that enables the creation of the juice of life inside humans. It is this juice that sets one free, gives rise to imagination and drives one’s creative energy.’ Contemptuously, he continued, ‘Dushita manipulated the Niti stories, he destroyed the juice . . . and the rest you know now, spawned a world of mind-controlled automatons and life-like robots.’

  I blinked. My mind was reeling with this new knowledge and trying to process something that was beyond the ordinary. ‘So, what you mean to say is that the right story has that much power within it? The wrong story is that much of a manipulator?’