‘Tell me one thing, ma. The shields can’t be the only thing protecting this hideout.’
‘The time has come, Dawn,’ was all she said.
‘To? For? What are you talking about?’
‘Listen very carefully,’ she said rapidly, with a solemnity I had witnessed only once before on her face when she’d spoken about Arman. ‘Humans age swiftly if they try to climb up Mount Kailash. The danger starts with the Rakshastal or Devil’s Lake at the base. This has been a forbidden place and it has served the warriors well. Today, Dawn, I will induct you into the sworn warrior oath.’
‘Me?’ I couldn’t move.
She jerked her head. ‘Panini, a great scholar, wrote about these martial people whose traditions run in your blood. Now,’ she said, standing up, ‘prepare yourself for a ceremony that has not changed in over six thousand years.’ She said it with a certain solemnity befitting a warrior.
The next few minutes were a haze as we sat in the meditation room. My mother made me sit facing the kund, a tin vessel that she had placed in front of the oval stone. I didn’t know the kund was still useable, as in all these years, it was just kept as a prop. She then placed her silver Trisulabija mace—a weapon that was forbidden to touch or use—by my right side. The weapon had a small round sphere at the end of a handle with a lotus design on the top, out of which protruded a fierce trident. Now that it was next to me, I saw it in new light. It surely was sharp and not just for show, as I had always thought while growing up. Being hit by the sphere or impaled by the trident would spell doom for sure. Did it also beam energy? I thought to myself.
My mother, who had disappeared into her quarter, now came back and put the kalaposh cap on my head with some grass on it. ‘Why grass?’ Pretending not to have heard me, she remained engrossed in her task.
Then she came and sat opposite me, across the kund.
‘Light the fire, Dawn, and put some butter in it.’
So it was all real—I was being initiated as a warrior oath keeper!
This was a new person in front of me. The softer side of hers was gone; she seemed transformed with a firm, impenetrable look on her face.
‘Hold the mace and repeat the Great Oath after me.’
‘I did my enemies no injury, yet they have always injured us. Let the earth from today be without the tyranny of evil or let it be without me. This, my vow, will never be false. If I turn back in fear, then let me be condemned to dark regions filled with those who are the most impure. If I succeed, then let me obtain the world of my desire. When I behold my enemies, let me exult and not cower. And when I make the final strike, may I look beautiful like the vermillion flame of the forest flower.’
Just the very act of saying the Great Oath out loud filled me with energy and seemed to make me more resolute. Was this magic? Or just that the ritual itself was so intense that it caused me to feel powerful? All of a sudden, I felt a little strange; I was no longer holding the mace, but it seemed that it had bonded with me.
My mother looked at me, ‘Now, you have to offer something that is yours.’
I was helpless. ‘Ma, everything in this cave is yours. Nothing is mine. What can I give?’
Just as I had said it, I remembered Meghavahana. I picked my mace and, with the trident tip, pricked on the forefinger of my left hand. A few drops of blood oozed out and fell in the fire. The flames licked hungrily and with that I knew that I had ignited my funeral fire and performed my rites in advance.
‘Stand up and pick up the mace. Normally you should carry it with your left hand with its head resting over your left shoulder. If you carry it with the right hand, then always point it towards the earth because then it is in the ready-fire mode. And remember this: Only when there is war will you hold it upright in your right hand. It will do its duty in one blow.’
My mother kissed me on the forehead.
‘You are now a samshaptaka warrior,’ she said, ‘The mace is now bonded with you. You can will it to come to you in your hour of need. But give it freedom and don’t overthink for it. It knows its Dharma quite well. Conquer or Die for Life is your Niti lesson today.’
I spotted the most beautiful, pearl white hamsa, borne by the wind currents, outside the front entrance of the cave. I ran near the entrance to see the swan better and saw its graceful downward glide as it landed in Devil’s lake. This was the farthest I had ever come to the edge of the cave entrance. I had been practising my moves with the mace for hours when the white hamsa had caught my eye, bewitching me. I had never seen one before in the flesh. I wondered if it could be Muladeva’s enchanting partner, Karpurika. I so wanted to play with this fascinating bird, which was big enough for me to fly on its back! It seemed to be calling out to me.
Against my mother’s ban, the power of the mace surging in me, I lowered the Mahamaya Shield the way my mother had taught me a few weeks back. I activated the antigravity belt, flew out and waved at the hamsa. Lo and behold! The gorgeous bird took off for the cave, followed me and landed inside.
As I tried to go near it, something strange happened. The swan started disintegrating. A trick! Rushing in were fearsome monsters accompanied by soldiers armed with weapons. The QuGene guards! They were the same as I had seen in the images—all Arman’s mutant creations. ‘No . . . no . . .’ I tried to run, but my legs wouldn’t move. The next moment, my mind was in absolute pandemonium. I had fallen to a fatal temptation that must have been invented by the Master of Darkness, Dushita, himself. It had to be! The line of warriors stopped walking in. And then she strode in, caressing a Himalayan cat with her black-gloved hands. She was terribly captivating! It was the first time that I was seeing AIman in real life. She still looked the same, youthful, as she had in my mother’s memories, but now exuded a hedonic grace that was heightened by her large lustrous eyes. Her extremely pale translucent skin was in stark contrast against her platinum blonde hair. She had a slender body, small waist, ramrod straight posture and elegant demeanour. She seemed graceful! She wore a black chemise that was extending all the way to the ground and covered with a corset. Underneath it were tight black pants. Over it all was a heavily embroidered black robe with a white tessellation pattern that shimmered when she moved. She had a thin, transparent net draped loosely over her hair. Overall, her thin Circassian beauty projected minimalist, refined sophistication combined with discipline. AIman was the perfect image of the future.
‘Stay away, you! Dawn!’ My mother’s anguished voice made me look around. The alarms must have detected alien presence alerting her to danger. She had run over and was now shielding me, her arms outstretched, pulling me back inside the cave.
AIman looked past my mother and addressed me. Her voice was controlled, low and sweet, modulated by all the algorithms that went into optimizing it.
‘My darling, long-lost elder sister. I, AIman, come in peace. Tsu chak ware? Are you well?’ She seemed to be studying me, her eyes scanning every little movement. ‘Let me introduce you to my armed mutant guards here. Those,’ she said, leering, ‘whom you should address as the Advanced. This is the Rantus, whose eyes run parallel to their noses and whose feet are backward. Isn’t it fabulous?’ Her eyes flickered towards the mutant creation, marvelling at the technology. ‘You know sister, their sharp fangs will rip out the beating heart. And here’s the Wai Wop with hyena genes but wearing a gentleman’s hat. He has a liking for children of which there is not much supply available now. Tch, tch! And here is the Bram Bram Chok. He’s got huge and hairy eyes on top of his head from which a flame is always burning, and ah! Here! The Naar Mokal who is all fire. This biggie is the Sheeni Mohinyu, the abominable snowman. There are so many others, all specialized purpose vehicles that are worth meeting,’ she said, her eyes locking into mine. ‘But my pet, my absolute favourite, is Bisht, the most beautiful Himalayan cat in the world,’ she crooned while stroking the fur of the creature that rested on her arm. ‘Now that the introductions are done, let’s get on with the purpose, shall we? I am here to rescue
you after all these years, a refugee hidden away in this cave by your mentally imbalanced, biologically imperfect mother,’ her eyes moved for a second to my mother, analysing her. ‘I myself am mind-born and perfect,’ she said, her free hand flicking her blonde hair.
‘Don’t you dare say anything about my mother,’ I said, surprised that my own voice reflected steel.
‘Come now, sweet sister. I have come to be your loyal companion, your Ves, your best friend, which will make us an unbeatable duo. Come with me and return to your homeland. Kashmir is incomplete without you,’ she cooed. ‘As a Circassian, I have memory of how our people were exiled, so I do feel your pain. But that is in the past, isn’t it? With the Dushita Light that Arman has brought into Kashmir, the State has become perfect.’
‘Go away, you inhuman golem! Leave us alone and we will spare you,’ my mother lashed out at her. But AIman continued. She truly was a merciless machine.
‘You must be wondering where you would stay? Let me show you my home. It is Pari Mahal, the Palace of Fairies, because after all, am I not a Circassian fairy? My palace has been reconstructed by Maya Asura, the famous architect, and it is an ever-entertaining place where the rooms change colours and shapes. There are also enchanting decorations based on one’s fancy. The only room that you would be forbidden from is the Gandhara Room where I entertain the all-powerful Instrument with the lyre and the santoor.’
‘You and your grand palace can go to—’
‘Uh-huh,’ she said, flicking her finger. ‘Now don’t you start and reveal your human weakness. Don’t you see? We are sisters. Look at you, poor thing. Looks like you haven’t had a proper meal in years. What did you eat last? Plants and roots? Or dehydrated food? You know, in the palace, we have the finest apaiman grapes; anjoor, the heavenly fig and Cordyceps mushrooms mixed with morels. Aren’t you curious how delicious those would taste? Your father loves it, though his favourite food is deep-fried locusts with wild honey.’
She must have sensed my squeamishness. She was good, very good at tracking facial movements and quite hypnotizing as well, for neither my mother nor I could muster our voice.
‘I pick up some tension here regarding the locusts, but then how can a dove know the pleasure as a prey of the hawk? Our father is a hunter, you know, but he loves us. Imagine his thrill at having his two daughters next to him! What exhilaration! So come now. Your father awaits you.’
At first, I was paralyzed—no, petrified—by the suddenness of AIman’s crafty verbal attack. But as she kept on talking, I realized that she did not know how to make human conversation. My father’s grand program had a glitch: she was still a machine who only received information silently. Her algorithm only meant taking information and relaying it, even when trying to be social. To talk at, not to talk with.
I smiled. There was a way to beat this. In the moment of commotion when my mother had come between us, I had stealthily pressed my augmented reality device that I wore all the time to hook the Pandavas in as silent witnesses. They could not help me, but it made me feel better knowing that they could watch the enemy and learn. I recalled my Great Oath and did a relaxing breathing exercise that my mother had me do every morning during yoga. The mace gave me strength too. But what was at work here? I asked myself. AIman was programmed to see me as a mortal enemy and yet had adopted a friendly stance. Surely, this was a ploy to first try to get what she wanted through deception. Smart move or not, I wondered, it reveals my father’s hand. But what’s notable is that she can lie. Clearly, Hafiz had underestimated the AI.
My mind started racing. I needed to get out of here and get my mother to safety. I thought hard and then something hit me—something that Yuva had said about Karpurasambhava, the robot city where the robots were silent. Why? Every word that I spoke and action that I took would go into AIman’s data bank and be analysed to the core. That was it! With time she would only get smarter, and soon she would know whether I, too, was lying. She is at her weakest right now, I realized. I needed to be her—be two-faced myself to corrupt her initial assessment of me. I had to introduce fatal bias in her data about me from the start.
I addressed her in a deliberatively submissive voice. ‘I cannot tell you the extent to which this gives me greater happiness! Meeting my younger sister, the very picture of spellbinding perfection. Surely, you are the perfect creation of our dear father. My sweet little sister, you have lifted the veil of lies that my mother had bound me in. It would be a great honour to finally meet my father and serve him.’
My mother turned to me, her eyes big and confused, brimming with tears. I, only for a split second, shook my head. She blinked once and then faced the enemy.
AIman replied happily, stroking her Himalayan cat, ‘All will be yours, once you accept that Dushita is supreme and Arman his grand instrument.’
I continued my focus on learning about AIman, ‘I envy your beautiful clothes. I mean look at mine—all rags! Where do you get them?’
‘Poor you, my refugee sister, wearing your old, graphene-fed silkworm, Kashmiri patches. Your mother must have fed you misplaced, loyalty drivel of the greatness of Kashmir’s past, I’m sure? Look at me! I was born with an everlasting, renewable skin derived from albino snake genes. It gives out an iridescence that comes from its unique pattern and frictionless movement that is unmatchable. Amazing, isn’t it? And,’ she said, pointing to herself, ‘all this could be yours.’
‘I truly want to meet my father at all costs. Take me.’
AIman replied like the robot that she was, ‘We have a match. Your Outlaw phase is over.’
With a laugh, I said, ‘Yes, and what a way to start. You know, laughter is the best way to start a friendship? We are going to have so much fun, you and I. Let me tell you a joke. It is, in fact, the oldest joke known to humans. But it is an Outlaw joke, so it will be new to you.’
I could see that AIman was puzzled as she sought to process this new information. From the corner of my eyes, I could see that even my mother was stumped by my move.
‘Do share. I am programmed to receive all new inputs.’
I now felt relaxed and was ready to strike. ‘Once upon a time, there was a widower who was leading a miserable life after the loss of his wife. His friends told him to marry again. But now, way past his prime, he could not find any girl who would accept his proposal in the city he lived in. However, a marriage broker struck a bargain between him, and a poor villager who had a beautiful daughter. After the wedding, the girl moved in with him. She did all the duties of running the home, but would never show any affection towards him. The widower accepted her rejection and did not push himself on her.
Time went by. One night, a sound woke up the wife. To her great terror, she saw a thief at the foot of their bed and shrieked in fright. The old man awakened, looked first at the thief in front of him and then, at his young wife clutching him tightly. He understood everything in a flash. Calmly, he addressed the thief and said to him, ‘Muladeva, take everything, my benefactor. You have earned it all.’
I started laughing hard at my own joke. AIman did not get it right away. The surprise paradox inside the punch line could not be processed by her in real time. AIman was formidable, but she was still a work in progress.
Yaniv signalled on the augmented reality device, the screen of which only I could view, ‘Your dear Circassian sister is emotionally deficient—a possibly fatal weakness to be used against her one day.’
Tabah followed, ‘Good one, Dawn. I had never seen this aspect of AIman. Humour is not the most important emotion in humans, but it is the only inclusive one. It has all the emotions contained in it like sunlight has all the colours. Beware the person who does not laugh.’
‘So, that is why she is holding on to the clever cat who can supplement her in picking up subtle human cues that her sensors would miss,’ Tegh made an interesting observation.
Meanwhile, I was still laughing. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, a part of AIman seemed to reboot, and she
started laughing too. It started with a loss of facial control indicating that this was a new movement for her. Then she started making a simpering sound that the algorithm had selected for her as being appropriate. This extended into a cackling laughter. ‘Mwahahaha, wahahaha, haha, ha, ha.’ It echoed through the cave, reverberating. The QuGene army, who were programmed to follow AIman, contorted what passed for their faces, and started guffawing too. Having started, the ghouls did not know when to stop howling. The cave echoed with a crescendo of hysterical mocking sounds. My mother and I watched them disbelievingly—they were shaking and jerking, making animal sounds of barking and hissing and their bodies convulsing. There was something very cruel in their laughter.
Tabah messaged, ‘You batted it out of the park. The joke got these misformed donkeys to bray and reveal their true nature.’
And then as suddenly as it had started, it died down. AIman, having experienced a momentary paradox, turned her hateful attention towards my mother.
‘Vidya, my dear Vidya. I have waited a long time since our last encounter for this day to arrive. You were a has-been then and you are obsolete today. Even my sister Dawn has rejected you. For me. You Kashmiris are so proud of your fair skin, but you can’t compare with the pure white that the Instrument selected for me,’ she swayed a little, making her robe flow gracefully. ‘I am everything that you are not. You decay while I grow. I do my duty relentlessly in executing father’s algorithm rules that govern daily life. I am the perfected creation and perfected practitioner of the Dushita Dharma.’
My mother countered fiercely, ‘You may be powerful, but you are programmed to fail, you robot. Powers can be obtained, but immortality? Never! Dream on! Arman has been chasing fool’s gold in trying to delay life’s decay. The eternal life that he promises based on this stupid idea of United Intelligence will prove to be an illusion. A failure. Why do you hide the dark secret of this eternal life—that the suicide rate among the shikha men is nearing 100 per cent? That your factories are working non-stop, cloning to build an army of the Undead, so that Dushita can have humans as his play toys. Arman is no creator,’ she spat. ‘He has become Dushita’s instrument of death even as the male zombies roam the earth.’
Dawn Page 13
