Dawn

by Rakesh K Kaul

  ‘Yes, he told us that you do yoga. I do yoga too. My mother, she . . .’ I couldn’t finish the sentence.

  The man nodded. ‘Come, let’s sit and talk,’ he said, pointing to the mats on the floor. The room was empty except for these mats and a side table on which was kept a vase with a single sunflower in it, which stood out.

  ‘I know how people describe me based on the book that I wrote, but mostly I am a gamer.’

  ‘Computer games?’ said Hafiz, his eyes wide with shock.

  The man laughed. ‘No, no, my boy. Here, we play mind games. But sometimes, a great player goes through a mind-blowing experience, which is always a cause for celebration,’ he said, winking at Hafiz.

  He turned to me again. ‘My girl, the yoga that you are practising is doing bad things to you. Do you feel a burning sensation at the base of your spine?’

  ‘How did you figure that out?’ I asked, astonished.

  He brushed past that. ‘Well, the first thing you have to do is to stop being angry and learn to not hate your mother’s killer.’

  ‘Why?’ I demanded, suddenly furious. Even the other Pandavas were quite taken aback by his statement. ‘I have taken an oath to kill them.’

  The man seemed unperturbed by our expressions of anger. He continued in the same, calm tone, ‘What happened was extremely awful. They deserve to be ended. But there is a right way and there is a wrong way to finish them. Let us start with the genesis of the problem. Your enemy is acting the way they are because there are certain mind patterns they are following. These are programmed inside them based either on memory or its imperfect projection into the future.’

  I agreed. ‘Well, there is some truth to that. There is a QuGene robot, AIman, whose data is driven by memory and then there is a man, Arman, whose actions are driven by paranoia and psychotic actions.’

  ‘Understood. Now, if you too follow your own patterns against them, then it becomes one pattern versus another pattern. Right?’

  ‘Yes, their AI algorithms versus ours. An uncertain bet,’ said Hafiz, nodding.

  ‘So, we have to break what creates patterns. The first place to do that is obviously with one’s own self. If you succeed with yourself, then you will succeed with the enemy’s patterns.’

  ‘How do you do that?’

  ‘Your mind is like a lake in your homeland of Kashmir. Each moment, different experiences are tossing stones and rocks into it. There is a never-ending stream of ripples, some small and some so big that they could upend boats.’

  ‘In the case of Arman, it is more like volcanic rocks falling into a lake of lava. His lake is a mad boiling cauldron,’ said Tan, shaking his head.

  ‘Exactly, now what would happen if there was absolutely nothing that would disturb the lake?’

  ‘It would be totally still.’

  ‘Like a mirror. Now, if you looked at it, what would happen?’

  ‘I would see myself,’ I said.

  ‘In a mirror, yes, but when you still the mind, then you don’t see yourself, your face or your eyes, but instead, you see your Self—your essence.’

  ‘So, if the mind is made transparently still, free of memory, imagination and activity; if I no longer am angry or carrying hate within me,’ said Yaniv, ‘then I’ll be able to see the Self. I think that’s what you are saying. But how do I kill my enemy with that?’

  ‘You all seem to be fast learners, but we will get to that later. Now think. If you take your stillness of the lake with your Self and connect with the enemy and quieten its mind, what would happen?

  ‘Oh my gosh!’ It hit me like a thunderbolt. ‘AIman is empty, if she experiences her Self, she becomes nothing but a void. That is what my mother said!’ I said, hopping with excitement. ‘It is the mother of all Yodha mind tricks. She is a zero! She is empty! She will cease to exist.’

  The Pandavas’ eyes were following me. I locked eyes with Hafiz; he was processing the exchange very carefully.

  Tan asked, ‘Teacher, how does one connect?’

  ‘How do you feel inside this ashram?’ Patanjali asked.

  ‘Very peaceful.’

  ‘What made the connection for you?’

  ‘I don’t know exactly, but when I walked in, I felt relaxed and felt free to be . . . well, me.’

  ‘Exactly,’ the thin man clapped his hands. ‘You felt that you could be you. You walked in feeling free to fulfil your most important desire. Desire is the primal seed of the Self. I was the object of your desire. I granted you that connection,’ he said excitedly.

  Teacher Patanjali turned towards me. ‘You have already told me that you are AIman and Arman’s object of desire. Now, all you must do is to grant them permission to connect. Of course, when you do, you must present them the truth of your Self. Then you become, how do you say it . . . Ah! Yes! Their “power off button”.’

  ‘So, now I know what to do, but how do I do it?’

  ‘And how to do it quickly, right?’ He had guessed what I was going to ask next. ‘Do you see this sunflower here? What else do you see?’

  This reminded me of a well-known story of Arjuna and the Pandavas, so I replied cockily, ‘I only see the sunflower.’

  ‘That is one pointed dhyana. My brother Pingala7 did Dharana; he concentrated on the whole sunflower, its colour, form and structure. He found out that the pillars of the secret of life were inside the sunflower. He discovered Nature’s secret sequence that leads to the densest packing of seeds in a sunflower. In this sequence, each number is the sum of the previous two numbers. The Pingala numbers are simple but also the foundation of the notes in music. The ratio of two successive Pingala numbers gives the golden ratio of 1.618.’

  ‘The most well-known woman of all time whose facial proportions were near to this ratio was Mona Lisa,’ Yuva added happily. ‘Dawn, your face has the same ratio.’

  ‘What . . . wow,’ was all I could say as I saw that suddenly everyone was looking at my face intently. I had always thought that the forehead on my face was too broad, the nose could have been less prominent, the cheeks less red, the . . . I could go on. When you are the only child and are living in a cave, you have a lot of time to examine yourself.

  ‘Yes, “wow”. This word means that wonder of wonders lie ahead of you, Dawn,’ Patanjali said. ‘A few of the students at this ashram persist very hard with this total concentration—Dharana—and they eventually reach the state of great Samadhi where they hope to experience the touch of Maha. That is the end state of stillness, Shanti. And therein lies the answer you are seeking.’

  ‘Isn’t there a guest you would like the children to meet, friend?’ Yuva interjected, sensing that some of this was going above our heads.

  ‘Ah yes! A famous warrior student of mine named Hrasva Natha8, the Kampanesa . . . How do you say it? Ah yes! The commander-in-chief is visiting like you too. He will add to what I have shared.’

  It was then that I noticed a man standing in the corner of the room. He was tall, muscular, held an upright stance and was wearing a regal turban. He went to the sunflower and picked it up. Then he walked—no, marched—with even, precise steps towards me.

  ‘Dawn, as a warrior, your duty is to kill, and so is mine. In a world where our mind is constantly chattering and releasing judgements, the challenge is to understand how to suppress the mind. Our teacher here,’ he said, pointing to Patanjali, ‘has instructed us to do Dharana. Here, smell the flower and tell me what happens.’

  I did as I was told. ‘At first, I do not smell anything, but then slowly, I can smell a light, sweet scent. It has a touch of honey to it and then it fades away. I felt . . . good . . . as if a garden had entered me.’

  Yaniv jumped in to help, ‘Dawn, you were not focusing on anything else, and as the fragrance dissolved, the mind came to rest.’

  ‘Exactly!’ the chief warrior said. ‘When she took a deep downward breath of the fragrance, she let the lungs expand. Then as she let the breath that she inhaled dissolve, the thinking function ceased
.’

  ‘I like this Dharana,’ Tegh chortled. ‘It seems simple and easy.’

  Observing Tegh, Hrasva Natha remarked, ‘I see from your tattoo that you are a warrior too. For you, my brother, the Dharana is when you run towards your enemy, do not be overly conscious of where you place your steps. Free yourself of your mind’s control by releasing the grip of intention and instead do what comes naturally. Your body knows what to do. In a sword fight, pay attention to the clanging of the steel. While your enemy is worn out by his strike being deflected by yours, the resting moment of the vibrations between the clangs is when you recharge. You kill out of detachment and not passion. Hot blood is slain by cold blood. Neither hatred nor craving, just pure Dharma that sustains life compassionately.’

  ‘So, the dying time is the recovery cycle,’ said Tegh, saluting the Kampanesa. I realized that the commander-in-chief was a leader who Tegh would want to follow.

  ‘Yes. It is the regularity of the resting heart and not the beats that reveals how strong it is. It is not the sound of lightening or thunder or music but the dying notes that lead to the dying of the mind. With the sound of silence, you are rearmed.’

  I looked at Yuva. ‘Yuva, I now understand what you meant,’ I bowed slightly. ‘Some learnings must be experienced. I can now leave with a pure heart and mind. I now understand that a clear mind, which does not attach to anything and is only focused on its Dharana—the goal of Shanti—drawing on the warrior’s infinite strength.’

  ‘Yes, and a mind that is loaded with hatred or desire poisons itself,’ added Tan, ‘and will always deviate from the goal. That will prove to be its weakness.’

  Patanjali raised his right hand in blessing, ‘The senses want to rest in peace. They want neither more of what you like or less of what you dislike. It is desire that is ruined by impure Life Breath that arises in humans like Arman, which creates one’s own slavery. And it is only the purification of yoga that gives you the freedom to reach that equilibrium. Aum Shanti.’

  Yuva sighed, rising up. ‘When humans lost these great techniques, it was the end of the illuminati and the beginning of the ignorant human race. Unquestioning and unthinking followers started following pied pipers who promised perfect utopias, and in the end, they became slaves.’

  We had learnt a lot as to how to begin our war plan against AIman and Arman, my father. Before we departed, one question came to my mind. I turned to Hrasva Natha and asked, ‘What if one is in a situation where one wants to quickly rest one’s mind before going into battle . . . There is no sunflower, no external agent and no time to do breathing exercises, what then?’

  ‘Nibble on a piece of chocolate. Let it melt in your mouth. Savour it carefully. Works every time. Aum Shanti,’ he smiled.

  Sarga 11

  Life Breath

  800 BC

  Charaka’s Ashram

  ‘He sits alone in his palace all day and my job is to have my troupe entertain him each night like clowns and court jesters. It is becoming quite exhausting,’ grumbled Tabah, irritated. We all had been worried about our friend’s safety since Arman came to know that we had landed in the Valley. But this hologram call stilled our minds.

  Tabah had been tied up by Arman and AIman in nonstop work sessions and even though it was dangerous for him to visit us, he came at crucial times because there were matters which he needed to communicate urgently.

  ‘The whole day he is in a dazed state, plugged into the world of Vicarious Reality. He’s completely engrossed in finding out what the shikha men are doing and experiencing. He flips from one person to the next like a butterfly! But I have to show you what is even more disturbing and demands immediate attention.’

  Tabah projected his Gotra Memory Gene through my kalaposh cap. We saw a hologram of what was Arman’s council to which Tabah had been invited. Though they had been told to delete the memory, Tabah had secretly hidden the file. My eyes were fixated on Arman who had changed completely from the handsome young man who had wooed my mother. I had had a faint memory of him singing the koori lullaby to me when I was a child, but this, this was a different man altogether. Arman had led a life in slothful ease with nobody daring to question him. He had now become obese with a stocky body, protruding belly, beefy arms and a broad bald head out of which jutted a shikha implant. A ducktail beard with shaven upper lip and cheeks completed his threatening look. He now wore a crown of an ibex-like creature with golden spiral horns. There was a cold intensity to his demeanour. In this meeting, he was loudly scolding the QuGene scientists who were standing in front of him.

  ‘What’s he on about?’ asked Yaniv, looking with disgust at the man before us.

  Tabah’s voice came through. ‘These QuGene monsters had their uses, but now Arman has set his sights on something bigger. Arman has been extremely violent with the scientists, demanding results. They say he now suffers epileptic fits.’

  ‘Monsters, is that all you period idiots are capable of? I created AIman. After that what have you produced?’ Arman sneered at the scientists.

  He walked up to a poster in the lab on which was written an ancient quote. ‘Na manusat srestha taram hi kimcit,’ he recited awkwardly, ‘Birth in a human form is that than which nothing greater can be conceived.’ He grew angry. ‘Why are you not able to give me what I desire? I want AIman to have children! That is the ultimate evolution of the new superspecies,’ he thundered.

  The desperate scientists sought to defend themselves. A man, certainly the lead scientist, spoke up, shaking and trembling, ‘We are running into walls. Our calculations are encountering paradoxes that are unsolvable even by the infinitely powerful QuGene computers. Unfortunately, all scientific efforts in formulating a live embryo in AIman have failed . . . because no one has been able to replicate that mysterious Life Breath.’

  Arman was seething, ‘Do you understand that to fail Arman would indicate a failure of Dushita? Who has the power to be greater than Dushita? You have failed. You are all going to die now.’

  The desperate scientist sought to placate his master. ‘This may be heresy, but there is possibly . . .’ he muttered shaking, ‘a breakthrough idea. Allow us to take a different tack. It was triggered by a painting of an ancient and now discredited belief system in a goddess called Kaalaratri, who is shown holding a skull in her hand.’

  ‘I’m listening.’

  ‘Co-opt Nature and see if success can be achieved the old-fashioned way. Biomimicry is our answer here. News has come that Dawn is alive and hiding somewhere in the Valley. We have concluded that once Dawn is captured, she should be beheaded. Then we will take AIman’s head—the epicentre of Dushita Algorithm that you, our leader, have so marvellously designed and implemented—and graft it onto Dawn’s body.’

  Arman looked at him with murderous rage.

  ‘A . . . A million pardons, my lord, forgive me for even suggesting that we will take apart your perfected creation, the Fairy Princess. But hear me out. At that moment of joining, the new AIDawn would be bathed in Dawn’s oozing blood. It will be Dawn’s internal and external blood plasma, which will baptize and transmit the missing life force into the Dushita-controlled head. It will then be re-engineered with QuGene vish, poison. The hybrid AIDawn would then be the start of this new race. A new calendar would begin on the birth of the AIDawn child. It is going to be a girl, Arman’s third daughter born from the joining of his two other daughters—one mind-born AIman and the other flesh-born Dawn. She will be the first of many. The Arman race will multiply exponentially after that because there would be no limit. You would be greater than Adam.’

  The chief scientist stopped talking. Arman had been giving him a baleful glare. Then, unexpectedly, he started laughing, ‘So that fool Vidya was right about Life Breath force after all? Go ahead. I like the plan,’ he said, snapping his fingers. ‘There is no downside. Who cares if we end up with one dead Dawn and one inoperative AIman? As far as AIman is concerned, I can make a duplicate. There are millions of physical clones of her
. What makes her unique is her brain and I will replicate it. Think of it as a disaster redundancy backup. Stupid scientists,’ he turned from them dismissively. ‘Tabah, you tell me what name you would propose for my new, enhanced daughter?’

  We heard Tabah address Arman, ‘My Instrument, it should be Kelikil, the violent one. Kelikil will come to the world bearing the first impure but highly advanced Life Breath—a mix of the two worlds. It will be a historic day.’

  ‘Ah! Yes! Brilliant!’ said Arman, ‘These scientists say that impure Life Breath binds humans to their attachments and that pure breath binds humans to Maha, but Kelikil’s Life Breath will be designed to bind Maha. It will be the ultimate victory of Dushita and my greatest accomplishment.’

  Given Yaniv’s interest in life sciences, his eyes went wide on hearing this. He whispered, ‘If individual Life Breath is a pathway to Maha, then Kelikil could be the way to attack Maha.’ He said, horrified, ‘The girl will be a dangerous backdoor entry by Dushita to contaminate Maha . . . The source of life will be injected by death and lead to . . . to the obliteration of the Universe itself!’

  ‘But he will die too! Won’t he?’ said Hafiz, confused.

  ‘Yes, he’s a fool. He believes that immortality is his and that Dushita will protect him,’ said Tabah, his voice laced with anger.

  ‘Dawn,’ said Tan urgently, ‘we will have to prevent the manifestation of Kelikil.’

  I looked at him but was too stunned to speak. My father wanted to kill me to advance a new race of human-robots? After a momentary lapse, I found my voice. ‘My mother mentioned it, but I do not know and understand this “Life Breath” fully. What is it in my body that they want so desperately?’

  Yaniv patted my back sympathetically and explained, ‘AIman does not depend on oxygen. She does not breathe, so there are no red blood cells inside her. However, there is coolant, a white liquid that keeps her quantum computers at near zero when needed. The fluid that flows inside her has a high concentration of white cells that are constantly defending and repairing her graphene body from damage.’