Chapter Nineteen: Unforseen

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GOD Of A Man

Eternity Versus Eternity

 

“Evil are the means that make an act, be the desires need or greed!”

 

Chapter Nineteen: Unforeseen

Dated: 21^st December, 2459

 

Violence is the art of nature. There is nothing magnanimous about the food chain. Plants be the saints that produce everything for somebody else’s feast; the producers. May life as small as a snail to a mammal as huge as an elephant and many more, make the second stage; the herbivores. Be there those who feed on those below, the next stage; the carnivores. Yet it is the ones’ from amongst the saints that are cold-blooded the most, the heartless; the plants that feed on animals. A helpless innocent and docile creation, a snail takes ages to crawl across the open leaflets of a ‘Venus fly trap’, only for the traps to snap into a lock in a flash. The snail is dissolved alive to make the feed for the one who was supposed to make its’ own meal. The snail never makes a sound, the plant never hears none; just the nature watches motionless, one creation being exhausted to keep another going. But there is no sin in killing for food, for that is how nature intended its’ creation to work.

 

Sinister however can be the means employed to achieve ends. There is an inherent evil in nature that manifests itself in the intriguing guile of spiders. With eight limbs to fend for itself, a spider still has to spin a trap for an innocent prey. Unlike the pitchers, fly-traps and sundews, where the prey itself walks into their mouths, or glands, as one may please to name them, or the lions and sharks that hunt for their food, or humans that till their lands to grow it, the spiders stretch laziness and cunningness to their extremes. They won’t work for their food every time they need a feed. They just spin a trap once, and then milk it for as long as it is viable in a location. Then again, violence is the art of nature, and there is an unattached disdain for life in the way it works.

 

But nature however is not absolute in terms of predictable outcome. It rather works on probability. There is always an equal probability for an event to happen, as is for it to not to happen. Future is a probability that prevails. New Saisho stands today, staring at many probabilities. Its’ future is still undecided. The only thing predetermined is the choices its’ chosen ones will make.

 

The daylight was fading away too slowly for a lonely house that shone red under the dying sun. The air as if didn’t want to caress the walls that appeared to radiate heat. Mrs Ahluwalia had never felt lonelier or more desperate than today.

 

“Why are you crying mom?” innocent Rosie asked as her big round eyes swelled up. She held out her hand to caress her mother’s chin as she climbed up on to the couch and into Mrs Ahluwalia’s lap. “Please don’t cry!” she pleaded as she hugged her mother tightly.

 

“I can’t even tell you, for you will tell,” Mrs Ahluwalia left her sentence unfinished for the fear of Rosie getting a hint that might fuel her innocence into giving her brother an inkling. She hugged Rosie dearly to her bosom, and tried to rein in her tears.

 

“Mom, can you please call Jenny,” Rosie asked innocently, “I miss Aman. I want to sleep with Jenny tonight.”

 

“I’ll call her sweetheart,” Mrs Ahluwalia replied, “Even I need her by my side tonight. She is such strength to this old sack. What will I ever do without her?”

 

Strength, as separate from the physical characteristic, can often come from the most frail of quarters, especially when the needs are dire. Strength can be purely platonic, as in an abstract notion, or it could be a discreet emotional packet. The sight of a mentor appreciating a performance is uplifting for the disciple, and a mother’s caress and soft words are all the cure a bruised child needs. Strength that resides in actions orates better than a book written in eulogy, for words need evidence, actions only an audience.

 

With sun falling behind the trees, shadows had started climbing the walls of the ‘House of Faith’. Not a leaf moving, summer heat had almost parched the pavement. Jenny stepped out of her car, surprised at all the vehicles dotting the otherwise solitary hearth. What were all the people doing there when no mass had been scheduled for the day? Jenny tried her best to ignore the thoughts that were creeping up in her mind, but in her heart she knew, Granger and Norman were onto some games again. Determined to confront their corrupt practices she trode her way towards the main hall.

 

“Those who question GOD, who say GOD is only a spiritual and moral guide, a psychological handle, I am telling you, they are all lying,” Granger was giving his discourse, “They cannot see GOD because they are all full of sin and desires. And GOD only appears to those who are pure of heart, and in deeds; those who believe in HIM honestly, and want to see HIM.”

 

“They cannot see GOD because there is no GOD,” Jenny’s voice reverberated in the hall, “GOD was a creation of some intelligent but corrupt men, to control other men, through fear and superstition. Stop lying and misleading people you fool.”

 

“May GOD forgive this sinner,” Norman stepped out from behind Granger and tried to raise a defence, “She doesn’t even know her words question the truth of the greatest souls that ever breathed on earth.”

 

“Are you serious? I mean, really?” Jenny was outraged, “Have you forgotten how Saint Clara had clearly told us all how the great souls had to use the name of GOD to give society a sound moral basis, so that the society can prosper peacefully. Else there would have been no means to control the stronger men from destroying the society out of their greed and lust. Have you forgotten; if those great souls had not declared infidelity a sin, no man or woman would have enjoyed a happy married life, or a stable relationship? Don’t you know how greed for money and land can degrade men into wolves, and if it weren’t for the fear of GOD, unrepentant men would have made every other man their slave and women their objects of desire? Without the fear of GOD’s wrath, the heaven and hell concept, humanity would have degenerated into uncontrolled moral-less herd of animals. Not many are intelligent enough to understand that a happy society means their own lives will be happy too. Unrest, dissatisfaction and disorder in a society make lives of every person unsafe due to unruly elements. And all who understand this, not many have the intentions or reasons otherwise, to do the right thing that promotes the cause of a better society.”

 

“The one you are exemplifying, she herself knew little about GOD,” Granger replied as his clueless audience witnessed the scene unfold, “To begin with, she was a sinner, and then confused. She first claimed all those lofty things about GOD, and then she questioned her own beliefs. What did she know about GOD, and what do you know about GOD!”

 

“Saint Clara laid thread bare all the concepts behind all the ancient religions, and described all the reasons for why the Prophets, Messiahs, and Saints had said or done what they had been credited with,” Clara’s knowledge and understanding was at full display, “And those like yourself, who question everyone that challenges superstitious beliefs about GOD, and call them lairs, what make you honest? Just because I say there is no GOD I am a liar, and anyone who says there is a GOD is honest? At least what I say needs no proof for it is there for everyone to see. It is what you are saying that needs evidence.”

 

“Just because I cannot show you GOD doesn’t mean HE does not exist,” Granger replied, “Nobody knew bodies are made up of cells, or there are so many Galaxies in the sky. The science developed and everything was proved. So will be GOD.”

 

“Yes, and everybody knew world is flat, diseases are acts of dark magic, and some people are witches. Science developed and many such myths were proved to be lies,” Jenny replied, “Just tell me; if I say there is gold buried in that wall behind you, will you believe it? At least what I am saying can be tested right now by tearing down that wall.”

 

“GOD needs no proof,” Granger decided it was time to bank upon the tried and tested reasons, “Those who are pure can see HIM, and those who are sinners will not.”

 

“See, that is the problem with the concept behind GOD; it is full of superstition, and it banks upon superstition,” Jenny took his assertion to pieces, “Look at these people around you. Today they are not under the control of men half as intelligent as them, that too in the name of something that does not even exist. Years ago, many like you mislead masses into killing each other for no reason other than their belief in something they had never seen or knew was true. Today you are telling them there is GOD, tomorrow another will come and say his GOD is the true GOD, and day after another will say his method of praying is the best. Soon everybody will get divided into groups of who follows whom. While people like you will be raised to the pedestal of saints, ordinary people will die in needless bloodshed.”

 

“That is all a hypothetical scenario based on lies,” Granger tried to reason.

 

“Hypothetical! This is what happened for ages,” Jenny reasoned with vengeance, “Look at these people you are trying to trap in superstition. Today they all are free of all superstition; for those who don’t believe in GOD, don’t believe in good omens and bad omens, ghosts and vampires, superstitions and myths, heaven or hell, sins or good deeds. Their everyday actions are free of fear, and always in the best interests of the society out of good will. They are mentally strong. What you are doing is going to push society behind by ages.”

 

“What I am saying will reconnect them to GOD, the one you cannot see for perhaps HE lives too far away from us,” Granger retaliated.

 

“Oh yeah, what if aliens came to earth tomorrow and told us their GOD is the true GOD?” Jenny asked.

 

“There are no such things as aliens,” Norman interrupted, “And even if they are, they will never come to earth.”

 

“Aliens are nothing but life-forms from another world, who if intelligent enough, are more likely to visit us than GOD,” Jenny replied.

 

“That is enough! I won’t take a word more from you stupid girl,” sensing the situation slipping away Granger went on the offensive, “Stop misleading people with your lies.”

 

“You think I am lying?” Jenny was incensed, “Perhaps the problem is your level of intelligence, or lack there-off.”

 

“But Jenny,” at this point a member of the communion interrupted the discussion, “How do we find out for sure if GOD exists or not?”

 

“The answer to your question is easy to derive by the line of analysis proposed by Saint Clara,” Jenny decided to explain the concept in detail to everybody present there, “Right now you are analysing by imagining yourself as living inside the universe, trying to figure out what lies outside it, hence the confusion. The real answer, or rather the questions that answer your question originate when one imagines oneself to be standing outside our universe, outside this space, looking at it as if it were an object in their palm. And then rather than inspecting the universe for contents, the person needs to actually look around and question as to what is the place where they are standing. Then the person needs to ask themselves; if there is this place outside our universe, is there another place outside the place where they are standing? And continuing on with this line of thought the next question is; will there be another place outside that place, and so on? Finally; if none of these places existed, what would be there instead? Will that be the real nothingness? Contrary to the three dimensional space, how would that nothingness feel, and be made of? Then that person will automatically ask himself; if there was nothing, how could have GOD originated out of nothing, or could HE actually have? And if there was space already, then who created that space?”

 

“Shut up you sinner, and stop misleading these innocent people,” Granger burst out, “You will suffer in hell, you big egoist.”

 

“The only heaven and hell that exist are on this earth, in this life. If you are living a good life full of luxury, this world is your heaven, else, this life itself is the hell,” Jenny retorted back, “All you feel, hear, see or taste, all your memories that you collect in your life, are nothing but chemicals stored in your brain. Once you die, these chemicals get destroyed with your body, and all your memories, which are no use to a dead man anyway, are lost forever. And as far as being egoist is concerned, well, I don’t believe in superstitions. So sayings like ‘Pride hath a fall’ have no meaning for me, and they don’t weaken me a bit. My actions are not adulterated by superstition.”

 

Granger was left speechless, while Norman tried to mumble something in reply but couldn’t think of any answers or assertions.

 

Jenny could have carried on with her lecture, but her phone rang. “Hello mom,” it was Mrs Ahluwalia’s call, but the moment Jenny heard her voice, she nearly jumped out of her skin, “Mom, why are you crying? What happened? I am coming to your house straight away. Please don’t cry!” Jenny got really concerned for her to be mother-in-law.

 

“I think it’s time for us to leave as well,” a member of the communion spoke to Granger and Norman, and one by one, everybody took their leave.

 

“We need to get rid of this bitch now or she will ruin everything,” Norman exclaimed as soon as the last vehicle had driven off.

 

“You are not wrong,” Granger replied contemplatively, “Let me just confirm it with him before I tell you what we need to do. I am going to see him tomorrow.”

 

“Can I ask you one thing,” Norman asked Granger.

 

“Be patient,” Granger replied, “I cannot introduce you to him until he himself asks me to do so. He is a high ranking official and I cannot dictate terms to him.” And Granger left Norman standing in the middle of the hall.

 

Patience however is not a natural characteristic in most animals, including human beings. Patience sometimes has to be mastered by the subject, but is most of the time taught by life. Nothing teaches discipline more strictly than the unflinching punishment meted out by life. Every failure gives valuable lessons, including but not limited to, being patient for the results to develop.

 

“Lieutenant,” Captain Aman Ahluwalia was instructing his men, “We haven’t been able to source a diagram describing the layout of the submarine. So I cannot order cutting an opening into it, for we don’t know where exactly their stock of nuclear warheads was stored. You need to find the entrance to the craft.”

“But sir, this is a really thick sand and algal growth that covers its’ surface today?” Lieutenant Michigan informed his Captain.

 

“Look for it behind the sail of the craft,” Captain suggested his man, “That is the best place to start our work.”

 

After an hour and a half’s work under water, Lieutenant Michigan finally located the hatch, “Sir, I found the hatch, and a small compartment next to it that houses a control panel. Looks like a code lock mechanism could have been in place to operate the hatch from the outside. If only this keypad was operational today.” An unenthusiastic lieutenant randomly pressed a few digits, as if by force of habit, but his next few words shocked and surprised everybody as much as the result did to him.

 

“Sir, the keys have lit,” Lieutenant Michigan shrieked in surprise, “The locking mechanism is still operational.”

 

“They have? It is?” Captain Ahluwalia was surprised as well, “No wonder the Indians surprised everybody in the world with their technological advancement during the war. They effortlessly made the whole world believe they were the technology laggards, only for the world to find out they were way ahead of their American and Chinese counterparts. For this submarine they used radio isotope based batteries to run its’ systems. Since these isotopes remain active for thousands of years, no wonder the vessel has still got a power supply.”

 

“You know I’ve read in history how an Indian king ‘Hyder Ali’ and his son ‘Tipu Sultan’ were the first ever to use missiles in war,” Anne, who was standing behind Aman, supporting her elbow behind the back of his shoulders, made her presence felt, “The crude rockets manufactured in their arms factory at Srirangapattana were instrumental in Hyder Ali led forces defeating British during the ‘Second Anglo-Mysore War’. It was only after the death of ‘Tipu Sultan’ in ‘Fourth Anglo-Mysore War’ were the British able to gain access to their technology, which they subsequently developed into ‘Congreve Rockets’ that were deployed against Napoleon’s armies.”

 

The quest for power is like an overpowering blaze; the more you try to run with it, the more it fans, and faster it spreads. Every man seeks that resplendent heady feeling of being in command of everything. Expertise is never the object under consideration. It is always the ends that matter.

 

Sand-dunes may not rise as high as mountains, but sounds can still reverberate to give a false company to the choir. They say he’s never missed a target in his life. Perhaps it’s the meanness of his heart that makes his talent so effective. As he was practising his skills in an empty shooting range, a tall figure walked to the aiming spot next to his. The new comer matched him shot for shot. Finally, he asked the newcomer to join his company, “What brings you here?”

 

“Colonel wants you and your men in New Saisho,” the newcomer replied.

 

“That many of us will not get a leave,” he replied.

 

“You will walk into your commanding officer’s room tomorrow afternoon at twelve noon sharp,” the new comer advised, “You will complain about the boring and monotonous life you are living out here in the middle of nowhere, and plead with him for something adventurous. You need to keep him occupied for the next five minutes when at five minutes past twelve hundred hours your commanding officer will be hand-delivered a letter asking him to dispatch a team on a mission to New Saisho. Colonel wants you and your group of mercenaries to volunteer for that job.”

 

No more words were exchanged. The two headed their separate ways.

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Chapter Eighteen: Ranjit Singh's Ark

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GOD Of A Man

Eternity Versus Eternity

 

“Hatred in a heart and politics in a society are the two biggest curses on humanity.”

 

Chapter Eighteen: Ranjit Singh’s Ark

Dated: During a summer of death

 

Reasoning is often the first casualty of hatred. Such intense is the clasp of hate, a clouded mind fails to predict the consequences of its’ own actions. Actions in real life are, however, irreversible. Hatred is like a fire; the more one fans it, the more it consumes one’s soul, morality, ethics and peace. A double edged weapon, it hurts both its’ wielder, as well as its’ victim. The only thing that compares in destruction with hatred is politics. Politics can divide a society, create and propagate unimaginable hate, and destroy the beauty of life, if the wielder of this weapon has an axe to grind. But is there any antidote to these poisons of humanity? While hatred can only be ended by an un-conditional surrender of ego, commonsense is the only thing that can help uncover the real designs of politics. But it takes a herculean commitment to move a society into action, to undo the damage done. Yes, the antidote for politics, like its’ medicinal counterpart, only acts in retrospection. Some damage has always to be borne.

 

The ‘Lion of Punjab’, the just and undefeated king Ranjit Singh, built an empire so mighty that even the British Empire at its’ mightiest was vary to take on it. People were happy and equal, religious freedom and justice for all was the order of the day, and the first seeds of democracy at the grass root levels were sown during his reign in the form of village councils. Such was the strength of Punjab under his reign, that even after his untimely death that gave British a chance to take on the Khalsa army, a kingless army routed the British in the battle, only to be in-explicably stopped from completing the formalities by men driven by hatred and politics. The then Governor General of Bengal Henry Hardinge, expecting defeat, ordered all papers to be destroyed. Little did he know that a kingless army’s own generals were leading the army into a battle to get it destroyed, for they didn’t want the widow of the king to ascend to throne. With their gun-powder replenishments replaced with mustard seeds, bridges over the river that separated battlefield from fortifications behind destroyed; a victorious army was left staring at death and defeat, with only bayonets and swords to take on the cannon charge. The brave don’t surrender, so they perish. If they were pushed behind into the river, it wasn’t because they turned their back even for once in the battle, but such was the intensity of gun fire from a re-invigorated enemy. Politics and hatred had forever changed the future of India that fateful day.

 

INS Ranjit Singh, named after the former jewel of India, was the pride of Indian Navy. A nuclear submarine equipped with latest sonar technology and carrying around fifty nuclear warheads, it was built in record time after the start of hostilities that loosely club together as the Third Great War. It’s exploits in the war were as glorious as the legendary ruler himself, and when the mayhem ended, its’ actions as magnanimous as those of the king at the peak of his reign. It relieved the life of the king himself.

 

It first saw action very close to the islands of Lakshadweep. As the Indian and Pakistani Navies battled it out in the Arabian Sea, where NATO forces were involved in an ever lengthening conflict with the Republic of Iran, a Pakistan Navy frigate supported by two missile boats positioned itself close to the islands, threatening the supply route to the ships at sea. INS Ranjit Singh, under the command of Captain Ajay Chauhan, was instructed to neutralize the threat, without any support from any other vessel.

 

PNS Rasul, the Zulfiqar class frigate, commanded by Captain Noor Mohammed was however inexplicably instructed by the Pakistani Naval high command, to withdraw from the waters and return to the Karachi port. Perhaps the naval command was vary of losing three ships in the eventuality of Indian Navy taking a forceful action against it, as much of the Pakistani Navy was pinned down in the Arabian Sea. INS Ranjit Singh however had a clear order; seek and destroy. Due to its’ superior speed and manoeuvrability, the Indian ship pursued the retreating vessels and took out the two missile boats. PNS Rasul however managed to escape. Captain Ajay Chauhan was refused permission to pursue PNS Rasul any closer to the Pakistani waters as the Indian Navy saw no use in risking a premium vessel so close to enemy stronghold.

 

However, as the war waged on and the brains behind the war lost both their patience, as well as themselves, nuclear holocaust finally began. One of the first centres of attack at sea, the waters next to the Arabian peninsula, a small motley crew consisting of a US Frigate and a couple of British patrol vessels survived the mayhem. But they were caught in an environment getting polluted by radiations at a speed quicker than their vessels were capable of achieving to escape the area. The sailors on board the vessels had been exposed to severe radiation levels, and were rapidly falling sick. The area notorious for the activities of Somali pirates was a cause of concern as intelligence reports indicated that few groups of the same have decided to capture the military crafts. Even though the writing of the region was on the wall, or for that matter, the entire world, yet NATO sought help from the Indian Navy in retrieving the vessels from the sea, one of which carried a few live nuclear warheads. INS Ranjit Singh thus set out on her final official military mission.

 

As the global destruction and mayhem headed towards culmination, Captain Noor Mohammed, still incensed at the loss of two ships under his command, forced his seniors to grant him permission to hunt down INS Ranjit Singh. For two days his vessel followed the Indian submarine’s tracks across the blue stretch. When it finally arrived at the scene, INS Ranjit Singh was already stretched to its’ wits end, pinned down by five pirate operated vessels, including the three naval ships.

 

“Just what we needed,” Captain Ajay Chauhan commented as he was informed about the arrival of a formidable foe, “At least the pirates didn’t know how to operate the big vessels they are commanding.”

 

“So what are the orders Captain,” his junior asked him.

 

Captain Chauhan thought for a few minutes, and then gave the directions, “Do not engage the Pakistani ship yet. But maintain a buffer zone.”

 

“Sir, two of the pirate operated military ships are within our striking zone,” the young lieutenant Pratap Singh, manning the sonar informed.

 

“The US Frigate is carrying warheads,” Captain Chauhan cautioned, “We don’t know if the pirates have access to them, or if they can break the codes to arm them, but let us try to negotiate first.”

 

“Sir we are getting a communication from PNS Rasul,” Sublieutenant Shamsher Singh, who was monitoring communication channels informed, “It’s their Captain Noor Mohammed.”

 

Captain Chauhan was taken by surprise, but signalled Shamsher to put him through, “Captain Ajay Chauhan, commanding officer INS Ranjit Singh speaking. What can I do for you Captain Noor Mohammed?”

 

“You can chop your head and send it to me Captain, if you would like to,” Captain Noor Mohammed replied.

 

“A lion’s head carries a price Captain,” Captain Chauhan replied, “This lion’s head comes at the price of your ship. Blow it up and I will send you my head.”

 

“A lemon caught in a squeezer should not joke about the hand that holds it Captain,” Captain Mohammed replied, “Your life and craft are at our mercy.”

 

“You should try auditioning for our Bollywood Captain, for that’s where dreams belong,” Captain Chauhan quipped in return, “What can a hand do when the brain commanding it is handicapped and doesn’t realize it is a rock mounted in the squeezer.”

 

“You have a big mouth. Too bad it is the brain which answers situations that determine fate,” Captain Mohammed carried on, “Who would you like to be taken out by first, the pirates or us? Make a choice about how graceful you want your death to be.”

 

“You were not listening were you?” Captain Chauhan quipped, “But then you never listen. You always follow the advice of those who have designs of their own, and fight those who want to see you prosper as much as they would like their own to prosper.”

 

“Watch what you are saying Captain, my thumb is sitting on the trigger,” Captain Mohammed interrupted.

 

“I don’t watch my words. I prefer the look on the faces they smack,” Captain Chauhan replied back, “Besides an army equipped with weapons donated by others should not judge the bravery of those who never knew fear. The ships we are here to save, they belong to your long time allies.”

 

“A true brave is never disrespectful to his enemies Captain. You seem to be a contra-vision of grace,” Captain Mohammed replied, “We can suffer hunger and under-development, but will never accept the disgrace of donated weapons Captain. We bought them fair and square. It’s time you grew up from being toddlers and complaining about our armament policies.”

 

“Let us get to the point Captain,” Captain Chauhan hinted to get down to the business end of the conversation.

 

“As you see Captain, you are in no position to put forward any demands,” Captain Mohammed quipped, “So why don’t we talk about a peaceful surrender?”

 

INS Ranjit Singh’s entire crew burst out laughing.

 

Captain Chauhan controlled his laughter and replied, “So how do you plan to surrender?”

 

“You think this is funny?” Captain Mohammed was incensed. He directed his men, “Give them the cans!”

 

The guns of PNS Rasul roared. However, the buffer zone maintained by INS Ranjit Singh ensured the vessel was safe from any gun fire. When PNS Rasul fired a couple of missiles, the indigenously developed missile defence system on board INS Ranjit Singh, quickly and effectively neutralized the threat.

 

“So you see Captain, we are not orphans lost in a city,” Captain Chauhan commented on radio before ordering his men, “Time for action boys. Take out the two pirate owned ships, but leave the army vessels under their control intact.”

 

Two torpedos was all it took for INS Ranjit Singh to neutralize two pirate vessels. The event had the psychological impact Captain Ajay Chauhan had expected it to have.

 

“Sir, someone claiming to be the chief of Pirates is calling on the radio,” Shamsher informed his Captain.

 

Captain Chauhan motioned him to put him through to him, “This is Captain of INS Ranjit Singh. You have violated international maritime laws, and taken over a vessel which does not belong to you. You are ordered to surrender immediately or face death.”

 

“Please save us, we are dying,” the pirate chief pleaded in return.

 

“What do you mean? Give us the details,” Captain Chauhan asked, “Where is the crew of the three ships in your command.”

 

“We are all sick,” the pirate chief replied, “The crew of these ships was already half dead or sick beyond working abilities when we boarded these ships. Please help us, we are dying.”

 

“Sir, this could be a ploy,” Lieutenant Pratap Singh cautioned.

 

“I know my Lieutenant,” Captain nodded in affirmation, “But the only way to find out is to check it out.” Captain then thought for a moment before ordering, “Send the raft. Take adequate measures to avoid radio-activity.”

 

A team of INS Ranjit Singh left on a raft, dressed in radio-activity proof vests, to take stock of the situation onboard the three military vessels under the pirate command.

 

“Sir, if the radio-activity levels are so sever out there, what would be the situation on-board the Pakistani vessel?” Sub-lieutenant Shamsher asked.

 

“You are right in raising concerns about the safety of the Pakistani crew Shamsher,” Captain Chauhan replied, “But they will be too proud to seek our help, and would rather perish at sea. Why else do you think their guns have been silent for so long?”

 

“Should we contact them?” Shamsher asked.

 

“It will be useless, but we can always try,” Captain gave his affirmation.

 

“Captain Noor Mohammed speaking,” the voice at the other end was adulterated by heavy and abrupt breathing, but still sounded firm.

 

“Captain, we cannot change the course of future now, for the hara-kiri has already been committed by those whose actions are beyond our questioning,” Captain Chauhan commented, “But we can save all that we can. I have some spare radio-activity proof vests available, and I can send them to you. If you save some of your crew and yourself, I am sure we will be expected to save a lot more people out there.”

 

“Everybody is born to die one day Captain,” Captain Mohammed replied, “It is not ‘when you die’ or ‘how you die’ that matters, rather what you die for.” Captain Mohammed continued, “We left our homes to die for our motherland. And if this be our end, then be it. Do not insult our death by offering us help.”

 

“Captain, your bravery and your men’s bravery needs no affirmation from me or anybody else,” Captain Chauhan replied, “But the question is not what you die for. The question is; can you save someone else from dying.”

 

“We will save as many people as we can, but we will take no help from you,” Captain Noor Mohammed firmly replied. He knew the fate that awaited him and his men, but it was grace which he was concerned about.

 

The war started taking its’ toll fast. As humanity collapsed on its’ knees globally, under the weight of mounting radio-activity, death was the only thing that roamed freely around the globe. Naval commands collapsed world over, with naval fleets left in the charge of their captains and crews. INS Ranjit Singh was free to sail wherever it liked. Its’ men were safe, and information from Antarctica had started pouring in. The coldest place on earth was also the safest now.

 

But brave are not judged by their words, rather actions. INS Ranjit Singh had a name to live up to. The INS Ranjit Singh could have set sail for Antarctica and made it a safe home, but it chose to save as much flora and fauna, and as many people as it could. It travelled around the world collecting viable specimens and healthy people, then leaving them at Antarctica. Pirates and sailors, enemies and friends, all races, all religions were saved. There was no discrimination against anybody, for all creation is equal.

 

The INS Ranjit Singh was instrumental in saving much of religious texts, medicinal records, medical equipment, including the cloning equipment and drugs that were subsequently used by the ‘Hatsu Saisho’ community for centuries. It was INS Ranjit Singh’s efforts that material vast enough to last at least ninety to hundred years was saved. It is another matter that the material lasted well over four centuries, for much of the population killed each other. But INS Ranjit Singh had done its’ job.

 

“Noah’s Ark”, it deserved every bit of that name as it set sail from the Antarctic shores for the last time. It’s entire crew still on board, refusing to settle down for a last few months, as it struggled with radio-activity induced sickness, which had slowly and slowly taken hold of it, thanks to its’ continuous efforts in securing the future of humanity. Like the king, it had to die young. The one eyed lion!

 

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Chapter Seventeen: Committments

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GOD Of A Man

Eternity Versus Eternity

 

“Choices are irrelevant, intentions are paramount.”

 

Chapter Seventeen: Committments

Dated: 21^st December, 2459

 

Tempting as it might be, to state as obvious the fact that future is determined by the choices made by an individual, the truth however is; the future is determined by the intentions of the one orchestrating the circumstances. Irrespective of the choices making up a set, an individual will always make a pick depending upon his attitude towards life and situations, his personal beliefs and desires, his abilities and response or resistance to peer pressure. A controller of choices, aware of this individuality of the protagonist, can however influence the course of future by limiting the choices into a set which includes only one choice the protagonist is likely to make. Thus the number and types of choices offered add nothing more than an inflated bulk to a redundant equation. The only important factor is the intentions of the one providing those choices.

 

However, like every other system in real world, this arrangement is far from perfect. Too much control leads to build ups, and every build up creates pressure. And when things yield to pressure, results are always destructive. Situations themselves become orchestrators. The situations however have a different modus-operandi. A situation rarely offers a choice. Rather, a situation has a solution. The individual best likely to make choices that will lead the situation to that solution becomes the automatic choice. The situations thus chose their protagonists, the choices made by who are all pre-determined, just like their future.

 

The question that arises is; is it the choices or is it the protagonist that is more important for a situation. Even though it is always the right man for the job who takes all the credit, the fact is, a situation resolves only when the right choice has been made, irrespective of the one making it. Heroes are not born. Situations create them. New Saisho is in the midst of a storm full of situations. Now only its’ heroes and heroines need to stand up and make their expected choices.

 

The summer mornings of a dying year can sometimes be vengefully hot in lower half of the globe. Lively streets become extinct overnight as the hot sand dashes around the town, dancing in the wind like a maid high on sake. The steps that led from the main gate to the front door of Ahluwalia mansion appeared to have added inches overnight. Or perhaps it was the weary frame of the long time friend of the senior Ahluwalia’s, Admiral Mir Abdullah, which was refusing to lift his feet high enough. It wasn’t a place he would ever not want to visit, it was just the timing.

 

The hot morning had kept Mrs Ahluwalia late in bed but the welcome smile didn’t miss her lips as she graciously welcomed the long time family friend, “Admiral, what a pleasure to have you here this morning. Please come in!”

 

Admiral Mir took of his cap and followed Mrs Ahluwalia as she led him to the drawing room. The silence however refused to leave the Admiral, or alter his frown. But then, the Ahluwalia’s were accustomed to his frowning face, which rarely welcomed a smile even in the lightest of hours.

 

“So Admiral, what brings you here this morning,” Mrs Ahluwalia asked, her smile still vibrant when a sudden thought turned it into an immediate frown. Why would the Admiral visit her so early in a day, that too when neither her son, nor her husband were home. “Is everything alright?” Mrs Ahluwalia immediately tensed up.

 

Admiral Mir’s silence immediately freaked her out. “Is my son alright?” she almost screamed as her heart started to pant, her breathing became laboured, and sweat lined her brow, “Tell me Admiral, how’s my son?”

 

“Oh no Mrs Ahluwalia, your son is absolutely fine,” Admiral Mir immediately assured her.

 

Mrs Ahluwalia was relieved, but only momentarily as she realized what could possibly have gone wrong, “My husband! It’s my husband.” Mrs Ahluwalia lost her bearings immediately as she panicked, “Tell me Admiral my husband is alright!”

 

Admiral Mir’s discomfort in breaking the news was evident as he reluctantly informed her, “Mrs Ahluwalia, I want you to stay strong in this trying time, be the wife of a brave man your husband is.”

 

But all his words were falling on deaf ears as Mrs Ahluwalia was crying hysterically by now, “My husband! He was going to retire in a few days! Where have you sent my husband Admiral Mir. I want my husband back. Please give me my husband back.”

 

“Mrs Ahluwalia, please stay strong,” Admiral spoke words which he himself knew were nothing more than empty place markers, “Your husband is only missing in action. He was last seen alive with his men.”

 

But was it ever that simple to calm a woman who had just been robbed of half her world. The situation was not one which Admiral Mir had ever been trained to handle in his entire life. But more than the situation, and more than the loss of his own best friend, Admiral Mir had a bigger concern to take care of. He tried his best to comfort the wailing wife of a missing soldier, but the strategist and the leader of troops in him was more concerned about the impact the news will have on one of his best men, who was in the middle of the most important mission of his life. “Mrs Ahluwalia, you need to be strong,” Admiral Mir quipped again before adding, “Especially since we cannot relay the news to Captain Aman Ahluwalia yet.” What his comforting words couldn’t do, his demand sure did. There was silence in the room.

 

Silence, like everything else in nature, has a split personality. A silence emanating out of loneliness is haunting and depressing. It often brings out the memories buried in sands of time that question each and every decision made in life thus far. On the other side of the fulcrum is the boon of silence in a crowded place. As much as creativity is inspired by solitary meditation of an artistic mind, as much full of inspiration can be crowded places. However, that inspiration needs to be dug out by a concerted and un-disturbed gaze of an observant artist. Silence brings out the best when surrounded by a sea of life.

 

The National Space Research Institute of New Saisho was buzzing with typical morning activity. Intellectual minds were busy discussing their individual projects in small groups as they munched a few snacks and enjoyed their tea. Researchers Nagarjuna Reddy and Jhiang Chu were however having a light hearted conversation as they tried to overcome fatigue of a long night spent in lab. They wanted to finish a few more nibbles before calling it a day at the office.

 

A weary Chu who had lost one of his best mates in a not too distant past, managed to scrap a smile at the meaningless musings Nagarjuna shared with him. Perhaps he knew Reddy was trying to lighten his heavy heart, hence wanted to make him feel happy that his efforts are not going waste.

 

“You know Chu, last Saturday a cockroach climbed up my wife’s leg. She started jumping and screaming,” Nagarjuna was telling him another story, “I said to her; stop yelling at the poor cockroach, for who knows he might be already married.” And the two laughed a little.

 

Nagarjuna however continued with another story, “You don’t know my wife Chu. She can count a million in reverse but tell her to drive and its’ mayhem. Last month she took kids to the Uluru National park. When she didn’t reach the camp till ten in the evening, search parties had to be dispatched. As it turned out, she was following the directions from her navigator and driving straight through the middle of the dry river, ten miles from the actual road. When asked if she didn’t notice, she said; oh, I thought it was a double lane dirt road.”

 

This time however only Nagarjuna laughed as Chu’s attention was caught up by something else. When Nagarjuna realized he had lost the attention of his friend, he asked, “Hey Chu bro, what happened?”

 

“Nothing,” Jhiang replied, “I just realized, we didn’t account for the GPS system for our model.”

 

“Global positioning system,” Reddy exclaimed a bit surprised, “But what has a GPS system got to do with a space craft. GPS system is only for Earth, not for space!”

 

“That is the thing,” Jhiang replied in a hushed voice, for their work was meant to be confidential until disclosed to public by the President’s office, “Once a craft is in space, if there is no contact with earth, there is no way to guide it for directions.”

 

“But how does that matter anyway,” Nagarjuna exclaimed, “If we have to leave Earth, the whole space will be open for us. We can go anywhere.”

 

“No, we cannot go just anywhere,” Jhiang replied, “Firstly we will not have any fuel or food to waste, so our journeys will have to be directed and accurate to the known data, and secondly, you are forgetting one thing buddy; our entire model is based upon the mapped movement of Earth around the Sun.”

 

Nagarjuna immediately realized what Jhiang was saying, “How did that skip my mind. It is indeed a point of grave concern. For all the predictions we can do about the upcoming events using our model, if we do not know the exact position and displacement of our crafts through the space, we are doomed anyway.”

 

Doom is perhaps deadlier in its’ thought than what it actually might turn out to be. The undisputed masters of their land at one time, the dinosaurs had theirs too. And their doom wiped out their entire populations. Doom was indeed deadlier for them as a group, but individually, did the doom actually kill everyone at the same time? Did none of the dinosaurs actually live to see another day? Did it all end in a single day? If the answer to these questions is no, then isn’t doom over-rated?

 

Everybody speculates. It’s just that some people love to live in fear; the others live in the moment. Krystal, the better half of Corporal James Michigan was strolling around the alleys of a news agency, looking for her favourite gossip magazine, her one year toddler in a pram, least bit bothered by the talk of the town; the missing objects. Fire can be hidden in cotton for only so long. A young, vivacious and tall damsel was busy chatting with the owner of the News Agency. Perhaps the two were old acquaintances, or so it would appear from the two ladies’ chit-chatter. Krystal couldn’t help but overhear the not so hushed conversation.

 

“My husband is on board ‘NSS - The Mighty’ and the last conversation we had, he was telling me they are going to the ‘Open House’ to find something,” the young girl was telling the mature lady behind the counter, “He wouldn’t tell me what they were looking for, but it must be something important.”

 

“If they risked travelling through shooting darts region, they have to be desperate,” the other lady said, “I think the government is hiding the truth.”

 

“I am sure they are,” the young girl nodded, “Judging by James’ excitement, I am sure it involves danger. I know my man inside out.”

 

“Oh our James Michigan, he’s always been like that, desperate to play with fire, eager to take on the bull” the other lady added in a lighter vein, “So when does he say he is going to marry you? Has he asked you yet?”

 

“Oh no, I don’t think he ever will,” the young girl replied shaking her head, “In fact, I have taken the initiative a few times to deflect our routine conversations towards marriage, but he keeps skirting the issue, saying he wants to make his career first.”

 

By then Krystal have had enough. She walked straight to the counter, put her hand on the young girl’s shoulder, turned her around, and before she could react, a powerful right hook landed on her face. “Keep your filthy hands of my man bitch,” Krystal yelled.

 

Before anybody could react, Krystal grabbed her son from the pram and flashed the baby at the young girl’s face, “You see this little guy here. He is our son. He is my man’s son you bitch.”

 

“But,” the shaken and mortified young girl barely squeaked, “Who are you? Why are you fighting with me?”

 

“Fighting with you?” Krystal was on fire, “I fight no dummies babe. I kick them in their butts.” And Krystal was about to land another massive blow in the young girl’s face when the terrified shop owner interrupted, “Stop it, please stop it, or I will call the cops.”

 

“You no calling anyone old hag,” Krystal blew hot and more hot, “She’s trying to steal my man, and I am going to cut her spleen out of her.”

 

“But I am not trying to steal anyone’s man,” the young girl pleaded desperately, “Who is your man?”

 

“My man bitch, Corporal James Michigan, the one on ‘NSS The Mighty’,  he’s my man,” Krystal said as she pulled out the locket around her baby’s neck and popped it open to show the young girl picture of her husband, “Here, do you see him? He is my man, my boy’s father. Stay away from him bitch, if you want to live.”

 

“But he is not my man,” the young girl struggled to catch her breath as her hands fumbled with the locket around her own neck. She opened it up to reveal her boyfriend’s picture, “My man is Lieutenant James Michigan, also on ‘NSS - The Mighty’. Here have a look at his picture.”

 

“Awe, is it?” Krystal was shocked at the discovery, “I am sorry babe. For a moment there I thought you were trying to steal my man. My apologies girl! No hard feelings.”

 

“Hard feelings?” the owner of the shop was now fuming, “I will show you how hard really feels. You are going to jail woman.”

 

“Please, that’s alright,” the young girl was however magnanimous, “It was just a mistake, and she is apologising. Besides her husband works with my boyfriend, so I have to give her that consideration.”

 

Krystal looked around, then offered her hand to help the young girl get on her feet before introducing herself after another round of apologies, “I am sorry girl. I let myself down today. I am so sorry. By the way, my name is Krystal Michigan.”

 

“And I am Lisa Perera,” the young girl shook hands with Krystal, and the two buried the hatchet.

 

It is easy to bury things, difficult to find them. What one digs out is always a treasure, even if an old carcass, for whatever was buried was either precious or useless to the one who buried it. For the one who digs it out however, it is what is available for free, and since it didn’t belong to him, he can use or abuse it as he pleases. But buried things always have a story to tell.

 

At the end of a long day full of futile search, everybody onboard ‘NSS - The Mighty’ was ready to call it a night, had it not been for their injured Captain still holding fort, and an equally adamant Lieutenant out to outperform professionalism.

 

“Alpha three,” Aman called Lieutenant Michigan, “You are free to call it a night when you are ready. We will continue the search tomorrow.”

 

“Yes Sir, Alpha three copied,” James replied, “This will be our last five minute deep water sortie.”

 

The Lieutenant and his team manoeuvred the submersible for one last time, for a deep water inspection of the open house. As the light at the front end of the submersible lit up the dark depths, luck finally smiled on the young Lieutenant and his team.

 

“Alpha one, Sir, I found another submarine,” James said on the radio.

 

“Any sign name or insignia you can identify,” Aman asked James, “Let us see if we have its’ details in our data base.”

 

“Give me a second Sir,” James replied as his craft circled the submerged vessel, to try and find any visible markings that could help identification. After thoroughly investigating the vessel, James finally exclaimed, “No sir, no markings or names are visible anymore.”

 

“Give me some identifying feature Lieutenant,” Aman quipped.

 

“Wait sir, I see an insignia towards the top end of the submarine,” Lieutenant James replied, his gaze fixated firmly on the insignia, “I have the identification sir. The vessel bears a metallic insignia of a one eyed lion. I repeat sir, a one eyed lion.”

 

“INS Ranjit Singh,” Aman exclaimed as he knew the insignia very well.

 

“Noah’s Arc?” Lieutenant Schneider quipped.

 

“That is not its’ complete story,” Captain Aman commented.

 

 

 

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