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GOD Of A Man

Eternity Versus Eternity

 

“Choices are irrelevant, intentions are paramount.”

 

Chapter Seventeen: Committments

Dated: 21st 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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