Summersmith

Prologue

It sneaks in before you detect it! A somnolence riddled with the smell of acid rain on rusted pipes and the quiet damage of chemical wounds on soil that knows not how to heal. It arrives like a warning, feral, copper-sweet, almost electric, lingering through the smog, clawing its way across the holocaust of an abandoned heath. Dust particles, gremlin greys, withered whites, brazen browns settle on shards of smattered glass, rusted iron bars, piles of immortal plastic and relics of nuclear waste. The planet remembers every second of exposure yet holds on to the fragility of existence.

The dust particles tiptoe over a crumbling edifice sporting a burnt-out billboard, puncturing the monotony of the horizon with a rampart of russet bricks; frayed yet awakening visions from a distant past.

A past buried deep in the membranes of human memories, wrapped in tissues of forgetfulness. Caught in this Elysian wasteland, the planet dwindles down to two seasons, Sumwin and Winsum.

When Sumwin season descends on the heath, a few flowers bloom, forget-me-rots with snake fang heads, hissing at each other seconds before vaporizing into plumes of indigo smoke, leaving residual nuances of Sulphur. A skeletal bridge, harboured beneath the eastern sky erupts into verdant shades of spinach and coriander; its cantilever structure of riveted steel yearns for a taste of warmth.

Sumwin is a tease; a fleeting season, it comes as a promise only to disintegrate like a surreal dream. It leaves no marks, no hopes, no memories. The rest is left to the darkness of Winsum nights. Winsum season comes to stay and rule.

In the thirteenth year of the Apocalypse, Winsum ruled unabated through seven seasons, basking in a throne of gnarled dog bones laced with leery mushrooms and gaping eyes of a hundred dead fish, caught from the river of remembrance that used to flow beneath the forsaken bridge. When Sumwin finally returned it came riding on the tail of a comet, blazing its path into the heart of the heath. This time it hoped to stay!

But how long would the stay season of Sumwin last? 1

¹ Sumwin season – Predominantly Summer, with an underlying threat of winter.

2. Winsum season – Predominantly Winter with a faint hope of Summer.

Day 1.0

Did it start with the comet fire? A promethean spark creating the first day of the Sumwin season? A Pygmalion moment breathing life into the movie poster that adorned the billboard of Star Theat R 0.2? The characters blinked, squinting against the brilliance of the conflagration, surprised at the sudden surfeit of life force invading their veins. They flexed their muscles, looking at each other, as if seeking assurance for being brought back to life.

The tallest amongst the five, a young man sporting a Bowler hat, had retained his agility through all the years of inaction; he leapt out of the billboard in one clean sweep. Though not conventionally handsome, his demeanor left no doubt that he was the protagonist of the movie. A moue of disappointment settled on his face as he scanned the blasted heath. “No audience?” he muttered under his breath.

As far as he remembered, it was a blockbuster that he had starred in; but then audience attention was notorious for being capricious and fickle. The prolonged Winsum season exacerbated forgetfulness, the lethargy to remember!

“Bill2, my man, where are you running off to?” imperious notes hit the air as the leading lady struggling with the seven yards of a transparent chiffon saree landed right next to him. Gathering the flimsiness securely around an excessively hostile corset, she gave him a piece of her mind, “It’s all about on-screen chemistry and off-screen oafishness, isn’t it?” Her sloe eyes reflected exasperation, but she was not someone who gave up easily, “My stiletto heels makes it difficult to walk on this blasted terrain. Come hold my hands?” She reached out to Bill2, but he shied away.

“Holding hands will attract unnecessary attention from the paparazzi Mon2, you know how they skulk around in hidden corners”, Bill2 had always been

wary of the Fourth Estate, “Couldn’t you just ask your voluminous friend?”. Out of the corner of his eyes he could see Rin2’s corpulent shape climbing out of the billboard frame. As Rin2 landed on the heath, triggering a cloud of metallic grey dust, Bill2 moved away. His lace-up black boots needed a polish; he looked around for a shoe-shine boy, but not a single soul was in sight, “Where have we landed up?” A quizzical frown settled on his craggy brows, “This looks like the proverbial no-man’s land!”

“The last time I was in this neighborhood, it was called Hat I Bagn 0.2” Rin2 wheezed; he was so out of breath, he could barely string two words together!

“Now, the only thing I see is a Hat I” Bill2 did not even try to hold back the taunt, “The rest has been absorbed by the heath!” His dislike for Rin2, onscreen as well as offscreen was abundantly clear.

The corpulent man paid no heed to the snide remark; his attention was fixed instead on a strange contraption that was approaching them at supersonic speed. Encircled by a cone of dancing particles, it had the appearance of a swarm of bees, cutting across the trail of smoke and fire etched by the comet impact.

The dancing particles settled down as soon as the spoked wheels of the vehicle screeched to a halt. But the feline purr of the engine refused to ebb away, it kept breathing like a sentient entity, coughing up layers of steam from exposed pistons and copper valves. Through the cocoon of steam, Rin2 could still figure out that the vehicle’s body had been crafted out of exquisite Mahogony wood, riveted together with handsome panels of brass.

The face behind the wooden steering wheel was half-hidden behind oversized aviator glasses, the rest of her exposed skin resembled frayed rose petals curling up against the sudden heat. It was evident that she was not prepared for Sumwin, nor for the comet fire. But the ebony black eyes behind the glasses held frank curiosity as she slid out of the driver’s seat, without bothering to cut out the engine.

While the vehicle waited, frothing with the chagrin of a charged-up beast, she slouched forward, a panther on a prowl targeting the person nearest to her.

When she unfurled herself to her true height, she stood head and shoulders above Bill2; arms akimbo, she looked down at him. “Lo and behold! Comet Sat-Y-Jit 0.2 has brought never-dead people to life. The thin line between fact and fiction has been declared extinct?”

“Extinct?” Bill2 racked his brains, trying to envisage the thin line. Something like the borders on maps? But they were extinct as well, those well-defined borders! They did not feature anywhere in the 0.2 version of this planet, did they?

“Extinct? Never-dead? Reckless words!” Rin2 sounded amused, “We have breathed, bled, fought, loved only on screen. This is the first time that I have a flesh and blood body of my own outside celluloid reels, it’s so surreal that I am still pinching myself”

“Nothing is your own” the woman rolled her tongue around the words, savouring the bleak philosophy “Neither your life, nor your death, everything is controlled by the Master. I have been sent by him to guide you to his abode” She pointed vaguely at a direction next to the Eastern sky where the cantilever bridge was glowing green.

“Who are you?” Mon2 challenged, displaying limited patience for mindless philosophizing! “Who is your Master?”

“You might be a dedicated slave, but give me one good reason why would I want to be controlled by your Master? I have been trained to follow the orders of my director, no one else matters” Mon2 sounded quite firm. She refrained from stating that even with her director she was used to throwing tantrums and getting her own way. She would not bend over for some crank-pot Master.

Besides, she was not sure she liked the look of this woman, dressed in a high-necked lace shirt paired with tailored burgundy trousers that accentuated every curve of her hourglass figure, she could certainly give Mon2 a run for her money.

“Who are you?” Bill2 echoed Mon2’s query. He was growing impatient too; he had no intention of standing around in the middle of the heath with fractious women. He had an audience to find, a role to play, fame to gather. To do all of this in one Sumwin would be a race against time!

Sensing his impatience, the woman looked hastily at her pocket watch, a dainty timepiece forged out of antiqued copper, “We do not have time for long drawn explanations” she sighed, “I am R Sen Ik 0.2, I am the Summer-Smith’s envoy, he has sent for you because he thinks you can make planet 0.2 a better place to live in!”

“All of you” she stressed, her attention snapped back to the billboard.

Bill2 shrugged, even without turning around, he could sense that the last two characters had stepped out.

“Hurry up! Come fast” Rin2 shouted, trying to make himself audible amidst the racket of the pistons and valves of R Sen Ik 0.2’s vehicle, waving his arms at Lal2, the lady politician, guarded by Pol2, a police officer. “The apocalyptic Vish Kanya, the arsenic menace has arrived with her hellhound of a vehicle. We might find audience wherever she leads us, since here in Hat I Bagn 0.2, there seems to be none.”

“Gone are the glory days of Star Theat R 0.2” Lal2 agreed with him. No audience, no vote bank, it was a dismal sight indeed. In such a scenario, following R Sen Ik 0.2’s lead seemed to be the best option. On the way she would prepare a nice little speech to convince the denizens of Planet 0.2 to vote for her in the next election. She could already feel the winds of change, the celluloid world was finally joining the human world, and she could not afford to be left behind.

Pol2 followed her, glum faced.

R Sen Ik 0.2 slid back into the driver’s seat as soon as all the actors had settled themselves along with their egos and opinions inside the steam filled innards of the vehicle. “Welcome aboard To Fan Mel 0.2” she piped, turning the steering wheel to 290 degrees and hitting the road at a crazy speed.

The journey began.

Day 1.5

So did Pol2’s unease. Caught between Lal2’s arrogance and Rin2’s corpulence, he bristled with indignation. In the celluloid world his assignment as a police officer had been to catch Rin2. Pol2’s director had spoken about a reward of two hundred gold coins assigned for Rin2’s capture, dead or alive. Now, he was not so sure! Everyone knew Rin2 was a dreaded dacoit, but they had left the celluloid world behind, would Rin2 still be considered a criminal? Pol2’s only option was to wait and watch, figure out if justice prevailed in Planet 0.2.

Rin2, serenely oblivious of Pol2’s predicament, leant sideways to speak to Lal2, the leather seats squeaked, fainting under the pressure, “Don’t plan anything without me. It won’t work!”

“Are you threatening me?” Lal2’s pale complexion turned a bony white. Gathering the folds of her khadi saree like a protective armour, she prepared herself for the verbal spat she knew would follow. Rin2 had always been a difficult person to please.

“Just stating facts, my lady” Rin2 sounded serious, “Who has ever heard of a politician winning elections without investing truckloads of money? Do you think the public does not know where your money and power comes from?”

“The public believes what I tell them” Lal2 snapped back, drawing the mustard yellow fabric of her saree over her head, trying to keep the heat and dust away from her face. Casting an envious glance at R Sen Ik 0.2’s aviator glasses, she continued, “Not all knowledge needs to be shared, it would put the mental health of the populace in a precarious lurch. I’ve always believed in redactions, strictly limited access to information for the public!”

“Lal2 the demagogue” Mon2, overhearing the conversation, could not control her derision, “Thankfully there is no one in this blasted heath to follow your lead. No need for you to play the pied piper”

R Sen Ik 0.2 had a different story to share, “We can’t be too sure of that! My Master tells me that Comet Sat Y Jit 0.2 has brought back the spark of life in unexpected ways and in unexpected places. The slumbering community in the membranes of forgetfulness have woken up, I met a couple of them on my way. Amazing things are coming to life”

“Like us, I guess” Bill2 adjusted his Bowler hat, winking at R Sen Ik 0.2, “Straight out of the poster of a blockbuster movie! Strange comet indeed, instead of an extinction event, we are having a gala resurrection of facts, fiction and fantasy!”

“I’m sure you will get hold of people to mislead, my dear Lal2” he added, “With Rin2’s help, of course     ”

“Rin2’s help?” Pol2 scoffed, “Let him save his own skin! He tops the Most Wanted list” Drawing out a crumpled piece of newspaper from the pocket of his trousers, he waved it around the faces of all the other passengers. On close inspection they could make out the outlines of a face ravaged by time and dirt, under the obscure picture was a declaration of two hundred gold coins to be awarded for the capture of this criminal.

“Two hundred gold coins?” R Sen Ik 0.2 gasped, “That is a king’s ransom! But who will give it to whom? There is hardly any government left in this waste land. The only politician I know, right now, is Miss Lal2!”

“No government?” Pol2 sounded morose, “No police force either?”

R Sen Ik 0.2 found herself drumming her fingers on the steering wheel as she mulled over the problem. Then, without any warning she spun her vehicle 175 degrees West, speeding towards the last known bastion of law…………………………………………………………………………………. Lul Buzz R 0.2

Someone had told her that the comet fire had burned with a curious intensity in Lul Buzz R 0.2!

Char Les 0.2 was hungry.

Day 1.75

His gaunt, skeletal body had accumulated the hunger of a million lifetimes while keeping watch, seated behind a massive table that habitually intimidated him.

Char Les 0.2 could not afford to leave; he was dead afraid of being replaced by his rivals. So, he held his post through one Sumwin season to the next Winsum, until he himself became a parasitic part of the table, a gluttonous appendage drawing power from its strategic potential.

The table was an entity in itself, harking back to the colonial history of a pre-apocalyptic nation. Crafted out of ancient walnut wood, its edges secured with brass bands, it exuded an air of ingenuous governance. Cylindrical, heavy steam pistons, disfigured by a faint green patina of oxidation, supported the tabletop.

Its legs had morphed into the sharp claws of a carrion bird, poised to rip its prey apart. It had been named May Ur 0.2, by an unknown historian whose area of specialization was the Mughal dynasty from the pre-apocalyptic era!

Char Les 0.2 had no predilection for history, his irritation arose from the simple fact that Sob Raj 0.2, the only other person in the red brick building was missing in action. He had been sent out to scour for food but appeared to have pulled a disappearing trick. Muttering a string of curses under his breath, Char Les 0.2 leaned back to open the wooden shutters of the tall window, located directly behind his chair.

A curious sight greeted him.

Was that To Fan Mel 0.2 parked directly under his window?

And then he heard the hullabaloo! The brooding silence of the cavernous corridors of Lul Buzz R 0.2 was invaded by the cacophony of bickering voices, ricocheting off the walls like clashing cymbals and tone-deaf drums accompanied by poorly strung guitars. And then, sans the modicum of any courtesy, the door to Char Les 0.2’s room flew open, a crowd of ruffians marched in.

Char Les 0.2 was quick to identify R Sen Ik 0.2, he had expected her the moment he espied To Fan Mel 0.2. The vehicle and the driver, he had heard, were inseparable. The only other person who immediately caught his attention was the one in police uniform. The others appeared vaguely familiar, he was not sure why?

A similar sense of disorientation nagged Pol2; the skeletal head gaping at them from behind a grotesque table did nothing to inspire confidence. Brushing off his misgivings, he stepped forward, “I am here to handover a notorious dacoit, Sir!” He pointed at Rin2 and held up the tattered poster with a dramatic flourish.

“Dacoit, eh?” Char Les 0.2’s lantern jaws dropped to the edge of the table. He felt lightheaded with hunger, he could do without this unnecessary intrusion, but his curiosity kept him going. He reached down under the table, cranked open a hidden drawer, pulling out a pair of thick framed glasses with flip-up lenses.

Placing the magnifying option securely on the bridge of his hawklike nose, he peered at the poster. “Dacoit, eh?” he repeated, his glance swung back and forth from the poster to Rin2’s face.

“Who is the dacoit?” Char Les 0.2 floundered, “The poster shows an outline, there is no face, no eyes, no nose. Nothing can be seen clearly other than the declaration of two hundred gold coins as reward!”

“Is this some kind of a joke?” Char Les 0.2 sounded agitated. Was his authority being undermined by R Sen Ik 0.2 and her crew? Was she baiting him? She always wanted to know much more than she was supposed to, like an incarnation of Faust, lusting for knowledge. He cast her an accusatory glance; she looked away, her eyes behind the aviator glasses remained impassive.

“It’s a case of slander and libel, that’s what it is” Lal2’s suggestion was sly, insidious, “Pol2 has been payrolled by our opposition party to defame me; the implication that Rin2 is sponsoring my campaigns is so scandalous that it will definitely grab the attention of the voters”

The insinuation left Pol2 speechless. What voters was she talking about? They had hardly seen any more than two people by the roadside while driving from Hat I Bag 0.2 to Lul Buzz R 0.2. The barrenness of the heath was hardly unexpected, Lal2 was obviously gaslighting them.

“Scandals are the highest selling deals of the Sumwin season” taking off his Bowler hat, Bill2 massaged his throbbing temple, the fracas was getting to his nerves, “That’s the only reason that the Fourth Estate has survived the apocalypse and the only reason that we are still popular. Film-stars and politicians need vigorous doses of scandals to stay relevant, can we really deny that?”

The challenge threw Lal2 off-guard for a moment, what did she identify as, right now, an actor in a movie or the character she was portraying? The choice, however, was eminently easy. She had never been as successful a heroine as Mon2, she lacked the reckless abandonment that Mon2 infused into her roles, nor could her uptight upbringing allow her to replicate the sultry dance moves with which Mon2 had driven generations crazy. The character of a politician suited Lal2 far better; she fixed her grim visage, adjusted her cliched khadi saree and launched into the next round of attack. This time she was ready to draw blood!

“The scandals you cook up with the Fourth Estate to ensure your relevance is totally up to you Bill2! However, you must understand that as a politician I need to safeguard my reputation” Lal2’s displeasure was cold and clear, “Pol2 was assigned as my bodyguard. It’s ironic, isn’t it? Instead of protecting me, he has colluded with my rivals, attempting to bring me down!”

The word “rivals” snagged Char Les 0.2’s attention. Having rivals of his own, enough to launch an epic battle, he was assailed by a curious sensation of empathy, “That is dereliction of duty as well as character assassination! Pol2 must be punished” It was the easiest decision to reach, Pol2 had no one to speak in his defense, no advocate to fight his case.

The curveball, however, came from a totally unexpected angle.

A shriek and a crash, followed by mildewed mangoes tumbling to the floor from a basket, along with a blabbering Sob Raj 0.2. The wretched lackey had just entered the room when he saw Rin2, the effect was that of a lightning strike! He started rolling on the ground, gasping and choking, “Don’t kill me, don’t kill me, I did not run away with your money! I got waylaid, I swear!” He spooned himself around Rin2’s feet, slobbering over his shoes.

Rin2 kicked him away! His shoes were too expensive to be slobbered over! “Where is the money? You took it from me last Sumwin when I was still caught

in my celluloid version! You promised you would deliver, but you did not” His anger was palpable.

Abandoning his supine position, Sob Raj 0.2 started crawling, avoiding the rolling mangoes, positioning himself beneath the table. Somewhere near Char Les 0.2’s feet. Tears streamed down his face…tears of terror, the fearful thought that Rin2 had him cornered, “Tell him I gave you your share of the money, Char Les 0.2” he pleaded, choking over his own words, “Sumwin ended before I could deliver the other half to Miss Lal2, I was sent back to my memory membrane. I knew there would be no elections to fight during Winsum, what I did not know was that Winsum would turn out to be so long!”

A note of vehemence crept into his voice, “I am not at fault”

An eerie silence descended on the room, the silver silence of a sword awaiting a bloodbath! The only person who looked somewhat relieved was Pol2, “Once a criminal, always a criminal! Money laundering, bribing the police, sponsoring politicians, what else is left?” he shook his head with theatrical amazement, “Now that you have all the evidence in the world, arrest Rin2 and Lal2, throw them behind the bars!”

Pol2 looked for support, but no one moved, no one met his eyes!

For R Sen Ik 0.2, it was a rapid buildup of exigent circumstances; the frayed rose hues of her skin crawled with abhorrence, losing its much-needed moisture. She shivered as she felt herself crack up; the realization that these vestiges of humanity, caught in the Elysian fields between fact and fantasy, would still choose crime and corruption as their primary traits made her sick to the core.

Wasn’t Char Les 0.2 the last known representative of law and justice? She looked at him askance!

Char Les 0.2 had an evil grin plastered on his face, as if deriding R Sen Ik 0.2’s hope of finding justice in Lul Buzz R 0.2. The smile caught on, capturing faces around the room like an infectious disease! Pol2’s smile was one of sheer relief, now that everyone knew who the actual criminals were, he was vindicated. Bill2 and Mon2 smiled, glad that they were not being implicated in this rapidly escalating mess. Lal2 smiled, campaign sponsorship was well in hand.

Rin2 smiled, because he knew exactly what to do!

“Chop off his hands!” The order was precise, learnt too well from film rehearsals.

Walking over to the wall that displayed antiquated swords and rusted guns, Rin2 pulled out an Electro Saber, snapping his fingers at Sob Raj 0.2. The room froze in a tableaux, in the blink of an eye Sob Raj 0.2 squeezed the brass switch to activate the blade, dashing towards Pol2 with a demonic roar. One mad lunge and a hand came off, another lunge severed another hand, leaving behind scorch marks and the singed fabric of Pol2’s khaki uniform; dull thuds of flesh hitting the ground echoed through the room.

Pol2 remained standing, the shock of the mutilation refused to seep into his brain. He looked down at the limbs that used to be his, wondering whether he should pick them up? It was then that realization hit him………………………………………………………………………. He had no hands.

It would be a challenge to be the hands of law without any hands! Pol2 melted down into a dead swoon. In the next few seconds, his petrified heart stopped beating.

R Sen Ik 0.2 could not believe her eyes; did she just witness a mutilation? Or was it murder? Her eyes brimmed with unshed tears; she was responsible for leading Pol2 to his death!

“It’s not a murder” Rin2 whispered in her ears, reassuring her, “If you observe carefully, you will see not a single drop of blood has been spilled. Only a few particles have been displaced from their former positions, it is their nature to transmigrate! In case you are really disturbed, wait till the next edit and ask our director to delete this scene and bring Pol2 back to life”

“It all depends on the director’s discretion my sweet R Sen Ik 0.2, and your convincing power” Rin2 took her hands in his, patting them gently.

R Sen Ik 0.2 shuddered, a criminal sprouting Pythagorean philosophy was a novelty even in this day and age! Who knows what else this man was hiding? She noticed that unlike the corpulence of his body, Rin2’s fingers were long and tapered, like that of an artist. It was well suited for the ornate ring he was wearing, a ring with a multi-faceted ruby at its center, surrounded by miniature clocks and screws. Was it more of a machine than an ornament? R Sen Ik 0.2 had her doubts, but she kept her thoughts to herself!

Day2.o

To Fan Mel 0.2 sped back to the East, trying to override the telltale signs of disorientation that seemed to assail its driver. R Sen Ik 0.2 had taken wrong turns twice, as if the absence of Pol2 made the vehicle somewhat misaligned for the journey.

She was supposed to transport the entire crew to Summer-Smith. She had failed. Miserably!

A somewhat similar miasma of ennui engulfed her passengers. They turned away from each other, avoiding eye contact, intent on hiding their guilt or perceived grievances. Finally, Mon2 broke the silence, “We must find Sip E 0.2”, she caught R Sen Ik 0.2’s puzzled glance in the rearview mirror and hurried on to explain, “Sip E 0.2 is the director of our movie, he needs to know one of his main characters is dead!”

“Why?” Rin2 countered, “What is the need?”

R Sen Ik 0.5 adjusted the rearview mirror to find Rin2’s face. The mirror had a faint backlight, a warm glow of amber glass that brought Rin2 sharply into focus. What kind of a hypocrite was this man? Had he not given her the suggestion of finding the director himself, was he playing the devil’s advocate then? Sensing her scrutiny, Rin2 looked up, their eyes clashed on the etched glass framed by a subtle filigree of alchemical symbols. The function of the mirror was not only to reflect, but it also observed unknown emotions stirring to life. The symbols realigned themselves, the brushed brass started to glow.

Without breaking eye contact, Rin2 pulled out a hand-rolled cigar from a golden case. As he lit it up, the flame glowed like a tiny furnace on his lips, “You will find him in Kal Edge St 0.2” he seemed to speak to no one in particular, concentrating on the plume of smoke that hovered in the space between him and R Sen Ik0.2. “That is where Sip E 0.2 goes when he is on a hunt for new scripts! It’s an old-world style that I have always appreciated! How I wish I could write; I would have persuaded him to make a movie with my own script!”

“Persuaded or intimidated?” Mon2 shattered the sappiness of an inappropriately sentimental moment, barely controlling the itch to slap the complacence off Rin2’s face.

“Liquidated, most likely” Bill2 could not erase the vision of Pol2’s death. “Every time I close my eyes, Pol2’s inert form stares mournfully at me, much like Banquo’s ghost betrayed by Macbeth. I did not even raise a finger to save him”

Mon2 and Lal2 exchanged a knowing glance, both of them knew that Bill2 required rigorous directions from the director to act well, he was not someone who relied on his impulses. During the Lul Buzz R 0.2 incident, Bill2 might have been waiting for someone to give him instructions. But no one had directed him, and he had failed to act. Pol2 was dead, leaving Bill2 to resolve the burden of a crushing guilt that threatened to suffocate him!

Finding the director might be the only panacea, “Let us go to Kal Edge St 0.2. A little detour won’t harm anyone” Mon2 leant forward, reaching out to tap R Sen Ik 0.2’s shoulder with an exquisitely manicured nail, even the apocalypse had not been able to disrupt her beauty standards, “Do you have the Sumwin map? We can try to find out exactly where Kal Edge St 0.2 is located now? I’ve heard everything has a tendency of moving around under the cover of Winsum nights. They hunt on the sly for better locations with lesser tariffs!”

As if on cue, a map appeared on one of the analog dials that dominated the dashboard. A gyroscopic compass engraved with serif numerals started glowing faintly; a muted amber, powered by gaslight style bulbs. R Sen Ik 0.2 sighed, To Fan Mel 0.2 was eavesdropping once again. Right now, it was playing to the gallery, warming up to the attention of the two ladies who were breathing down R Sen Ik 0.2’s neck to figure out the intricacies of the map.

It was a map unlike anything that they had seen before, landmasses kept shifting like molted molasses on a copper plate hemmed in by chalked drill lines and riveted iron rails. Flags fluttered atop iron shafts, unknown insignias capped with the heads of extinct Bengal tigers. Places were marked by clocktowers and smokestacks, only one bore the mark of a well-thumbed book. Without speaking a single word, they all knew that is where they have to go.

The gyroscopic compass glowed brighter, R Sen Ik 0.2, followed the instructions. To Fan Mel 0.2 headed towards Kal Edge St 0.2. The passengers buckled up, but Rin2’s corpulence made it impossible for a seatbelt to rein him

in. Undeterred, he continued smoking, positing his faith on To Fan Mel 0.2 to take on the role of Atlas carrying the heaviest of loads.

To Fan Mel 0.2 did not fail him, but Kal Edge St 0.2 did!

As To Fan Mel 0.2 screeched to a halt near a crumbling coffee-house, the sight that met their eyes looked like a set straight out of a horror movie. Instead of quaint little bookstalls lining up both sides of a busy thoroughfare, as described in the myths of the pre-apocalyptic world, the bookstalls were stacked, one on the top of the other, like blocks in a Jenga game. The stalls had climbed up vertically to retain precarious positions, bickering stall-owners competing with each other and spreading out horizontally as well, like the layered terraces of Northeastern tea plantations. Narrow staircases made of rotting wood and rusted iron spiraled around the mound, merging at various levels to pave access to the stalls. At the lower levels a few book lovers wove their way in and out, searching for bargains or rare editions.

The smell of age, old volumes, worn paper, dried up ink greeted Bill2 as he stepped out of the confines of To Fan Mel 0.2. This was the first time in a while that he was seeing so many people in one place; would they recall him as the popular hero that he was, or dismiss him as a relic from the past? His heart fluttered with trepidation!

No one gave him a second glance! Not a single member of the dreaded paparazzi ran up to him to get a photograph!

Do memories die faster than dreams, Bill2 wondered?

As he drew nearer to the mound he could see hand-painted banners, garishly coloured alphabets in different regional languages vying for the attention of buyers.

A vendor called out to him, “What syllabus are you looking for? State level? National level? International? Interplanetary? I have them all, the best books to guide students for any conceivable exam!” The signboard above his head, swaying faintly in the wind whispered “Bot Tola Boi 0.2”

“What exams are you talking about?” Bill2 was confused, as far as he knew, exams were just as obsolete as the idea of a syllabus, the last few Sumwin seasons had been way too brief to implement any formal schooling. Instead, knowledge was shared telepathically to the ones wise enough to receive it. The rest of the population were blissfully ignorant; they did not even know that they were not

the chosen ones; they would never be rulers, they would always be hoi polloi. The vendor must have fallen into a space-time warp, nothing else could explain his odd behavior.

Sensing Bill2’s misgivings, the vendor immediately changed tack, “Rare books? Banned books? Obscure one? Obscene ones?” But Bill2 had lost interest, his attention had moved on to the paperbacks stacked in chaotic abandon on the next layer; ignoring the shrill litany of the vendor, he started climbing up the wooden staircase, nimbly sidestepping hardcover books held together with twine and leather straps. On the second level, the air became secretive, delicate lamps with open fire glow lit up hidden corners; their amber tongues fed by oil, reeked of camphor. The pervading aura was that of an abandoned temple holding on to the last relics of pre-apocalyptic wisdom. Manuscripts bound in red cloth covers brooded on half empty shelves, booksellers sat cross-legged behind the piles. They appeared to be disinterested custodians of knowledge. Unlike the vendor of Bot Tola Boi 0.2, they displayed no intention of selling books.

As Bill2 climbed farther up, the staircase became narrower, prohibitive; some steps had fallen off, a few washed out posters advised caution to foolhardy bibliophiles. When Bill2 finally reached the summit, he found it curiously empty, rimmed in by a thin sliver of a platform, echoing nothingness. Feeling somewhat cheated, he looked down the razor-sharp edge. An entire civilization of orphaned knowledge spread out beneath his feet, useless spiels of imagination and broken chunks of memories floated like aimless spirits in a cemetery of unrequited words. Forbidden, forlorn, forsaken!

Firmly rooted in the security of the ground below, Rin2 stood watching Bill2’s precarious climb, “The stack looks as stable as a pack of cards” he warned R Sen Ik 0.2 and Mon2, “It won’t hold the weight if all of us start crawling up!”

“Do you even know what you are looking for?” he baited Mon2, “You are looking for Sip E 0.2? You are looking for a script? Or just wasting precious Sumwin time?’

The Bot Tola Boi 0.2 stood nearby, shamelessly overhearing the conversation, “I have everything you want” he tried a cajoling tone, but an underlying note of desperation laced his voice. Sumwin was brief, commerce was slow, he had to move in fast before the other vendors saw them. But, as always, no one paid him any heed.

The vendor’s voice melted into the background as R Sen Ik 0.2 and Mon2 hovered indecisively, craning their necks to see Bill2, gesticulating ineffectively at him, urging him to come down. “I don’t see anyone remotely resembling Sip E 0.2” Mon2 shouted, hoping that the winds would somehow carry her voice to the top of the book mound. It did not, Bill2 retained his position, a lone ranger silhouetted against the mid-morning sky.

It was then that a deep groan rustled through the air, the flimsy bookstalls started to shudder, somewhere within the mound a great void opened up, sprouting plumes of dust and fire. Paperbacks with soot-stained annotations, hasty equations scribbled on frayed margins, hardcovers with riveted spines started sliding down like tectonic plates responding to the call of an awful chasm. The sky behind Bill2 changed colour faster than the blink of a chameleon’s eye. The lazy blue dissipated, it shimmered and shattered, giving way to angry purple wisps punctured by streaks of fiery orange and moody blacks.

The frenzy of a demented man overtook the Bot Tola Boi 0.2 vendor, “Fire?” he clawed at his skull, tearing out his hair, “It’s a conspiracy to take over my stall, I tell you. Those property merchants want every bit of land. The 0.2 version is too old they say, they want a spanking new 0.3 version” Hurling a string of abuses, he ran towards the fire in a last-ditch attempt to save his beloved stall.

“Stop, you crazy fool!” R Sen Ik 0.2 hurled herself at the vendor, desperately trying to break his suicidal run! But before she could reach anywhere near him, a huge weight descended on her. Rin2 was pinning her down to the ground, using his bodyweight to immobilize her.

Fire crackled, reaching out to ensnare them in a demonic dance. Shrieking with agony they tried to crawl out of its range. The smell of burning flesh hit the air. Was it their own flesh that was burning? The very thought addled their brain, leaving them so bereft of sensations that they could scarcely assimilate what was happening. Yet, something made them look up, almost in unison. Their eyes were fixed on Bill2!

Bill2, caught on the rickety platform at the summit, stood like Joan of Arc tied to a fiery stake. Through the streams of smoke, his figure was a nightmarish distortion of a human form as the fire danced around him, devouring his flesh, gnawing at his bones. Bill2 clutched his head in his hands, his mouth stretched

out in a grotesque scream. Behind him the sky twisted and churned, volatile, violent, all consuming.

Suddenly, with an awful crack, the blazing mound imploded, folding inwards, as if defying and reprogramming gravity. The fire, sucked inward, lashed out into spirals of flame illuminating the collapsing core with a fiendish glee erasing histories, burning ideas, cancelling inventions; what emerged in its stead was a mass of molten metal, the charred flesh of half-burnt bodies and a few scraps of smouldering paper. A soft, ominous ticking sound seemed to emerge from the heart of the implosion! A Molotov cocktail of heat and regret waiting to explode again?

Day 2. 5

Sirens screamed across the devastation as they sprinted past pressure vents, skidding around angled turns, losing traction like a bunch of crazy snowboarders, trying to avoid blind corners that had been designed to confuse and confound. The ground beneath their feet vibrated with frustration as they hit an alley fork. It was here that R Sen Ik 2 finally found an escape sigil, etched into the ashes of burning books.

“An old escape route” R Sen Ik 0.2’s breath was shallow, laborious! “Meant for smugglers and rebel factions. If the sigil has found us, To Fan Mel 0.2 would not be far behind!” The others followed hastily before her silhouette slithered into the ambiguity of the grey vapour curling out of throbbing copper pipes.

Ducking through a half-burnt wooden frame, she led them to a deserted building. The smell of fire and flesh lost its sharpness, a crispness entered the air, reminiscent of crushed pills, alcohol wipes and faintly unsettling notes of carbolic acid. “This used to be a hospital and a college, many moons ago” R Sen Ik 0.2 told them without breaking her stride. Her aviator glasses were badly shattered, a piece of glass had slashed her cheek while another one was lodged stubbornly at the corner of her left eye, but she had no time to take it out. The only mandate was to outrun the next explosion! The ominous tick reverberated through her mind, amplifying its threat with every passing second!

Until she stepped into the light….

Relief replaced fear; To Fan Mel 0.2 was waiting for her in the flickering warmth of ancient gas globes. Amber lights illuminated the reassurance of its sturdy strength.

R Sen Ik 0.2 winced, the glass dug deeper into her flesh! Was she seeing things?

A man in a gunmetal grey trench coat stepped out of To Fan Mel 0.2, a wide brimmed fedora hat obscured his face, but R Sen Ik 0.2 knew that his eyes were trained on her. A ghost of a smile teased his thin lips as he rocked back on his

boots, waiting for R Sen Ik 0.5 to come up to him. This was not the first time that Byom Kes 0.2 had followed and found R Sen Ik 0.2; To Fan Mel 0.2’s contented purr indicated that it was quite familiar with such scenarios.

R Sen Ik 0.2 appeared more exasperated than pleased, “Trust you, to keep finding me     again, and again and again. What brings you here now? Summer-

Smith is growing impatient, is he?”

Byom Kes 0.2 detected the underlying current of insecurity in her voice; he knew that her portfolio was meant to handle a collision course of life and death. Was it too much for her now? She looked ready to snap! His eyes scanned the faces of the motley crew gathered around her. He noted the dazed expression on their faces as he herded them into the security of To Fan Mel 0.2; and then, ignoring R Sen Ik 0.2’s displeasure, he slid into the driver’s seat!

Hairline cracks, hissing steam spread out on the cobblestone road as Byom Kes

0.2 executed a sharp turn. The map on the dashboard glowed amber once again, directing him towards moving tracks embedded deep within passageways guarded by copper-plated lions. Hidden hatches opened up exposing smuggling routes powered by subterranean engines; To Fan Mel 0.2 sped away from the series of explosions that shook Kal Edge St 0.2, ripping it out of existence from all the maps in the planetary system.

“The fragility of human knowledge” Rin2 sighed, coated in a thin layer of ashes, he was almost unrecognizable, “A case of sheer neglect and fanaticism erasing centuries of wisdom”

“What about Bill2?” Mon2 shrieked, anger and pain serrated her voice “We lost him too, didn’t we?”

“We lost him” Lal2 agreed, her voice sounded dull and dead, “Maybe Sip E 0.2 as well? He used to frequent Kal Edge St 0.2 quite a bit! Without any prospect of finding him, there is no way that we can edit Pol2 or Bill2’s fate!”

“Fates can be edited?” Byom Kes 0.2 seemed to find the idea amusing, “Its as good as pinning your hopes on a miraculous afterlife while vandalizing the present one!”

“Who gave you this idea?” Cocking his head at an uncomfortable angle he eyed the three women huddling together in the back seat. Their tattered clothes and sooty skin conjured strange images in his mind. The three weird sisters

equivocating with Macbeth? Plotting mischief potent enough to impact the fate of nations?

“I wouldn’t stretch it to witchcraft” R Sen Ik 0.2 cut across his thoughts with the hostility of a pair of newly sharpened scissors!

What an uncanny resemblance to the third Fate Sister, Byom Kes 0.2 thought! Atropos, the daughter of Nyx, the inflexible cutter, sharpening her shears? But Byom Kes reined in his galloping thoughts, choosing discretion over suspicion!

R Sen Ik 0.2 cast a baleful glare at Rin2, the fountainhead of all troubles! How did she let herself be so hopelessly beguiled by a string of false hopes? Mental flagellation was useless, she charged at Byom Kes 0.2 instead, “You failed to answer my query. Why are you here?”

The eyes beneath the fedora hat remained evasive, he had no words to explain that in this world of shifting allegiance there was no single version of an answer that would stand the test of being correct, honest, true? He chose a populist response, “I like being at the eye of the storm, R Sen Ik 0.2. Storms follow you, wherever you go, I merely chased you to the latest storm. I have clicked enough pictures to last me a lifetime!” He pulled out a camera from one of the pockets of his trench coat; wrapped in weathered leather, the camera looked more like a Victorian relic than any functioning equipment “Now that Kal Edge St 0.2 is as extinct as the great library of Alexandria, my camera is ready to take on any new challenge you throw its way!”

“Vish Kanya? Wrecking doom wherever she goes?” Rin2 drawled, looking straight at Byom Kes 0.2 through the rearview mirror, “You are following her footsteps? So, what does that make you? Do we cast you in the role of Doctor Doom?”

The irreverence of his questions irritated Byom Kes 0.2, the mocking tone got to his nerves. His eyes kept swinging back to Rin2’s ring, it looked bafflingly familiar yet strangely alien on Rin2’s puffy fingers. He would have liked to think about it at great length, but his musings were interrupted by Mon2.

Mon2’s grief had died a quiet death the moment she espied Byom Kes 0.2’s camera. Conscious of the fact that she never looked elegant while crying, she dried up her tears and focused her attention on Byom Kes 0.2, “Are you leading the Fourth Estate this Sumwin season?”

R Sen Ik 0.2 was shocked, was Mon2 actually batting her eyes at Byom Kes 0.2? Trust Mon2 to think about press-coverage in the midst of escalating chaos! And she was as discreet as a battering ram tearing down a Trojan wall, “Your best bet of shooting to instantaneous fame is to interview me, you know? Now that Bill2 is dead, I’m the only bankable star in this sad and sorry crew!”

Mon2’s tall claims did not sit well with Lal2. She had always found Mon2’s lust for fame insufferable, especially when she conveniently chose to ignore the significant contribution of all the other actors to make the movie a super hit. But Lal2 was not just any other run of the mill actor, she was a force to reckon with as well as a seasoned politician. Her parliamentary speeches in the pre-apocalyptic era were rousing enough to make your blood boil, inspiring you to charge at windmills like Don Quixote, setting aside the actual crisis of diurnal lives. So, while small things remained unsolvable, her motto was to shift attention to larger-than-life targets, triggering fanaticism to explain the incomprehensible! She knew she was the master of the game!

“Self-proclaimed star!” Lal2 scoffed, “That’s what you are! Gloat as you may, but don’t forget that popularity is always decreed by the masses. They decide whether you are a star or a nincompoop!”

“Nincompoop?” Mon2 sounded scandalized! As if following suit, To Fan Mel

0.2 went berserk around the implication, small pieces of mirrors perched like clockwork jewelry on the dashboard fixated on the word, scrambling crazily to get a thesaurus interpretation. Amber lights blinked frantically until the meaning was unearthed         “Foolish! Not of sound mind!”

“Why am I not surprised?” Rin2 muttered, trying to move out of the range of the squabble before it erupted into a full-blown post-apocalyptic fight! But his mass and volume proved to be an impediment! He tried a different tack, “If we all agree that the decision of the masses is the final call, lets find them! Doctor Doom can perhaps ask To Fan Mel 0.2 to cut the power from the crazy mirrors? Focus instead, on the remote sensing radar to figure out the highest concentration of masses in this blasted heath!”

Scarcely did Byom Kes 0.2 echo the command, “Find” the dashboard morphed into a cathedral of brass and shadows, obscure gauges ticked into spasmodic life, watchful eyes glowing a curious amber. The lights pulsed, almost like the breathing of a sentient entity and a simple engraving appeared for a second on one of the dials; “Sha Id Mnr 0.2”.

The very name induced a shiver, the Sha Id Mnr 0.2 ground was renowned to be the mecca of all political rallies. Byom Kes 0.2’s hands on the steering wheel turned icy cold. But To Fan Mel 0.2 had found its focus, ignoring Byom Kes 0.2’s misgivings, it charged headlong like a crazy crusader. As the vehicle set its own course, distant chimes tolled, deep, deliberate and ominous. Was it counting time, or was it counting fears?

Day 2.75

The crowd surged forward. A rising tide of weathered skin and frayed shirts, held together with copper buttons and dusty chappals struggling to find ground beneath their soles. An unexpected mist curled up from subterranean sources, creeping through invisible fissures, flowing around their feet like ghostly shackles. The air thrummed with the dissonance of a thousand opinions clashing against each other, trying to find that one elusive moment of silence to be heard above the din. Clockwork megaphones blared to life, amplifying the discontent as the crowd swelled around Sha Id Mnr 0.2. The tower rose above them like a brooding ogre recording every heartbeat. It noticed the raised fists, listened impassively to the voices of protest powered by memory and courage as the crowd moved as one, representing the stubborn will of people who refused to be quiet anymore.

In the smoke-choked sky above Sha Id Mnr 0.2, a hot air balloon, a copper and canvas leviathan bristling with spinning propellers, rusted gadgets and pulleys, drifted in slowly. A rider garbed in a leather jacket, his face obscured by a pair of huge goggles leaned out of the basket. The ballon swayed in the wind, shivering slightly as it moved down closer to the crowd; the rhythmic pulse of its engine mingled with the chaos of the voices beneath. Voices that grew hoarse by the moment, chanting slogans, hurling obscenities as they called out for the Summer-Smith, the master of the Sumwin season.

The lone rider leant out further from the basket of the balloon, removing his goggles to reveal his face. The crowd gasped!

The boy stood small, barely awake, barely alert, tinkering with a miniscule gear driven contraption on his wrist. A timepiece that had somehow betrayed him! All he wanted was to sleep, but Comet Sat Y Jit 0.2 had ruined all his plans, overturning the Winsum season with one fiery blast and dragging Sumwin out of hibernation. The boy felt inadequate, immature, insecure! What was his role now? Was he the hunter or the hunted? Confusion clouded his face, the world beneath him appeared like a puzzle he was expected to solve.

“Why are you here boy?” a voice thundered out of one of the megaphones, “The 0.2 realm never had any time for children! Go back where you came from, it’s the Summer-Smith we want!”

“Go back, go back!” the crowd howled, gathering impetus like a living engine led by amber lights. Rat tailed banners rose above their heads, fluttering on brass poles. Their voices cut across the air with the sharpness of hostile metal; somewhere deep inside the heart of the chaos, a drum started beating. Faint, yet relentless, seemingly poised on the brink of a medieval sacrifice, baying for blood, summoning the Summer-Smith.

The boy recognized the drumbeat, springing to alertness in an instant. The deep boom of Dundubhi 0.2 chased aways the last vestiges of sleep from his eyes. The significance of the Vedic war-drum was not unknown to him. A sudden chill invaded his heart; he would have to speak!

“Planet 0.2” the boy began; his voice trembled, soft and hesitant, “Before you unleash the dogs of war, can you spare a moment to listen to me? The wastelands of your memories, the ashes of your dreams have painted me a villain! But will you not allow me to defend myself?”

The world held its breath! The last echoes died out! The crowd forgot to move. The crowd forgot to speak. The absence of sound roared louder than thunder. The boy leant forward, gravitating earthwards, his face a pale canvas of anxiety, “I am the Master of the Sumwin season. I am Summer-Smith”

The silence beneath him stretched, vibrating with everything left unsaid, “I am Summer-Smith” the boy repeated, as if in need of reassurance, “Through all the cycles of Sumwin and Winsum, I have waited, trying to build my strength. But, as you can all see, I’m still a boy, the brief tenures of Sumwin in this post-apocalyptic heath has stunted my growth. I have lost my powers to make the planet green; I have lost the urge to direct rivers to warble past fields full of golden corn, tempt apple orchards to bear fruit, charm the woodlands to burst into flowers”

He stopped, drawing a short, ragged breath, “The planet resists me! It turns a cold shoulder” He leant down further, stretching out a thin, pale hand, pointing at the crowd, “You resist me!”

He could hear the distant hum of blood in his ears, but he could not stop now, “Every time you awake from your memory membranes you choose the worst

versions of yourselves; bickering, betraying, bludgeoning hope until all that remains is distress, distrust, dismay! You do nothing that would make the Sumwin season grow, you do nothing to help me grow! So, I have retreated again and again and again, seeking the oblivion that Winsum season brings. The stasis of the Winsum season calms me, just as it calms you all! No hopes, no expectations, no food to forage, no fear of starvation, no knowledge to preserve, no ideals to die for, no love to live for! Just sleep the Winsum sleep!”

The crowd shifted, rolling like waves on an electro-magnetic ocean, charged up with blue and purple grief particles that appeared like welts on their skin. An unexpected blast of cold air hit them, flowing in from the river; the amber lights flickered, “We did not ask to be awakened! We did not ask for hunger as a slow poison” a lone voice broke the chain of silence, “Free will works only for a handful of oligarchs like you. You put us to sleep because there is no food on this planet! You awaken us only to reassert your omnipotence and harangue us about our incompetence!” The rage in his voice was palpable, veins under his skin throbbed blue-black as he craned his neck to look up to the humongous density of the balloon that hung like a blight over their existence. “You need the populace to lord over, isn’t it? Without us you are the Master of Nothing!

Shunya!”

“Shunya! Shunya! Shunya!” The crowd chanted, Dundubhi 0.2 picked up the ominous beat.

“You say you are the Summer-Smith? You appear as a young boy to arouse our maternal instincts and get away with murder? Leave us to starve on this heath while you fly off in your fancy balloon?” a woman shouted, grabbing a megaphone, “You couldn’t have played it worse, the only instinct left with us is the survival instinct! Nothing more, nothing less!”

Summer-Smith drew back, flinching away from the raw intensity of her hatred. Deep in his heart he knew that her anger was justified, but the present state of the Sumwin season was way beyond his control!

“Planet 0.2” he tried to appeal to the crowd, one last time, “I have tried to break the pattern this time!”

“How?” the crowd howled back. The tension in the air tightened around the monosyllabic query, ready to snap at any moment.

“Comet Sat Y Jit 0.2 has infused life into the strangest of things!” Summer-Smith’s voice cut across the fumes of animosity, “Its not only you, the denizens of the memory membrane who have been brought back to life, the comet fire has burnt away the hard lines between facts and fantasy!” His eyes scanned the horizon, as if he was expecting fantastical creatures to appear any second, “I have sent out To Fan Mel 0.2 to bring back popular characters, the ones whom you have loved in movies or in literature. You have always looked up to them, haven’t you? Admired their larger-than-life stature, the most exalted manifestations in the great chain of beings? Will you not allow them to inspire you to a different state of being? Break away from the apathy of the sleep/wake pattern that has led to our ruination?”

“To Fan Mel 0.2 is hunting for fictional characters?” the woman sounded dubious, she had heard about the Summer-Smith’s fantastical vehicle, a shapeshifter that could morph into a train, a plane or a car as required, “Looks like you are calling for a willing suspension of disbelief!”

“If nothing else, To Fan Mel 0.2 can carry us out of this nightmare, back to our memory membranes!” someone muttered.

“Whose balloon are you riding Summer-Smith? Does that not belong to Winter-Birch? You have such unholy alliances!” another voice shouted out, “We have nothing but sore feet and tired muscles, not fair!”

“Not fair! Not Fair! Not Fair!” the crowd chanted mechanically, Dundubhi 0.2 rolled again.

Was it his imagination or was there an icy note of a shiver in the drumbeat? An imperceptible warning? Summer-Smith cocked his ears to listen, leaning down from the basket to see exactly where Dundubhi 0.2 was positioned. It was then that he saw it; just behind the war-drum, on the faint line of the Sumwin horizon, the cantilever bridge that always glows as green as Gatsby’s green-light, was slowly losing its colour. The green blanched into a tired sepia, then it started to turn white! As white as death, as white as ice!

A thin moan escaped Summer-Smith’s lips, the air around him gobbled it up, licked its chops and waited for more. He tried to speak, but the words fluttered around his jaws, squashed by the violence of a set of chattering teeth. He tried to breathe, but the air seemed so rarefied!

Down on the ground, the crowd was still chanting, “Not fair, not fair!” The wild rolls of Dundubhi 0.2 crashed suddenly and all that could be heard now was the sound of a hundred pairs of teeth rattling like coins in a beggar’s cup. The slogan shifted, slowly becoming a dirge as their voices cracked into shards! All that remained of “Not Fair” was “No Air! No Air! No Air!”

“Nooooooooooo” a silent scream detonated inside the cranial cavity of Summer-Smith’s head. His flock of protesters had moved so far away from the safety of their memory membranes, there was no chance in hell that they could outrun the air crunch, survive the vicious ice that was spreading out its wings like a vindictive carrion bird. The very thought made him dizzy; he scanned the horizon again. Where was To Fan Mel 0.2 when he needed it the most?

A sharp tap on his shoulders made Summer-Smith spin around. He would have toppled over, crashed into the crowd, had he not been pulled back by a pair of strong arms. Winter-Birch intervened, he had been waiting patiently in the shadows, hoping against hope that Summer-Smith would be able to save his people, but they were running out of time! They were running out of air!

Unlike Summer-Smith’s frail form, Winter-Birch was a muscular young man; through all the long stretches of the Winsum seasons he had built up strength and knowledge. Silence was his preferred medium, but he was quick to leap into action when needed. Gears creaked, levers snapped as he twitched the pressure dials, whispering a combination of arcane numbers; finally, the balloon responded, slowly ascending far over the Sha Id Mnr 0.2, rising like a brass-corseted moon, setting out for distant constellations.

The great dirge beneath them shriveled to a gasp of collective incredulity! The protesters remained frozen to their spot, turning into statuettes of ice and snow, their eyes fixed on the balloon that was floating away.

“You chose flight” Summer-Smith’s voice sounded as dead as the planet they were trying to leave behind.

“What was left to fight for?” Winter-Birch responded, his attention was fixed on checking the clockwork altimeter. The balloon rose steadily. The world below them shrank into a patchwork quilt of black and white, long stretches of ice surrounded by murky waters!

“This is not the traditional changeover of Sumwin to Winsum that we are looking at!” Winter-Birch pulled out a greatcoat from a brass trunk, covering

Summer-Smith with its reassuring warmth, “This is the onset of an Ice Age, triggered by the extensive durations of the Winsum season! Even the ferocity of the comet fire could not fight it off!”

“An Ice Age?” Summer-Smith whispered, berating his own lack of strength to check the icy invasion, “How long does an Ice Age last?”

Winter-Birch knew that Summer-Smith would not like the answer, but there was simply no point in living in denial, “The Pleistocene Epoch, the last ice age that I know of lasted 2.6 million years! I am not sure how long this one will last?”

“Or how long we will last?” Summer-Smith sighed.

“Such conjectures will lead us nowhere” Winter-Birch dragged out a voluminous book from another weather-beaten trunk. It was a relic from a lost civilization, maybe in a million years, he would finish reading it too. He flipped open the first page and settled down to read the first volume of “The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire” by Edward Gibbon.

Meanwhile, Summer-Smith fiddled with his great coat, counting the brass buttons and trying to fix a suitably erudite name for the million-year monster that was invading his planet. “The Gelidocene Age” was his final choice.

Winter-Birch had to agree that it was an exceptionally apt name for the frozen age that had just ambushed them!

Day 2.76

The invasion was like the march of a stealthy army!

It started with a pale dusting of snow on the withered shrubs, a white sugar crust blown in by a bristling wind. The flakes crept along the abandoned roads, filling in the hard geometry of the cobblestones with insidious intent.

The weathervanes on To Fan Mel 0.2’s dashboard slowed down; its subdued clicking sounds consumed by a steady hush. The steering column creaked; the brass dials locating Sha Id Mnr 0.2 erupted into a whirlwind of violent white dots before blanking out completely. To Fan Mel 0.2 screeched to a halt, dislodging Byom Kes 0.2 from the driver’s seat. An emergency siren jutted out from the dashboard, emitting a deep, spiraling howl!

R Sen Ik 0.2 leapt into the driver’s seat, pushing Byom Kes 0.2 out of her way. The indicators flared a brutal scarlet, orchestrating its distress in tandem with the siren’s shriek. The vehicle started vibrating with an intense urgency, as if a living engine was crying out for help.

“To Fan Mel 0.2 seems to have lost all connection with the Summer-Smith” R Sen Ik 0.2’s face thrummed with tension as she tried to shut out the siren, “Which basically means that we have been cut adrift!”

“Of what help has the Summer-Smith been to us till now?” Rin2 shouted above the blare of the siren, “By the look of things he hasn’t even been able to hold up more than two days of Sumwin!”

“We were supposed to help him” R Sen Ik 0.2 shouted back, “He wanted popular figures like you to lead and inspire the limited population that is still left on Planet 0.2. He was banking on your star appeal to enamour the masses!”

“It’s difficult to beguile a starving nation with success stories of other people! They can’t eat your razmataz and star status!” Byom Kes 0.2 had seen the hunger on the roads. Skeletal shapes, eyes hollowed with waiting, flesh corroded

by need. The air around such creatures felt too little, too thin. “Summer-Smith might be immature enough to believe in fairy tales, unfortunately it does not belong to this world!”

“The fault in his stars!” Rin2 cackled with unholy laughter, drawing furious glances from Mon2 and Lal2.

Was it Rin2’s wicked humour, or Byom Kes 0.2’s slander that made To Fan Mel 0.2 cut out the racket and focus on its ungrateful passengers? Whatever the reason, the brass panels on the dashboard shuddered, as if responding to the intensity of the cold that was creeping up. The gears gnashed their panels noisily, copper plates began to sink inwards, the clockwork machinery rumbled with agitation as it was tucked away. With every petrified breath, the vehicle kept shrinking; the heart of the engine emitted a low groan, withdrawing from a world that was rapidly spinning out of control. The brass ribs along To Fan Mel 0.2’s interior kept losing its shape and structure like a deflated balloon, inch by deliberate inch. The roof sank lower, intent on crushing the passengers, with each grinding spasm the vehicle threatened to steal inches from their bodies.

The click of receding gears echoed in the diminishing space like human bones snapping under duress.

Mon2 could not scream; screaming would take up space! Desperate to find a way out, she struggled with one of the door handles; throwing Rin2 out would solve the crunch, temporarily at least. But the lock could not be opened, To Fan Mel 0.2 tightened its grip, there was nowhere left to go.

Rin2 tried to twist sideways, but his joints seemed frozen to the spot, unwieldy, non-negotiable; his body was a problem. His body became his enemy. The roof dipped towards his face, his arms pinned down in a relentless embrace. Was To Fan Mel 0.2 trying to manage him? The very thought infuriated Rin2, rage fisted at his heart like a block of solid metal; if he ever folded under pressure, it would be of his own free will! With grim determination he held on to his flesh!

“All that you have to let go is your massive ego, Rin2”, R Sen Ik 0.2 watched with horror as the windshield webbed into a thousand hair-line cracks, “You have stayed in the dimensions of your character long enough, don’t you think its time to let go now?” She rasped, choking and fighting for air, her lips turning blue with compression.

They kept diminishing, bit by bit, trapped within the vehicle, as if being punished for being alive. “Fame is ephemeral Rin2” Byom Kes 0.2 pleaded as their breaths became shorter, “Let go!”

Let go? The words hammered against his brain. It was this frame, this corpulence that had brought him fame. If he slid back to his previous shape, would anyone recognize him? Would that not be too much to sacrifice? Yet as the shrinking continued, cruel and merciless, windowpanes frosted over, the world turned colourless, he knew he had no more time left. With the wary precision of a surgeon about to operate on a loved one, Rin2 pressed the centre stone of the multi-faceted ring on his finger. The miniature clocks and screws surrounding the ruby hummed into action.

A thin sheen of sweat broke out on his temples; heat marched like the soldiers of a marauding army spreading out across his body, melting the frontiers of his flesh. His face became gaunt, cheekbones jutting out like a death mask; the muscle tissues in his neck sloughed off revealing a scrawny scruff. The strained buttons on his chest, subsided with a thankful sigh; his ribs, freed from the burden of an impossible weight found space to breathe again, his rotund shape deflated and rearranged itself.

The ruby on Rin2’s finger glowed like a summer sun, until all that remained was the narrowest version of the man, pale and heartbreakingly fragile, sitting in the same seat inhabited by his larger self. The ring had edited him to a brief paragraph, a cursory narrative, an unfinished letter. But now, there was perfect harmony between the shape-shifting vehicle and the shape-shifting man.

Survival of the fittest in this case also meant survival of the smallest.

The others watched him deplete in silence, filled with the treachery of relief. Somewhere, buried deep within the dashboard, the machinery purred, as if satisfied with the size of an exquisitely small car. The excess had to be chipped off, To Fan Mel 0.2 would have to function on bare minimum resources, stranded as it was, like a condemned entity as ice converged in jagged slabs, swallowing the road ahead. It was then that the car started fighting back, heat crawled up its copper veins, its engine thumped to vigorous life, To Fan Mel 0.2 was not ready to die yet.

A jagged fissure opened up, as the ice cracked beneath the wheels of the car. The headlights snapped back to attention, penetrating the blizzard with furious intent, lunging into a realm of frozen uncertainty. In the sharpness of the amber

lights, the passengers were left to grapple with the death throes of people abandoned on the road.

A woman, standing near a half-buried frangipani grove, waved at them. Frost, resembling wisps of wrinkled lace converged on her face, etching delicate patterns on her cheeks; her eyelashes seemed as frozen as pikestaff braving an arctic winter. Her voice froze mid-shout, emerging as a glittering arc suspended from her lips. She tried to take a step forward, but the inflexibility of frosted limbs made movement impossible. A tiny fissure appeared just below her chin, almost as neat as a straight line; she cracked and froze at the same time.

A few miles down the icy wilderness, they saw a boy trying to revive his frozen sister. His tears had turned to icicles, serrating the skin on his face with the sharpness of a dozen knives. He tried to say something, but the words froze on the tip of his tongue, trapped in the icy chamber of his mouth; prisoners without any hope of escape in a million years. He froze, mid-word, mid-glance, mid-breath; finally, all that was left was a macabre Pieta like crystal statuette of a grieving brother with a dead sister on his lap.

“This is not a mere transition to Winsum” R Sen Ik 0.2 averted her eyes from the road that was swiftly evolving into a graveyard of frozen lives, “This is mayhem, this is a bloody massacre!”

To Fan Mel 0.2 latched on to the trauma implicit in her words, frantically searching for an answer. In the matter of a few seconds an almost invisible dial on the dashboard started blinking on and off! “Ice Age Warning!”

R Sen Ik 0.2 looked down at her hands, freezing on the steering wheel; terror overtook her sensibilities, the idea of a never-ending age of nothingness encompassed her being!

Byom Kes 0.2 shrank back from the frosted windows; was he imagining strange shapes on the horizon? Mountains of ice moving towards To Fan Mel 0.2? A slow, remorseless march, grinding away everything that blocked its path.

Lal2 pressed her face against the window. She noticed how the snowflakes drifting through the air looked more like volcanic ash intent on erasing the last vestiges of life on the planet. The realization pulverized her with a heaviness so absolute that she nearly forgot to breathe.

“Ice Age! Ice Age! Ice Age!” the dial kept blinking. To Fan Mel 0.2 swiveled away from the path of the moving mountains, moving out into the great unknown.

“Milankovitch cycle completed?” Rin2 hazarded a guess, “The planet wobbles like a spinning top, once in every twenty-three thousand years, it tilts on its axis completing a forty-one-thousand-year cycle. The defunct Sumwin seasons ensured that the snow never melted fully, it piled up, turned into ice and spread out!”

“Lack of human activity during the prolonged Winsum seasons have led to a rapid drop of greenhouse gases too” Byom Kes 0.2 shivered, “It’s the humans who add carbon dioxide to the atmosphere, overwhelming the natural cooling cycles!”

“Humans sleeping in memory membranes sans fuel emissions, sans factories, sans power sources have triggered this great betrayal. Once the cooling starts, it amplifies in leaps and bounds; ice reflects sunlight leading to more cooling, more ice; oceans turn to ice absorbing carbon dioxide, again leading to more cooling!” Rin2 was dead sure that they were not outrunning a storm, or waiting for a thaw, “Caught out of their sleeping pods humans are defenseless against this reign of ice!”

“Are we travelling through the bones of a lost world? A doomed planet?” Mon2 felt the numbness creep into her bloodstream as her eyes shied away from the great freeze ‘Are we the only ones to survive?” Questions rattled off her head on their own volition. Abrasive, hovering on the brink of an abyss she was not yet ready to explore, “How long do you think we are going to last in this minimalized To Fan Mel 0.2 version?”

“Are we the only ones to survive?” Lal2 repeated like an automaton, “Is it because we are fictional characters? What was never alive can never die? It’s only the physical body that is enchained to birth, death, transformation, isn’t it?”

“Yes, this is the best of times to take recourse to philosophy!” R Sen Ik 0.2 muttered, “Or the worst of times?”

“We are such stuff as dreams are made on” Byom Kes 0.2 harked back to a classic Shakespearean line, “We are alive as long as human memory keeps us alive! Without them we are as good as dead!”

“Our revels now are ended!” Rin2 lamented; this was not the time to think about survival, instead he thought about remembering. If only they could leave imprints on this frozen planet, a script to be discovered and read in the distant future.    if there ever was one!

Together, they hummed songs, shared anecdotes of their families, loved ones they had lost on the way. They remembered the names of seas and rivers; names of countries they had visited so many moons ago. Nostalgia filled the air, redolent of meals cooked by mothers and grandmothers long long ago! Piping hot mutton curry with bowls of rice, plum cakes in December with warm cups of Horlicks and Marie biscuits!

As memories connected past and present, fact and fiction, truth and lies, the dial on the dashboard began blinking again. This time the information simply read “The Gelidocene Age”

Was it Summer-Smith or Winter-Birch who was sending the signal? R Sen Ik

0.2 really did not know, what she knew was Summer-Smith’s uncanny penchant for naming things! The kid had a colonial hangover that even the post-apocalyptic planet had not been able to erase!

She craned her neck, trying to look up through the frosted windscreen. Was it her imagination or did she actually see a small speck on the distant horizons that looked like a balloon? Or was it just another flake of snow? Before she could make out anything clearly, To Fan Mel 0.2 initiated the last restructure, shifting its shape to an iron armoured beetle readying itself for an Armageddon. It moved with the slow, measured pace of an unassuming insect placed in the lowest gradation of the Great Chain of Beings.

“All is not lost” The dial blinked again, glowing amber with a Miltonian prophecy. The steady hum of the armoured beetle called for “Courage never to submit or yield” rallying the spirit of its passengers to ready themselves to outlive the Gelidocene Age. Silence descended on the car; one by one the passengers fell asleep; the hibernation mode had been activated.

The dial blinked for one last time, “Alarm set for version 0.3” and the wait of a million years or more started on an optimistic note.