A NOLAN

© A Nolan 2018.
All Rights Reserved.
Contents
 Story Structure

Lord Krishna is a complex character to right for. And so

should be his depiction.
We read the influence of other characters on Krishna,
and vice-versa. Sandipani challenges Krishna’s
understanding of the world. J.A.R.A challenges Krishna’s
philosophies as they share similar origin. Yashoda’s love
influences Krishna’s decisions.
The theme, if I successfully portrayed, is Guilt. The 4-
corner opposition: Krishna, J.A.R.A, Kamsa and Bajpai
have their unique take on the subject.
Krishna learns and understands. J.A.R.A uses guilt as a
weapon. Kamsa chooses to bury his guilt of consciously
hurting his sister. Bajpai chooses to live in fear. These
different philosophical conflicts give us a wide range of
possibilities to make a story.
In the end, the story follows a four act structure. Each
act ends when Krishna makes an irrevocable decision.
In the first act: we see Krishna struggling with his guilt,
and we get little hints of his past. It ends when Krishna
chooses to join Sandipani for the betterment of
humanity.
In the second act: we explore Krishna’s past in
flashbacks. We find why he’s so grim and wanted to be
left alone. The act ends when he decides to get to his
parents by attacking J.A.R.A himself, and yadee-yad-
yadaa … destruction.
In the third act: we see him train, get over his guilt, and
Radha changing his dark character. It ends when he
discovers about the failing Vrindavan and attack on his
beloved mother; and chooses to get back to his world.
In the fourth act: we see him getting back to Vrindavan,
killings, emotions … and him planning against J.A.R.A. It
ends with the entire story.
We use two symbols to represent the transition from
one scene to another.

In realtime: When Krishna’s an adult.

Flashbacks: When Krishna’s a teenager.

 <Space>
For quick transitions.

Concepts, we may use:

DNA Computing
End of Silicon Era
Climate Change
A.I. by Stephen Hawking
A.I. by Michio Kaku
Type 0.7 Civilization

Spacetime
Spacetime by Brian Greene
Antimatter
Fourth dimension by Neil Tyson

Death of our Solar System

Hope you’ll love this journey as much as I do.

Humans have been growing since the Stone Age and
they still continue to. With Moore’s law, Silicon era, and
many more; we have become a 0.7 type civilization.
Perhaps, a type–1 civilization as the decades roll. We’ll
be using DNA computers instead of silicon one’s. Will
have established a small colony on Mars. Will be using
self-driving cars.
But will the earth forgive us for what we left behind?
Will it not choose to stab us in the back, reason being
we assaulted her for decades?
The Climate Change is the reason oceans are rising 8
inches per year, the global carbon content is higher than
it has been in a million years. Will we really be able to
step over all this?
And what if our worst fears, regarding Artificial
Intelligence, become a fact in the same hour.
 KRISHNA
Son of Vasudev and Devaki. Adopted by
Nanda and Yashoda.

RADHA
Member of Vishnu. A friend of Krishna’s.

NANDA
Father of Krishna. Husband of Yashoda.
Brother of Vasudev. Former President of
AIC.

YASHODA
 Mother of Krishna. Wife of Nanda. A
Biologist.

BALRAM
Brother of Krishna. Programmer.

VASUDEV
CEO of AIC. Brother of Nanda. Husband of
Devaki.

DEVAKI
Wife of Vasudev. Sister of Kamsa.

KAMSA
Brother of Devaki. AIC’s Product
developer.

J.A.R.A
Half human – half robot, created by Dr
Jara.

SANDIPANI
 Leader of Vishnu. Krishna’s mentor.

Dr Jara
Creator of J.A.R.A.

BARAM
Former Scientist. Owner of Baram’s juice
shop.

MADHU
A friend of Krishna’s. An aspiring
architect.

SRIDAM
A friend of Krishna’s. Professional
bookworm.

AARAS
Unable to walk, but able to compute for
hours.

AMBROSE
Resident of Central African Republic.
Later helped Krishna to clean up the
country.

OSMIN
Krishna’s room partner in Iceland.

MAGANDH
Minister of Mathura.
 Year 2030, Mathura

‘This is suicide, Vasu,’ yelled Nanda. ‘This is what you call

innovation! A million trillion calculation per second?
One day our doom would be calculated as well. I am
getting out.’
‘Nanda,’ pleaded Vasudev. ‘You’re a smart guy yourself.
They can go out of control only if we programme them
to. Please, the A.I.C has to make profit, too.’
‘Profit? At what price? This is not work, Vasu. This is
slavery.’
‘Please—’
‘No,’ said Nanda, plainly. ‘I won’t be a puppet to these
maniacs. I am leaving.’
‘Wait, Nanda! Nanda!’

The Sun, shining over the aptly warm Mathura, was to

set behind the mountains. Leaving an orange glow along
the horizon.
Vasudev was the only one in Artificial Intelligence
Centre of Mathura, who liked to lay his eyes on the
horizon every day. Always appreciating a cup of coffee
in his hands in this hour of the day.
He gaped at the empty half of the bench … absence of
his brother still makes his lonely soul throb.
It seemed only yesterday, when he and Nanda could see
an emerging AIC. India (along with a dozen other
nations) suffering from refugee blast, could breathe a
sigh of relief.
Sea levels had risen, swallowing the coastal
population’s homes. A.I.C designed machines that
would make 130% better decisions than humans, by
doing millions of trillions of calculations per second …
could work way faster than them. Skyscrapers rose in
matter of months (rather than years). And since they
were made by robots, they were embraced by the
people (they were affordable).
A.I.C’s golden years had just begun … and big MNCs
popped up before Vasudev with billion dollar
investment plans. Consequently, 2035 turned out to be
great for AIC’s shareholders but a nightmare for
Vasudev. He indeed, was now the centre of Artificial
Intelligence, but at the steep price of Nanda.
Although, Nanda was with him until … AIC agreed to
make Artificial Intelligence commercial with Kamsa’s –
Vasudev’s wife’s brother – Mat Co.
‘You’re commercialising a nuclear bomb!’ Nanda’s
words still echoed in his head.
Vasudev gulped down the last of his coffee.
Though he couldn’t ignore the demonic shade of AI, he
knew there is no direct switch to activate the evil eye.
Like movies, there was no way you could programme a
chip in days and plug in the chaos. The programme
would be very complicated to be made in a short time.
Furthermore, AI would only go evil when it’d cross the
intelligence of monkeys, concluding humans their task
hurdle. Monkeys could formulate their own plans, they
don’t need any instructions.
Though AI could do more operations than him, it had an
intelligence of a dog that second … there was no way it’d
take over until next century.
RIIIIIIIIIING!
Vasudev hopped to his feet. It couldn’t be our bell.
Unfortunately, it was. A warning text popped up on his
mobile screen – Security breach in Li Sector –
with a map pinned up.

‘Someone’s messing with the energy grid,’ yelled

Kamsa, watching Vasudev dashing towards him.
The gigantic hemispherical headquarters of AIC was
witnessing utter confusion under its roof. A backup
team had already started working on the systems.
Surprisingly, it took seconds to discern the stealing of
huge sums of energy from the grid. Whoever this black
hat was, he didn’t care about getting caught.
‘How the hell did you come down here?’ said Vasudev,
surprised, but taking control of the system at the same
time. ‘Only I have the authorisation and passkey to this
place.’
‘There is no time to be a detective, Vasudev,’ said
Kamsa, visibly sweaty. ‘Someone’s smuggling the energy
out.’
The energy data, on the screen, was as though freely
falling at an alarming rate.
‘Search for this rat’s burrow!’ said Vasudev, urgently.
‘It will take time – we’ll have to request permission from
five countries to analyse their satellite data.’
‘Why? We have … You work on the data. I’ll return in a
while,’ Vasudev glowered at Kamsa suspiciously, and
scrambled through the gates.
The crinkle of worry on Kamsa’s face was gone. He
looked more confident and satisfied with himself.
‘Fellas,’ he announced. ‘Clear the space.’
Three men in white coats, leaned over computers,
quitely drew guns out of their coats, and shot other
bewildered scientists. Over their dead bodies, the fake
researchers hauled a body. Half human-half robot. As
they settled him on a chair, Kamsa plugged in a chord.
The Li facility sparked, and the robot’s blue socket
flickered to life.
Chaos – summarisation of what was happening out of
the AIC. The employees, trespassers or the pic-geeks,
everyone was tussling their way away from the centre.
It was as though ghouls were lurking among them,
restoring humans to their old savage nature. Sirens
screamed from yards.
Vasudev wrestled his way, getting smacked by elbows
or shoulders, to his house across the ground.
‘Let me through!’ he yelled, pushing or sometimes
knocking people down.
‘Sorry – Devaki!’ he called, closing his house’s door
behind. ‘Devaki!’
The entire hall was ghost-quiet. Lights were out, gloom
had taken over as though the house was abandoned
years ago.
Perhaps that was fine … perhaps it was only his mind …
Devaki might be asleep in their bedroom. Patting his
chest lightly, Vasudev raced up to their room. ‘Devaki!
Devaki! What happened to you?’
Devaki, his wife, was laying on the ground, knocked out.
Their infant son, laying under her shawl, was smiling
uncannily at him. ‘Come here, my boy. No worries. Baba
is here.’
Vasudev settled him in the chair beside, and grabbed
Devaki’s arm … it was, to his relief, pulsing okay. ‘Devaki,
wake up …’
He gently shook her awake. Only god knew, how
solacing it was to watch her blink.
‘Vasudev … it’s Kamsa … my brother Kamsa … he stole
the DNA codes to break in …’ she mumbled, her lips
shaking out of frail.
Vasudev glared at her for a second, turned towards
Krishna, and bit his lips. ‘Get up slowly … I’ll take you
both to Vrindavan, to Nanda.’
‘No … it was my br—’
‘No! Sacrificing yourself for—’
‘Brother … and it’s my responsibility—’
‘His crimes would not do any good!’
‘My responsibility too!’ Devaki yelled.
Vasudev goggled at her, clenching his fists in frustration.
‘See, I told you to join Kamsa … whatever he does, would
be my responsibility, too,’ she said, looking solemnly at
him in the eye.

The black truck glided out of the jungle, and pulled over
before a figure in the dark. Vasudev got off, slamming
the door close.
‘You’re late!’ said the figure, his clothes fluttering in the
cold wind.
‘Yeah, minutes. Sorry to keep you waiting, Nanda,’ said
Vasudev, meeting his brother’s sober eyes.
‘Not minutes … years,’ said Nanda, sternly. ‘You
should’ve been here years ago, Vasu.’
Weather it was his burning heart or years of sentiments,
Vasudev felt nothing but take Nanda in the arms. He did,
sobbing like a child. Like the dam, holding years of
emotions at verge, had been wrecked. ‘I am so sorry … I
am a dumb man … I don’t understand anything. You
were right … you were always right.’
‘Okay now …’ said Nanda, rubbing Vasudev’s back. ‘It’s
fine – Hey, look at your son, he’s so handsome.’
Vasudev’s son was sleeping in his arms as though he was
gliding in the deepest corner of the universe. Away from
all the troubles.
‘Yeah, he is,’ said Vasudev, wiping his tears. ‘We didn’t
give him a name yet.’
‘Mmm …’ wondered Nanda. ‘He’s unusually charming
and attractive. We name him Krishna.’
‘That’s great,’ said Vasudev, gently nodding at him.
‘Okay now …’ said Nanda, rubbing his brother’s back.
‘It’s fine.’
Vasudev broke off, holding the baby out. ‘Shame, I
won’t be seeing him again.’
‘Why? Are you not staying?’ Nanda looked over
Vasudev's shoulder with panic in the eyes. ‘Where is
Devaki?’
‘We aren’t staying. I started it all …’
‘No, no … you didn’t.’
‘If I hadn’t been so greedy …’
‘No, it is Kamsa … only him. You were right, if AIC
stopped making profit, we had to close it. But … but it’s
our home, stay here.’
Vasudev took a deep breath … and looked at Nanda in
the eyes. Nanda stared back, busy figuring out reasons
to keep him.
‘Okay, if you’re so pumped up … go!’ – Nanda
emotionally-emboldened him – ‘But come back soon,
I’m due pulling your ears.’
Vasudev chuckled, pulled the cloth over his son’s head,
and offered him to Nanda.
‘There are other scientists with me. Dr Baram, Dr
Babington … and Dr Raj. They’ll guide you through what
we have done after your resignation. It’s all either on me
… or on you,’ Vasudev hugged Nanda, hopped into his
brother’s car, and drove away from his brother … again.
Meanwhile, Nanda got into the truck, and steered
towards the Village of Peace.

‘Sir, nothing has changed … none will lift the ban.’

‘Please tell me something I don’t know, Miss,’ said
Bajpai, stroking his head, which was on the verge of
bursting open. ‘After all, what’s the point of funeral
when our revenue died months ago.’
His secretary didn’t reply. But let few silent moments
pass. ‘Sir, only had you turned to—’
‘I know that! Don’t try to prove me an idiot every
second, for god’s sake!’ yelled Bajpai to the hotel’s
phone, throwing it at his couch and mashing his pillow
into a ball.
He sat down there, on the bed, rowing with his
thoughts. How the hell countries could ban the very
basis of industries: Engines. And trust some chemical
packets called batteries to run their stinking lives.
That moment, he wished … only if sharp blades could
slip against the throats of those Climate Change
shouting ducks.
In the room, that was all dark, he didn’t want to do
anything. But sit in the gloom with loathe in his head.

A.I.C BURNS DOWN TO ASHES

Last day wasn’t good for the Artificial
Intelligence Centre of Mathura at all. A
temporary malfunction in the systems set the
entire headquarters of the India based A.I giant
aflame.
The damage comes as shock for the India’s heart
too. Vasudev, CEO of AIC, and his wife, Devaki,
were found dead. Mr Kamsa, CEO of Mat Co. &
major shareholder of AIC, told the couple died
while saving the employees.
The brother-in-law of Vasudev also points out
that the explosives had been worked out by
Nanda. And it is possible that this was a new
addition to the revenge stories of business world.

‘Good for you,’ cursed Bajpai, shutting his phone off.

‘You almost made me think like a criminal, Vasudev.’
His phone’s screen woke up, a message note there.
Meet me at the A.I. Centre, Mathura
He scowled.
Why who are you?
Your last hope.
But that place’s burnt to ashes.
No, it’s just been restarted.
‘Bajpai, they invited you too?’ said Mr Jari. ‘This is a get
together of all the giants. What purpose would the
broken CEO of a car company serve here?’
‘Something similar to the president of a failed oil
company, I guess,’ said Bajpai, looking around at the
new AIC headquarters.
‘I am not here to listen to any crap. But to show them
how pathetic their plan is,’ smirked Jari, acting like a
smug.
‘You know their plan already?’ said Bajpai, visibly
surprised.
‘No. But I already it will be bullshit.’
Bajpai followed a dozen well-dressed men into the Main
Hall of A.I. Centre. Some happened to be rivals and
others, pretty-recognisable. Mr Jari was the one he’d
sometimes worked with.
Only god knew, how they built the centre again from the
ashes. The enormous hall, the alluring gardens …
literally everything had been pepped to usual as though
nothing had happened.
A man, biding before the long conference table,
gestured towards their respectable chairs. Kamsa had
taken Vasudev’s upright place.
Bajpai settled in the dazzle of lights, but the second his
back touched the chair, his heart skipped a beat.
Radiance of blue light on his chest almost gave him an
attack. It was only in time, he realized it was not a
sniper, but someone observing the conference from the
floor above.
A hooded man, wearing black robes and concealing
every part of his body, except for the blue light under
his hood.
Who is he?
Kamsa, waiting for all to settle, spoke. ‘Well, things have
not been, as we expected. We lost the very foundation
of AIC, the second Vasudev died. He made decisions that
changed our nation, transformed it. But as Micheal
Starhan said This is who I am. I am not perfect. I don’t
want to try be perfect.
‘Vasudev wasn’t perfect. He mistook the engine of
modern world, your companies, and hammered you
down to the verge of bankruptcy.’
‘We hear something new,’ yelled Mr Jari, on Bajpai’s
right, impatiently. ‘Can you please skip the boring part
of your speech.’
Kamsa glared at him for a second, then continued. ‘Well,
this is our very first deal. If we be a little more patient,
this will result in further trades among us all –’
‘Your CEO murdered all the possibilities of trade, the
second he threw us out of business.’
The rest nodded in approval. Bajpai peered up at the
hooded figure. He was unmoved.
‘- so, ignoring the past,’ Kamsa ignored him, trying to
look okay. ‘We should start fresh and give your
companies a chance to stand up.’
‘What’s the point of inviting us here?’ Mr Jari delivered
his comment again.
‘We need money,’ said the hooded man at last, grasping
everyone’s attention in the hall.
Mr Jari took a second to recover. ‘I don’t care who you
are, but why should we give it to you … what do we get
in return?’
‘What will you get in return? I see, you need to fire your
company Secretaries. They are not giving you the true
report of your business.
‘Twenty years ago, you people were calling bullsh*t on
the sustainable energy … now, when fifty countries have
banned your combustible cars. You’re more endangered
than the bees, gentlemen. You need me more than I
need you. You have to save yourself from coming on
road.’
‘Oh yeah? How is this kid in hood,’ he waited for any sign
of frustration, but the man didn’t even flinch. ‘Going to
lift us from bankruptcy?’
‘I have algorithms and research data of Tesla … I can give
it you if you invest in my mission,’ said the man, the blue
light gleaming eerily. Kamsa started playing with his
fingers, looking frantically at the hooded man.
‘And what exactly is your mission?’
‘Don’t ask … you won’t understand.’
‘We were at the top of economic markets for decades,
kid. Surely we can understand it better than you.’
‘Even if you do understand … you won’t live to tell it to
anyone,’ said the man, leaning over the balustrade,
announcing he was AIC’s boss.

‘I see, Kamsa. You’re trying to move on in your life,’ said

Mr Magandh, Minister of Mathura, strolling into
Kamsa’s cabin.
After the event which shook the heart of a country, the
pop of Indian government’s eyes over Mathura was
surprising to none. But to Minister, it was on a personal
note, too.
After Mathura came out as a major (in ways, more
important than the capital) city in 2025 … the financial
hubs started trade with Mathura to settle up the
refugee crisis.
And in the turn of events, Magandh emerged as a trade-
pushing minister. And AIC being the leader, brought
Vasudev and Minister close.
‘Yes,’ said Kamsa, appearing positively grim.
‘I know what Nanda did wasn’t good. We all loved
Vasudev and Devaki,’ said Magandh, tenderly. ‘I’ll be
raising this issue in the parliament for sure. We’ll serve
justice to your sister.’
‘Thank you, Minister,’ nodded Kamsa.
 Twenty years later

Krishna woke up – something was burning his left cheek.

Something powdery, something searing in the blistering
heat of sun.
He tried to study the place, but it was beyond possible
… every part of his body ached as though he had been
running for hours … Gloom had engulfed him. But even
after all that, he couldn’t ignore bright flares of light and
warmness of sun he felt on his face. Desperate to see
things, he would see if he could see.
He groaned, pushed the ground with all the strength he
had, and rose.
Wham!
Something thumped Krishna’s chest, he crashed back to
the ground. Too weak to even grumble audibly.
‘Stay down, kid,’ he heard J.A.R.A’s croaky, but at the
same, deep and calm voice.
A hideous face drifted into Krishna’s sight. A huge man,
beaten into shape by welding the halves of a human and
a black titanium robot. In the sun, was his glimmering
blue eye, fixed on the pain before him. The inky nerves
popped out of his titanium body’s perimeters, keeping
J.A.R.A alive and his looks, ugly.
‘I am not done with you,’ continued J.A.R.A, squatting
beside Krishna. ‘You’re brave, but stupid as well.’
‘Where are we?’ whispered Krishna, too feeble to fight
back.
‘Away from your comfortable castle and wise people. To
show you what torture means.’
‘You already did,’ said Krishna, gasping for breath.
‘Not yet,’ J.A.R.A rose, peered up at the blazing sun, and
walked away. ‘Your own kind will.’
Krishna crawled to a tattered wall; stopped, getting hold
on a cemented brick, and catching his breath.
Krishna stood upright, his feet trembling.
‘Hey, what happened?’ said a man, running towards
him, in a strange accent. ‘Are you okay?’
Krishna couldn’t see his face, except a slender body,
droopy red shirt and black face. His lashes fluttered,
about to embrace darkness.
‘You’re wounded!’ said the strange man. ‘You were
rattling the wrong cages, buddy. Let’s go to my house.’

Krishna hobbled into a tumbledown hut. Apparently,

the only tin-shaped room, he could see, was in shadows.
He slumped into a thick ragged mattress, groaning in
pain. The strange man hurried to the wall, and lit an oil
lamp. Dull orange light gleamed on his face.
‘Sorry, electricity failed after the riots this week,’ said
the man, squatting beside Krishna. ‘I am Ambrose, by
the way.’
Krishna didn’t flinch, considering his throbbing heart
and wet face.
‘You don’t have any ID? What are you doing here?’ said
Ambrose, wiping the sweat off his hands.
‘I – I—’ mumbled Krishna, his gaze wandering around in
the room. He heard screaming sirens, and red-blue lights
flaring through the haze.
Krishna rolled his eyes, trying to get rid of his memories.
Automatons and police had started probing the river,
and rowing around debris of shattered structure. The
damage his choices did was, in every way, catastrophic.
He thumped the bed with his hands, all of that was
torture.
Police was rescuing the lucky ones, and dragging the
unfortunates on to their watercraft.
He clenched to the bed, gasping for breath, and
trembling as though his heart had been frozen.
‘You are my son, okay?’ said Yashoda, brushing his hair.
‘Hey, hey,’ said Ambrose, clapping Krishna on the face.
‘Are you okay?’
Krishna shut his eyes, allowing his pounding heart to
settle. ‘Where am I?’
‘Central African Republic,’ said Ambrose, still worried.
Krishna let it in, opened his eyes wide, and merely
nodded in response.
‘Are you Indian? I know your accent.’
‘Yes,’ said Krishna, wiping the sweat off his forehead
with his arm.
‘People in the market say a demon left you here. I’ll wait
for you to get well. You can call your family if you want.’
‘NO!’ yelled Krishna. Ambrose backed off, scared. ‘No –
no – I am sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you – it’s just –
just …’
Krishna seized the mattress, rose, and sat against the
wall.
‘I know,’ Ambrose stepped up. ‘Just get well.’
‘What’s wrong about this place?’ said Krishna, trying to
get his mind off things.
‘Killing, chaos …’
‘The police?’
Ambrose chuckled as though Krishna told him a joke.
‘Government doesn’t have control over this region of
country. It is run by rapists, rebels and powerful … Just
a week ago, they attacked the hospital I work in. The
only hospital in the town. Now we treat injured in tents.’
Krishna kept glaring at him. ‘Humans do all this?’
‘Looks so.’

‘I am one of the fortunate ones to have a shed over my

head,’ said Ambrose. He took Krishna, now better after
a couple of days in bed, to the local revival camp.
‘Others aren’t.’
People, in torment and woe, lived with no viability or
liveliness under the grey tents. Staring curiously at
Krishna as though he was an alien.
‘The riot between Seleka and Anti Balaka militia
destroyed hundreds of lives and left some to bear the
pain of their hatred.’
Wounded men lied in the tattered beds, hanging by
their last threads. Intolerable for anyone.
‘You asked me what’s special about this place. Here it
is.’
‘Rebels do this all?’ said Krishna, staring at the chaos
that made him sick to the stomach.
‘Rebels, rapist military men, smugglers …’ said Ambrose,
taking a deep breath.
‘Why nobody stops them?’
‘Because they want to stay alive.’
Krishna considered that, looked down at the blistering
soil, kindled by the blazing sun in the sky.

A year later,
Ujjain, India

CENTRAL AFRICAN REPUBLIC JUMPS 79 SPOTS ON THE

UNITED NATIONS’ HAPPINESS INDEX

The Central African Republic has seen another jump on the

happiness and economic indexes of the United Nations. It came
as a surprise for many. Once reported as the worst tourist spot,
poorest country and breeding ground for chaos (World Atlas);
the country promises to mend its blight on reputation around
the world.
Mr Ambrose, the one responsible for bringing the revolution in
his country, told us “We didn’t start with a master plan. We tried
to give a dozen the life they deserve. Others joined … and we
kept doing what we do: Smuggling the diamonds under
rebellions’ nose … Fairly using billions we get, with no corrupt
government involved … Settling people to neighbour countries,
which are not ideal but better … And as rebels see others rising
towards the sun, they want some life, too.”

‘Finally, the journalists have learnt to write good news,’

said Sandipani – a tall and fair middle-aged man. His
bandholz beard and long hair swayed with gusts of wind,
which also spewed up the dust across huge plains of
Ujjain – zooming in the news. ‘Radha, can we fix a
meeting with Ambrose?’
‘Of course,’ said Radha. ‘Ambrose will be awarded Peace
Prize a week from now. You can meet him there.’
‘I am not interesting in him, my girl,’ smiled Sandipani.
‘Then?’
Sandipani passed his phone to her. ‘The guy behind him,
the one wearing that peacock feather in his hair.’

Peace Prize Ceremony

Oslo, Norway
‘… For pulling a population out of misery, for showing
the children of CAR the colours of life, for showing us all
the power that drove the humanity all these years. Mr
Ambrose is awarded the peace prize for serving their
country, and helping its people to raise from the abyss.
Mr Ambrose—’
Ambrose, shaved and respectable in the black suit,
walked on to the stage. The hall rumbled with the
clatters and claps; and a dozen of flashlights dazzled
him.

‘It’s good to see you, sir,’ said Ambrose, welcoming

Sandipani in his hotel room after ceremony. ‘You don’t
know how fortunate I am to meet you.’
‘Accept my greeting, Mr Ambrose,’ said Sandipani,
strolling into the room, lit with golden lamps; and
settling down in the plush cherry sofa. ‘Forgive me, but
today I ask you for something personal.’
‘I know, Professor,’ said Ambrose, biting his lips. ‘But
Krishna is not here.’
‘That’s disappointing,’ Sandipani hunched forward, his
brows furrowed and gaze fixed at Ambrose. ‘Where did
he go?’
Ambrose walked to the window. Sun had set, and inky
blue sky had spread over Norway. ‘A month ago, when
government had taken the charge of the last village of
CAR, he came to me. Asked me to give all the interviews,
attend conferences … a payback for saving his life … and
said he had to leave.’
Sandipani considered this, not looking pleased. ‘Did he
tell you where was he going?’
‘No, he just left. I wish I could know more.’
Sandipani rose, nodding at Ambrose. ‘Very well, there
isn’t anything here for me now. It’s been an honour.’
‘The honour is mine,’ said Ambrose, smiling sadly. ‘But I
saw something in his eyes …’
‘Hm?’ said Sandipani, curious.
‘He didn’t want to go back to India. He didn’t want to
share his past. What happened, Professor?’
Sandipani let it in, but –
‘Nice meeting you,’ he greeted Ambrose and walked
out.
‘Krishna, packed your stuff?’ said Yashoda – a tall and
fair lady with dark eyes, natural black hair arranged as
waves, relaxed and centre parted. Wore a long sleeve
striped tee and a black straight leg trouser. Her oblong
face and fair cheeks had always been Krishna’s favourite
to kiss.
Krishna – an oval faced, slender teenager with dark curly
hair, big limpid brown eyes and a strange charm. That
usually was Yashoda’s excuse to keep an eye on his
messages – nodded. ‘Mm - hm.’
‘Everything?’
‘Everything,’ said Krishna, smiling back. ‘Where is Baba,
by the way?’
‘He’s late,’ said Yashoda, turning towards their
craftsman-house.
‘I am inspiring Baba.’
Yashoda chuckled. ‘It’s not inspiration. It’s bad
influence.’
‘The avenue looks beautiful,’ said Krishna, gaping at the
drive, as rising sun bestowed its warm rays over him.
The avenue was densely tangled with forest-like trees,
that casted shadows along the brick walkways. The
damp grass and greenery, around the other bungalows,
were as soothing as cold water in the searing desert.
Krishna turned towards his house as he heard the door
click. Nanda, patting down his pockets, quietly ambled
down the garden-walk to join them.
‘By the way, son,’ said Nanda, messing Krishna’s hair.
‘Have planned any tricks for your new schoo—’
‘Krishna, get into the car, baby,’ said Yashoda, opening
the door open for him.
Krishna shrugged, took his bag and got in. But
immediately rolled the window down, still curious to
hear his parents.
‘Nanda?!’ said Yashoda, her brows furrowed and arms
crossed. ‘This is his seventh school. Will you please let
him settle?!’
‘I—’ stuttered Nanda, Yashoda’s had sent him a step
back.
‘This is your fault, you teach him tricks and he uses it on
his teachers!’
‘Whoa, take a break, lady,’ said Nanda, holding her by
the shoulders. ‘He’s not going to kill anyone.’
‘But it affects his academics, his schooling!’ reasoned
Yashoda as if she forgot to mention something
important.
‘Yashoda,’ said Nanda. ‘You have to rise above this
dilemma … that he’s going to have a perfect nine to five
job, with a wife and a couple of kids. His fate scarred him
even before he was born, decided what he’s meant for.’
Yashoda glared at him, dull. ‘Then why school him?’
‘The world is never easy for people, who are different.
He must learn about the ones, he’ll save. A.I isn’t the
only threat to us, we ourselves are. His choices won’t
only build him as a human, but will decide where
humanity will head.’
Humanity will head … his choices … humanity will head
…
Krishna, twenty one years old, opened his eyes. A cold
chill crept up his spine, raising the hair on the back of his
neck.
You were wrong, father.
He rose and sat against the wall behind, realising the
dank and ragged house, he was living in.
He slipped out of the blankets; got to his feet, while
looking over a bad gash in his chest. It was burning as
though someone had been grazing it all night. His fate
agreed to keep him safe in the two unruly days of
thunderstorm. But a brute, with a stick, broke that
streak in the dusk last day.
Rubbing his chest, he reached for his only winter wear
on the table beside. Put on his snug and ragged
overcoat, sensing an allaying warmth triggered up his
body.
‘Osmin,’ said Krishna, tying his shoe laces. ‘Want to
come to get food?’
Osmin, lying in another bed, was gliding in his dreams.
Too busy to say anything.
‘Osmin?’ said Krishna, a little louder.
‘Hmm?’ said Osmin, not bothering to open his eyes.
‘Wanna come to get something from the food van?’
‘No … you help me out, brother.’
‘Not allowed to carry more than one plate, mate,’ said
Krishna, reaching for the door knob.
‘I will get it myself then,’ Osmin rolled in his bed, pulling
blankets around him, and continuing with loud snores.

Krishna shut the door of his ravaged house, assaulted by

the roaring waves last day. He stepped down the miry
stairs, and into the muddy grounds, stretching for miles.
The sky was drab and grey, with no sign of sun. The
smoke, rendered denser by the mist, prevented him
from seeing anything for an instant.
But once his eyes adapted to the light; figures, doing
usual chores after every storm, emerged.
‘… May god be merciful …’
A man, perhaps in his 40s, was holding his wife and two
kids close, praying to God. The raindrops spattered on
their heads, drenching them in the intense cold and
piercing winds. Krishna could see the reason for this
psychotic bearing, too. The house behind them was
razed, with the top as though vanished in thin air.
But there was nothing he could do.
Krishna pulled up the hood and slipped his hands into
the pockets. He didn’t want to watch if he couldn’t help.
A ten more minutes of squelching in the mire, he joined
a woman (short and fair, wearing a thick overcoat) and
a man (slender and shabby, wearing a ragged jacket),
twiddling their thumbs, in a lane before a rusty van.
‘Open up!’ said the woman in the row, as Krishna joined
them. ‘We are hungry! And now refugees have started
stealing our food, we are dead!’
She eyed Krishna with despise. Krishna didn’t say
anything. He rather felt the gusts of cold winds, roaring
across the beach.
A man slid the window open, and started a siren. In
minutes, others, looming out of mist, joined the lane.
The woman in the front, slotted her finger in a black
cubical machine. Unlike the rest of the van, falling to
pieces, the machine was brand new. It bleeped, and an
indicator shed green light in the dingy van.
The official gave woman her food bowl.
‘That’s it?’ she grumbled loudly. ‘How are we supposed
to live on this?’
‘Then die,’ spat Official, turning to the slender old man
and gesturing him to come forth.
The old man stepped forth, and took his bowl.
‘Get yourself a blanket, sir,’ said the official, remarking
the old man’s ragged coat. ‘Next!’
Krishna stepped forth, let the machine do its work on his
finger.
‘Here’s yours, foreigne—’
‘NO! MY FOOD!’ yelled the woman, who was eyeing
Krishna a moment ago, in the distance.
The shivering old man, snatched her bowl and ran away.
‘Poor lady,’ said Krishna.
Wham!
Dizziness shrouded his mind, bearing a sharp pain im his
head, as though a horse had kicked him. He grouched in
pain and looked up, a huge tattooed boy smirked at him.
The same brute who gave him the wound last day.
‘What? First time getting slammed?’
Krishna got to his trembling feet; and quietly walked
past, sloshing mud under his feet.
‘Keep your food safe or you’ll starv—’
Wham!
‘Aw!’ the guy crashed into the mire, burying his head
into his hands, and groaning in pain.
‘What? First time getting slammed back?’ said Krishna,
bending down and picking up his food bowl.

‘What the hell were you doing?’ said Osmin, on their

doorstep.
‘Was busy getting some action sequences for my dear
diary,’ said Krishna, trying to brush away the mud.
‘You gotta get hold of yourself, man. Being a foreigner,
you’re already a criminal and smacking locals in the
ground’ll be an invitation for them to rip your a** off.’
‘Don’t cuss,’ said Krishna.
‘Why? God’s already doomed us. He’d not mind some
words, would he?’ said Osmin. ‘By the way, a man was
asking for you. I asked him to sit inside. Looks like a rich
folk,’ Osmin whispered in his ears.
‘Asking for me?’ said Krishna as though it was a bolt
from the blue.
‘Yeah, looks like your father or something – OI!’ Osmin
added as Krishna sprinted into the house, without
exchanging another word.

Krishna closed the door behind him to see a tall man,

peering out of the only window in his room. His back
was turned on Krishna, and the curtain of grey hair
concealed his identity.
As the door clicked, the man turned around, smiling at
him.
‘Who are you?’ said Krishna, glowering at him. ‘You’re
not my father.’
‘Sandipani, a teacher, spiritualist and scientist.’
‘Spiritualist and a scientist?’ said Krishna, sitting in the
chair and wrenching the bowl’s seal, smeared with mud.
‘My identity doesn’t matter, what matters is yours.
What have you become?’ Sandipani observed Krishna’s
ragged clothes. The mud failing to hold on to fabric, and
messing the floor. ‘Climate is worse.’
‘Than ever.’
‘What purpose does the prince of Vrindavan has to
serve here?’
Krishna froze, his morsel an inch away from his mouth.
He turned towards Sandipani. ‘How do you know me?’
Sandipani took a deep breath. ‘Why did you never come
back?’
‘How did you find me?’ ignoring Sandipani’s question.
‘It’s not hard when you’re leaving so much behind.’
Sandipani showed his picture and the report. Krishna
considered it, but remained quiet.
‘I know your father believed in you?’ said Sandipani,
walking to a shoddy chair, which creaked as he sat on it.
‘No …’ said Krishna, his brows furrowed. ‘My father
blundered by believing in me.’
Sandipani smiled warmly. ‘You see, Krishna, guilt
promises a man a simple way out of their past. But as it
dissolves into blood, it wrings and tears one’s soul
viciously.’
‘You don’t know what I have done, Professor. If you did,
neither the spiritualist nor the scientist would’ve
wanted to stand by me.’
‘But a teacher would … you’re waiting for death to light
the darkness you’re living in. Allow me to do it. Your
choices won’t only build you as a human, but will decide
where humanity will head.’
Krishna kept louring at him.
‘Catch the flight to India tomorrow,’ Sandipani tossed
the papers on to his bed. ‘By the way, hidden waterfall
in Ujjain’s forest is a perfect place to explore, if one’s not
afraid to let go.’