I am a humanitarian of a kind. In this age, when the two million survivors of the human race are battling extinction, I am a writer. I might add that writing is only my passion. My father has finally retired and passed down his modestly large water-synthesis and production unit. Therefore it wouldn't be an over statement to say that I was pretty much established and settled. At least I don't have to pay for my water, (water prices have been escalating exponentially lately). Above all, I am at peace with myself.
Well, my “humanitarian” writing habit is something which has developed over the years. As a child, my grandpa had a huge influence on me. He was one of those lucky people who had the fortune of spending the initial years of their lives in the erstwhile planet called Earth. That was before they began their journey on the Ark in the 'Age of the Apocalypse'. To the people who are unaware of the history, the 'Ark' was the colossal space-ship which was built to take the survivors of the human race away from the dying planet to the then newly discovered planet, Utopia. My great-grandfather was a man of literature. Due to that man's effort, a number of specimens of ancient literature survive to this day. I was slowly and steadily enticed in to the magical world of literature, by listening to excerpts from my Grandpa. That became the basic source of motivation and matter for the author in me.
****************
“Did you see the news today?”
Benny was pretty excited about whatever this news was. Those expressive eyes were wide open with an expression which I could not accurately decipher. I couldn't decide whether it was sheer excitement or just pride over some inscrutable information.
Benjamin Barnwell was the official 'gossip - monger' of our neighbourhood. Our evenings were often graced by his dynamic (and to some extent, febrile) presence. As long as he had a good supply of cold beer, he would stroke his handlebar moustache in satisfaction and enlighten us with numerous peculiar tales.
“And what is this news, may I ask?”
Our eyes simultaneously turned towards the speaker, who was nonchalantly knitting in one corner of the room. Ironically, Meg seemed least interested among the four of us, whatever the news was. Her laconic demeanor was certainly not churlish, yet she mildly disapproved of our unproductive gossip. Quite accustomed to Benny's ways, as she was, her question was less heartfelt curiosity and more sarcasm. If Benny was displeased by the quip, he did well to conceal it.
“Gentlemen! Humanity is about to witness a historic event. Have you observed the sky lately?”
The eloquent pause which followed the question was most certainly meant to create suspense.
“The fleecy formation that are forming in the sky lately are being said to be clouds of gases. Meteorologists claim that they carry a good amount of moisture as well !” Benny pointed excitedly towards me with his chubby fingers. “Remember what Sam's grandpa used to say?”
My grandpa used to say a lot of things. I was not sure what Benny was aiming at.
“If you are saying that they're rain clouds, I might just remind you that it doesn't rain here in Utopia; it never has.”
“But what if it does? Say Benny is right and tiny droplets of tax-free water do fall from the heavens. I bet the press will have a field day!” Reggie interjected.
“Reginald Cusack: the renowned snob of the century! Is that a tiny droplet of optimism I hear? And the world gets stranger everyday.” I said this in the most dramatic way possible.
“And it will do world of good to Sam’s business.” Reggie added, slyly.
“Reggie it's impossible. Water sources in Utopia are subterranean.” My authoritarian statement would have brought the conversation to an end on any other day. But nothing seemed to dampen Benny's animated exuberance:
“Well Samir, Mr. Cusack just might be right. New Kansas meteorological Department has given into statement on the issue.“ He spread out his arms : “The first rainfall in the recorded history of Utopia.”
************
That night when my friends retreated back to their homes, I was still unconvinced. Yet if it happened, it would be one of the most remarkable occurrences in the history of the planet.
Next morning , the newspaper said it all :
“32nd August, N108,
.... NKMD seconded the speculations about the rain clouds in Area 27 of New Kansas. Dr. Mackenzie, a meteorologist, said in his statement : 'The gas formations about the Area 27 region most certainly contain a good amount of water vapour ....... precipitation in the form of non-acidic water can well be expected over the said area on the evening of 34th August.........”
During the day, I couldn't concentrate on the plot of a detective novel I had been working on; the plot which had been quite jocularly dismissed by Meg Quince, just a week ago, during one of her more cynical dispositions. 'And I was cursing my luck.' I mused, realising what fate had brought upon me. I was about to witness the first rain in the history of Utopia. And I had to do nothing more than step out of my house for that.
I have often been told by my Dad, that I'm good with celebrations. I've to concur to him in this regard as I indeed have the most peculiar ways of celebrating the little things. But this was something big. And I knew exactly what to do.
“Use it well, Samir,” Grandpa had told me when he gifted me his chalice made of a rare metal called gold, on my fifth birthday. The chalice was one of the most prized possessions of his. I still remember how he used to beam at it and stroke the shiny metal during his leisure in the most affectionate way. Now, when I look at the chalice, I presume it had some grand history connected to it and yet I cannot fathom how it came to be in my Grandpa's possession. I never really got a chance to ask Grandpa. My Dad says that he had seen it with him all his life. I imagine the chalice to be the last remaining legacy of some long forgotten prince; a symbol of grandeur battling oblivion. The foreign inscriptions on the edges, the tiny cavities which were once occupied by precious gems, the numerous scratches on the metal indicating ages of wear and tear, all of it suggested the fact that it was made in different era in a far away place. The metal gold is not found anywhere in Utopia. This rare golden chalice was indeed handed down by my great-grandfather to my Grandpa. I unlocked my safe and procured the crimson cloth-bag. I took out the content of the bag and felt the cold metal in my palm. I stared down at the ancient artefact.
'What could be a better relic than an ancient chalice containing the waters of the first rainfall in the recorded Utopian history?' I could think of no better way of celebrating.
************
The morning the 34th was perhaps the most unprecedented morning for the people of Area 27. The fleecy clouds had taken the form of a vast dense formation which was becoming denser as the hours passed. The giant, crimson morning star, Hyperion, whose bright incandescent halo was so familiar to us, was nowhere to be seen today.
The average radius of Area 27, New Kansas was about 7 miles. The geographical borders are described by deep chasms and rocky crevices. The only connection it has to the rest of the world is the two railroads, one in the south-western region and the other in the easternmost point of the plateau. The latter is often used as a supply exchange route and hence mostly too busy for civilians to use. Today, however would be an exception. It is just early morning now and already it seems to be the centre of the world. News personnel from several news agencies could be seen scattered all over the place to capture moments of the bizarre event. There is huge, manic crowds of apprehensive people everywhere. Work for me today was completely out of question. I was man on a mission, rather determined man I daresay.
My chain of thoughts were interrupted by a knock on my door. I was not in the disposition of entertaining guests and certainly not now when I had it all planned out. I opened my door to find a feeble looking boy at my doorstep. Hair all shuffled up, pretty shabby clothes, not more than ten years old I thought. The little boy wanted some food. This wasn't an uncommon occurrence. It indeed was a tough time for survival of humanity. Morally, I considered myself to be very strong. And if not anything else, I would take every step necessary to preserve the humanitarian image I had set for myself.
“Wait there, would you?”
I went to the kitchen to find something. I found some tinned proteinated flakes. I opened the can and headed for the door. Perhaps it was my instinct or it was by sheer luck that I chanced to look at my study. My hands went numb, when I did. The chalice was gone. Almost instantly, I saw the faded gold peeping out from under the little boy's tattered shirt. The tin fell off my hand with a dull thud.
“Thief !”
The startled boy turned and ran as fast as he could. For the next few moments, I had completely lost control of myself. I dashed behind the boy wildly through the street. The boy was about ten yards ahead of me, the chalice clasped firmly in his hand. He turned left towards Rodriguez's eatery and then went straight on. I could not hope to outrun the brat. It was either due to fear or his sheer desperation to escape, the boy was quicker than his puny physique suggested.
My heart was pounding hard. I knew that the street would end after the next turn. The narrow lane was relatively unconnected to the 22nd Street and hence traffic was scarce even today. Owing to the lack of traffic I could cleary see the scrawny little fellow advancing swiftly through gradually increasing crowd. Adjacent to the nursery at Mr. Shizhou's, there is a barbed wall, about twenty feet high; most certainly a dead end. One can imagine my despair, when I saw the boy jump off the top of the barbed wall. Torn between practicality and emotional turmoil, I wasn't ready to give up as yet. I put my strength to one final test ; I began to climb the wall.
'I've never been good at this.' Climbing walls is an art. An art at which I was quite handicapped.
'Not today.' Fatigue didn't bother me anymore. The narrow cracks on the end of the wall went right to the edge where the barbs ended. I used the cracks to manoeuvre my way to the top. Every muscle in my body resented the climb. I placed my left foot on the edge and made a desperate jump to the other side. I fell on the ground with a dull thud. It hurt more than I would’ve thought. Grimacing in agony, I stood up.
The expanse in front of me was pretty foreign to my eyes. There was no road, not even a footpath. The gravel and undergrowth on the ground led to a fiery crimson wood, not far from where I stood . No towering buildings; pretty much desolate - save for the puny figure heading towards the bushes.
Stealth was the key. He was unaware of my presence. I quietly made a run to the first large bush I could find. Now I could see him clearly. Still gasping for breath, he looked nervously around him, evidently looking for me. Having assured that he had lost his assailant he took out the chalice from the folds of his shirt and looked proudly at it.
'This is my chance . If I … what was that?' I heard a sound, a rather shrill one. Something like a squeak. Or was it a cry ?
'Is that a ….' The boy bent down and picked up the little child who was lying on the grassy undergrowth near the place where he was standing. The child did not seem more than a month old. It's health seemed to be pretty fragile. Every now and then it made a light squeak. The boy affectionately caressed the baby in his arms.
When I looked into the eyes of the little boy, I didn't find the pain I expected to find ; the pain of being abandoned. Those innocent eyes reflected pure joy to see his baby brother. Those eyes reflected immense love and satisfaction. In the desolation, abandoned by humanity, there stood two self satisfied beings; their world being confined unto themselves. Two beings, who did not need to heed the cruel world who had cast them away. They had each other, and that is all that mattered to them. They completed each other.
The two innocent souls were being tested by life itself in the toughest of ways. Life, like a heartless usurper, had taken away everything from them, had tortured them to inconceivable extents. But in this ruthless game of survival, they had vanquished their sole competitor, fate itself. Undaunted, victorious and unafraid, they were standing there in front of me. I stood there, speechless, awestruck.
The droplets of tiny orb-like transparent liquid from the sky fell on my face, augmenting those falling from my moist eyes. The little boy seemed delighted as he looked up in the sky. He held his baby brother in one arm and stretched out the other, his tiny hand holding my grandpa's favourite chalice. The droplets of water steadily filled the grand vessel in his outstretched hands. The boy chuckled delightfully. He brought the chalice close to his brother's face and slowly poured the grand contents of the chalice into his tiny mouth.
“Use it well.” My grandpa's voice echoed in my ears. Fate had brought the chalice to its rightful owner.