Kumari - Meaning of Kumari | Hindu name Kumari | Pitarau
Kumari - Meaning of Kumari | Hindu name Kumari | Pitarau
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[Discussion] What was the “Dravidian movement” all about? Was it something that emerged all of a sudden with the DMK’s victory in 1967 TN elections - as an outcome of a mass outrage against “North Indian” hegemony and the imposition of Hindi? Read on
Muthuvel Karunanidhi, the Chief Minister of the southern state of Tamil Nadu for 5 separate terms between 1969 and 2011, passed away on Aug 7th at the age of 94. He was the most major and consequential face of the “Dravidian movement” since Annadurai’s death in 1969 A lot of obituaries will no doubt focus on his political career and his legacy. But in my view this is a good time to take a step back and better understand the “ideas” and prejudices that Karunanidhi championed. "Views" that predate him by decades and that he did not originate. While it is all very well to focus on people, a discussion of ideas and their place in history is always more useful. What was the “Dravidian movement” all about? Was it something that emerged all of a sudden with the DMK’s victory in 1967 TN elections - as an outcome of a mass outrage against “North Indian” hegemony and the imposition of Hindi? Or do we go further back and place its origins in the late 19th / early 20th century with the Justice Party and the Self-respect movement - a political assertion of the “non brahmin” tamil people against the perceived Brahmin dominance in Tamil Nadu during the British Raj? But these are proximate ways of thinking about political movements. Which are not satisfactory. Why Tamil Nadu? The Brahmins were arguably even more “dominant” (as measured by literacy rates and occupancy of government jobs) in Mysore than in Madras. Yet there was no “Dravidian movement” in Mysore / Karnataka. The Brahmins were pretty “dominant” in Bombay Presidency as well, yet we didn’t see a “Non-Brahmin” maratha assertion in Maharashtra, until much later in the 20th century. Why is it that this political movement rooted in a. Tamil exceptionalism b. Dislike of the Brahmin c. Dislike of Northern cultural influences (Sanskrit, Hindi, “Brahminical” Hinduism) Emerged ONLY in TN and not in other southern states, or in other non-Hindi parts of India? These are questions that haven’t been asked enough by historians and discussed even less in media This thread is a modest attempt to answer these qns, and examine briefly the political/social circumstances in Tamil Nadu over the past 1000 yrs, which help answer these questions So let’s first try to understand the Tamil country. A land that has been extremely well integrated with “Aryavrata” for nearly 2000 years. In fact one can legitimately regard it as a part of “Aryavrata” starting with Pallava rule in the middle of the 1st millennium CE The period from about 5th / 6th century CE to 13th century can be regarded as a “Golden age” for the Tamil country - a period when the land was first ruled by the Great Pallavas, and later the Cholas (with a brief Pandya revival in 13th cen) It was a period when Tamil Nadu emerged arguably as the citadel of Hindu culture in all of subcontinent - a culture that enmeshed the great Sanskritic traditions of the north with the local Tamil traditions - and in the process enriching both Now why do I regard the cosmopolitan Tamil culture of 6th to 13th centuries as the high point of Tamizh civilization? It is on account of its remarkable accomplishments This period saw some of the greatest works in Tamil (and Hindu) literature - - The great Bhakti poetry of Azhwars and Nayanars (6th to 9th century CE) - Kamban’s Rama-avataram (12th century) The period was also the emergence of the great Tamil empires - when Tamil maritime flourished like never before, and Tamil / Hindu influence extended into much of South East Asia The Medieval Cholas were that rare Indian exception- an expansionist Indian Empire. An empire that defeated and subjugated the great Srivijaya kingdom of Indonesia, and also conquered much of Sri Lanka in 11th cen. Sri Lanka was under Chola rule for nearly all of 11th cen. The period was also marked by great architectural innovation - all the great Chola and Pallava temples of Tamil Nadu - be it Brihadeeshwara & Airavateshwara (in Tanjore region) or Kailashnathar / Mahabalipuram (near Kanchi) date to this period of hectic architectural activity Finally the period is most distinguished for its massive, I repeat massive, contribution to the Hindu religion. The Vaishnava and Shaiva faiths consolidated during this period. The great Hindu theologians - Sankara and Ramanuja - belong to this period It was also a period when Tamil devotional literature was integrated with the Sanskrit mainstream. The devotional literature gained intellectual legitimacy in temples across Tamil Nadu notwithstanding the low origins of many of the Tamil poets who wrote this literature. So why are we discussing all this. The point to note here is that during this heyday of Tamil civilization, the Tamil country was arguably the shining light of India (esp given the decline that had set in much of the North after the fall of Harsha) And this civilization was not marked by any “revolt” against brahmins or Sanskrit or northern influences. It was a confident Tamil culture that embraced northern influences as well as northern migrants. One example of seamless migration from the north is that of the great Sanskrit writer Dandin, who was a part of the Pallava court in early 8th century. His family was one that had immigrated to Tamil Nadu from Vidarbha in the North in the 7th century So it was a confident civilization, with none of the Tamizh insecurities that characterize the modern Dravidian movement. So what changed? Things began to change around the 14th cen, when Tamil Nadu gradually lost its political sovereignty. The Cholas faded. The Pandyas of Madurai were overthrown by Delhi Sultanate The Madurai Sultanate’s rule of terror over southern Tamil Nadu in the 14th cen left tremendous scars By the end of the 14th cen, all of the Tamil country was under Vijayanagar rule, which had its base in northern Deccan (Hampi). Following the fall of Vijayanagara, the Tamil territories came under the rule of the Nayakas - who were originally governors of Vijayanagara Empire Post late 17th century the Nayaka influence also waned, and Maratha influence gradually increased. Thanjavur became a seat of Maratha power. Elsewhere in Northern Tamil country, the Muslim Nawabs established their rule centered in the town of Arcot (modern Vellore). So what do we gather about this long period from 14th century to 19th century? It was a period of Non-Tamil rule in Tamil Nadu. Starting with Vijayanagara, then Nayaks, then the Marathas, the Nawabs, and finally the British. Quite naturally it was also a period of Tamizh decline. Vast populations of non-Tamil origin (particularly from Andhra) moved into Tamil Nadu during this period, especially due to Vijayanagara patronage So Telugu (and to a lesser extent Sanskrit) became very dominant languages in the corridors of power. Tamil receded. Telugu was perceived as the language with some class! The language used by respectable people. Tamil - the language of the masses and the subjects. To me this phase of Telugu’s rise and Tamil’s decline cannot be over-emphasized. It is very important to understand the roots of Tamil rage and Tamil insecurities One way to understand the predominance of Telugu in Tamil country is to examine Carnatic Music - an art form whose formal development was primarily in Tamil Nadu in late 18th / early 19th century The three giants of this art form in late 18th century were - Tyagaraja, Shama Sastri and Muthuswami Dikshitar. Atleast two of them, we are sure, had Telugu as their mother tongue But where did they live? In Andhra? No . They lived in the vicinity of Tanjore - the Tamil heartland How about their compositions? - Well the compositions were primarily in Telugu, and some in Sanskrit. Hardly any in Tamil, the language spoken by the masses around them So we have this long long period of Tamil decline, which no doubt hurt Tamil pride a lot. This is after all the land of Silappadikaram and Tirukkural. The land of Rajaraja Chola and Kamban But by 19th century, the language and culture had been reduced to a second rate status thanks to the remarkable growth of Telugu - an upstart language which barely even existed in literary form back in the 1st millennium CE when Tamil was the pre-eminent southern language There was a lot of frustration of course. And it needed venting. It also needed a scapegoat. Who to blame? You can’t blame old and bygone kings, nor can you blame “Telugu” people who were too numerous, and well integrated into Tamil society. The scapegoat was the Brahmin and also his “Sanskritic” ways. But why was the “Brahmin” singled out? Now to understand this we need to change our tracks a bit and now switch our focus to the British Raj Let’s go the 1820s - a period when Thomas Munro reigned as Madras Governor. It still marked the initial phase of British rule over Southern India in its entirety Munro undertook a survey to assess the educational conditions in the Presidency - the results of which are revealing Does the survey suggest a very high degree of Brahmin dominance in education? Let’s pick two districts in the Tamil country where the Brahmins were most numerous back then (> 5% of pop). These were also temple towns where much of the “brahmin cultural capital” was concentrated Here’s the caste distribution of Male school going students in these 2 districts b/w 1822 and 1825 https://preview.redd.it/46gwajrslwe11.jpg?width=591&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=eb3e93b7d4130c23b4f8e2c6f9701723747c4427 What do we notice - Sure, there is some over-representation of Brahmins ( a share of 10-15% suggests a 2x over-indexing relative to their share in population - around 5% or more in these districts) But this is far from the stereotypical view of education being denied to the non-twice born castes. A very vast majority of students in both these districts were “Shudras” (which in the south is a blanket term covering over three quarters of the population) So the educational reality of the 1820s did not warrant any grudge against the “Brahmins” as a class in society that monopolizes education The data on schools back then was only indicative, as a very large section of kids used to be home-schooled. As per Munro’s own report, in the city of Madras, 26,446 boys were being schooled at home, in contrast to only 5,523 boys who were attending the Patha-shalas We have these numbers thanks to Dharampal’s painstaking research whose book “The Beautiful Tree” demolished many myths about late medieval / early modern India, at the time of the British encounter However as the 19th century proceeded, there was considerable social change. Firstly it was a period of relative economic stagnation / decline (a process that had started much earlier in 17th century), causing many traditional pathashalas to close down. Secondly with the formal establishment of British Raj, and the new opportunities in the bureaucracy, and in urban professions, the Brahmin ascendancy began. An ascendancy without a precedent for the community in Indian history. Nowhere was this ascendancy more marked than in TN By 1912, the Brahmin dominance was very real particularly in the British bureaucracy. Here’s a table from that year - https://preview.redd.it/sci3i896mwe11.jpg?width=584&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=559feb7a2cd75f534aa675f287089b29a5a4c6f8
So what had changed between 1820 and 1912?
And who was to blame for this remarkable change in social equations?
That is a puzzle for which there are no simple answers
It is all very well to say the British “favored” Brahmins. But that to me sounds too fanciful and conspiratorial What is more likely is that Brahmins embraced the change in climate better, and took to English education in a big way - unlike a lot of other communities One way to understand the “Brahmin rise” is to look at specific cases of Brahmins whose lives were transformed during this period of late 19th century. Take two famous instances - VS Srinivasa Sastri (1869 - 1946), Alladi Krishnaswami Aiyar (1883-1953) The former became a famous Indian politician, diplomat and administrator. A famed “Moderate” leader of the Gokhale wing within Congress. The latter was a famous lawyer and member of the Drafting committee and Constituent assembly which framed the Indian Constitution Now why am I picking these two names? There is a common thread. Both were born in villages, and were sons of temple priests! They were not well-connected aristocrats. They came out of nowhere. So in the 1820 setup, kids like these were no different from a thousand other kids (Brahmin or Non Brahmin) leading a mediocre existence in small towns. But the British Raj provided opportunities for several such “outliers” (incidentally Brahmin) to max out their potential So this was the story of the 19th cen. A century during which there was considerable change in the economy. More opportunities than ever before for the creme-de-la-creme. But stagnation for everyone else This meant greater social inequality, and a widening rift between castes. This was also coupled, if you remember, by the larger story of Tamil decline we discussed earlier. But then 19th century changed the language equations for the first time in 500 years. Tamil made a comeback! And this comeback was partly because of the rise of the professional middle class (mostly Tamil speaking Brahmin) without any “connections” in the old Telugu set-up. A lot of these new kids on the block were key in reviving the Tamil language Take a couple of names -
UV Swaminatha Iyer - instrumental in the rediscovery of several Tamil Sangam texts
Subramania Bharati - a great Tamil poet, who was key in creating a Tamil consciousness that had been dormant for several centuries.
Interestingly both were Brahmin Even the current obsession with Lemuria / Kumari Kandam among Dravidian chauvinists in our times actually dates back to the late 19th century - a period of Tamil revival Lemuria interestingly was the speculation of a submerged continent connecting Australia and India - it was originally a theory suggested by 19thc European / American scholars - now a discredited theory ofcourse. In the heady days of Tamil revival of late 19th century, connections were drawn between Lemuria and Kumari Khandam (a lost continent of Tamil civilization) which ironically first finds mention in a 15th century Tamil adaptation of Skanda Purana (titled Kanda Puranam). This connection of Kumari Kandam with Lemuria was actually first made by a Brahmin young man named VG Suryanarayana Sastri - who died at 33 To him, Kumari Khandam was a part of Brahmanic lore, which he was indiscreet enough to connect with Lemuria -a discredited 19th c construct Little did the young lad know that his fanciful speculations would capture the movement of the Dravidian movement in the decades to follow So let’s get back on track on where Tamil Nadu stood at the beginning of 20th century - On one hand, there was this increasing rift between Brahmin and Non Brahmin driven by education and the English language. On the other, we had a revival of Tamil consciousness Both very much key to the emergence of the Dravidian movement. And not surprisingly this movement did not work out too well for the Brahmin. He was the scapegoat for 500 years of Tamil decline. The earliest manifestation of this movement was not particularly rabid or secessionistic. It was in the form of a party called the “Justice Party” founded in 1916 by Sir Thyagaraja Chetty and TM Nair. A point to note that the leaders of this non brahmin Justice Party - were by no means “low caste”. These were typically upper caste non brahmins - who resented the brahmin ascendance the most This was also the period of Morley Minto reforms (1909) which had greatly increased Indian participation in provincial govt. So populism was very much in the air A characteristic of Justice Party was that it combined anti-Brahminism with a hostility towards Home rule (Annie Besant and her friends were not viewed positively). It was also opposed to Gandhi and his noncooperation movement Its stance was that home rule meant “Brahmin rule" So while it was radical in its anti-brahminism, it was oddly a conservative party in the way it stood right behind the British like a loyal bulldog The Justice Party was no minor fish. It was the major political alternative to Congress in Madras Presidency and dominated power for 14 of the 17 years from 1920 to 37 Some of its prominent leaders included Subbarayulu Reddiar, Munuswamy Naidu, and the Raja of Bobbili The Justice Party when in power, had some firsts under its name. It was the first govt in India to introduce caste-based reservations back in 1921 for certain govt jobs. A legacy that we are left with to this day. To its credit, it did make voter-qualifications gender neutral and also allowed women to become legislators in 1921 (reversing a Govt of India Act policy from 1919) In 1925 it passed an act which brought for the first time many temples under the direct control of state govt. State meddling in temples is something that bothers conservatives to this day. The genesis for this lies in this act passed by the Justice Party govt back in 1925 The party leaders were drawn from the great landed castes. Given the dominance of zamindars in the party, it often supported the harsh measures of the British govt. An example being its refusal to support reduction in taxation in non-zamindari areas leading to peasant protests It was a not a surprise then that this party of the elites united on a casteist plank of anti-Brahminism suffered a massive defeat in the provincial elections of 1937 - when the Franchise was much wider than in previous elections The Congress under the leadership of the brahmin and Gandhian leader Rajaji assumed power in 1937. But the new Congress govt in its nationalist zeal, did a mistake, Rajaji introduced compulsory Hindi education in all schools in the Presidency in 1937 sparking great protests from ’37 to 40. An awful mistake by a wise politician This was capitalized by an emergent face on the Dravidian front - EV Ramaswamy Naicker (also known as Periyar) Periyar has to rank among the half-a-dozen most influential politicians in Indian history. Whether one likes him or despises him. Now who was he? And where did he come from? He was born in 1879 in the town of Erode in Coimbatore district in a very rich Balija Naicker family of Kannada antecedents. It is even claimed that his mother tongue was Kannada not Tamil! It was by no means a humble beginning Unlike Justice party leaders, Periyar has a Congress past. He had joined the Party back in 1919, and worked with Rajaji in organizing the non-cooperation movement. But when he did not find enough support for his reservation campaigns, he left the party in a huff in 1925 He was a major figure in the Vaikom Satyagraha, a movement against untouchability circa '24-25 But Vaikom was a mainstream movement supported even by upper caste men like Gandhi as well as the regent of Travancore kingdom. So Periyar hardly was unique for his participation there. But it was after the Justice party’s thumping defeat that Periyar found his big opportunity. There was a power vacuum in the party. In 1938 he took over as the President of the party. And it was the Hindi imposition issue of 1937 - which gave him a big voice! Under his leadership the Justice Party was transformed from a party of rich non brahmin landlords serving their own interests, to a populist, often rabble rousing outfit. The fear of Hindi among the Tamils was exploited fully by Periyar in his rhetoric. He somehow succeeded in blending the Tamil fear of Hindi with the dislike of Brahmins and the “Sanskritic value system” more broadly. It was a heady mix that was bound to work. In 1944, he renamed the party to Dravidar Kazhagam. The DK employed the methods used by RSS in the north - volunteer efforts positioned as “social reform” that campaigned aggressively against the Hindu religion, brahmin priesthood, and so-called religious “superstitions” While the DK did engage in some positive constructive measures like opposing untouchability, working for women’s education etc, this hardly distinguished it from the much maligned “brahminical” Congress (which also fought against the said evils). What distinguished DK was its negative plank built on a dislike of brahmins and “Northern influences” but disguised very well under the garb of “rationalism” / “reason” The Dravidar Kazhagam was also secessionist in its demand for a separate “Tamil nation”. This led to a split within the party in 1949 when Periyar’s disciple CN Annadurai left him to form “Dravida Munnetra Kazhagam” (Munnetra interestingly means “Progressive” in Tamil) Anna sought a compromise with the Central Govt and Congress, where the Tamil country remains a part of the Indian Union albeit with greater autonomy There was also a great deal of unrest within Dravidar Kazhagam against Periyar and his ways. In 1948 at the age of 70 the man married a 32 year old - a move that drew the ire of many of his own party members, causing the split So while DMK tried to gain respectability to contest elections competitively in a post-independence India, Periyar and his DK continued with their extreme, often rabble-rousing positions against Brahminism, Theism among other things While Periyar remained an important voice in Tamil Nadu, he was not in active electoral politics post split. He died in 1973 at the age of 94 CN Annadurai on the other hand, was the leading electoral leader for the DMK for much of the 50s and 60s. As we discussed, he was not always explicit and aggressive in pushing for the claim for secession. But he never abandoned the goal until the 60s. Nor did the DMK In 1963, the 16th amendment to the Constitution was passed, which basically banned any party that is contesting elections from espousing secessionist principles. Annadurai actually debated against this amendment but could not prevent its passage! Post this amendment, DMK had no choice but to give up entirely on the claim for Dravida Nadu. It was an ideal they had cherished, but gave it up in order to remain in the electoral game. The prospect of power was too attractive For the period between 1952 and 1967, DMK gained in popularity in TN with every passing election. But the Congress remained firmly in Power. Rajaji was the chief minister till 1954, to be succeeded by Kamaraj from '54 to '63, and Bhaktavatsalam from 63 to 67 The Congress was too strong to be uprooted throughout the 50s and early 60s. But again it was Hindi that did the trick for DMK. Things materialized In 1967 We have already discussed the first anti-Hindi agitation of 1937. In 1965, there was originally a plan laid out in the Constitution to make Hindi the sole official language of the country - a very impractical somewhat hare brained idea to begin with As 1965 approached, the anti-Hindi sentiment rose by the day, Full-scale riots broke out in many parts of TN. The death toll was in several hundreds. Eventually the PM LB Shastri pacified the state by assuring that English would continue as the official language along with Hindi But the anti-Hindi movement had done the trick for DMK - something that years and years of anti-brahmin and “rationalist” rhetoric had not managed to do In 1967, when the assembly as well as general elections were held, the unpopular Congress govt headed by Bhaktavatsalam was trounced and Anna-led DMK stormed to power. The Dravidian movement had triumphed Since 1967 Tamil Nadu has been ruled by Dravidian parties. By DMK for much of the 70s, ADMK for much of the 80s, and then alternating between the two parties since. The national parties have not stood a chance in any election From 67 to 69 - Anna was the CM. But in 69, he succumbed to cancer. The reins of the party now moved to M Karunanidhi, who we mentioned at the start of the thread Karunanidhi, like his one-time friend, MG Ramachandran (MGR) came from the movie industry. He started his career as a screenwriter for Tamil cinema in the late 40s / early 50s and was an enormously successful figure The DMK had started leveraging movie guys like Karunanidhi, MGR, Kannadasan, and others starting from the 50s, to increase its popularity in a state where Congress reigned supreme. Leveraging movie men has always been the tactic used by the Dravidian parties since independence Karunanidhi became CM pretty early in his life. At the age of 45 in 1969. And he remained the Chief Minister of the state till 1976, when Indira Gandhi dismissed his govt during the Emergency Post Anna’s demise , Karunanidhi had to contend with MGR, arguably a more popular leader with the masses. In 1972, MGR was expelled from the party. Which was inevitable, given Karunanidhi’s ambitions for his own family, as well as MGR’s discomfort with DMK’s explicit atheism MGR was a Malayali Nair by origin, and was a devout man. He neither shared Karunanidhi’s anti-brahminism, nor his atheism. While very much a Dravidian populist, he felt he had a better chance in politics with his own front that was formed in 1972 It called itself Anna Dravida Munnetra Kazhagam - invoking itself to be the true heir of Anna’s legacy - a legacy that Karunanidhi had purportedly betrayed with his corruption and nepotism But Populism remained a feature of Dravidian politics in both parties right from 1967. Anna himself was the first politician in India to use a promise of “rice subsidy” to secure the win in '67 His election slogan was “rubaikku moonu padi arisi” (3 measures of rice for a rupee) Karunanidhi continued in the same vein. He lifted Prohibition in 1971, not unexpected, as DMK’s materialist philosophy has always struck a contrast to the high Gandhian moralism of the high-minded Congress leaders like Rajaji and Kamaraj In 1977, MGR led ADMK trounced Karuna’s DMK, and MGR became the CM of the state - a post he held from '77 till his death in '87 MGR was succeeded by his brahmin wife Janaki (who was CM briefly) and later by his protege J Jayalalitha (a cine-star of repute and also a Brahmin) The two parties have established a more or less bi-polar set-up in TN with the Congress vote share waning with every passing election Jayalalitha emerged as a worthy successor and a worthy rival to Karunanidhi, and was CM from 1991 to 96, 2001 to 2006 and then from 2011 till 2016 - though she was often made to step down for brief periods due to corruption allegations and arrests Karunanidhi was CM during the late 90s (96-2001), and again the late 2000s (2006-11). Basically during the intervals when Jayalalitha was out of power But broadly the two parties have contested on a plank of populism. There has been little to distinguish the two parties ideologically. While DMK still retains an “anti-hindu” / “anti-brahmin” edge to its rhetoric - that flavor is increasingly irrelevant in a vastly different state where a good chunk of brahmins have bolted in search of jobs elsewhere Tamil Nadu remains a deeply religious state and DMK’s atheistic rhetoric is now more of a liability than an asset. The ADMK has always been without that edge to its rhetoric, while it has competed nonetheless with DMK when it comes to placating religious minorities for votes Jayalalitha died in 2016 and Karunanidhi now in 2018. With the demise of the two great leaders, is there a vacuum that can be filled by the national parties - the BJP in particular? Perhaps, but the national parties need to be mindful of the Tamil exceptionalism we have discussed in many parts of this thread. They need to groom leaders attuned to the Tamil psyche in order to succeed. Something that they have traditionally failed to do. Tamil Nadu, notwithstanding the populism of its politics, has been one of the more successful states in the Indian union. It’’s PPP adjusted per-capita income of around $10.5K is well in excess of the national average of $7K. Who should we credit for this? The Dravidian parties will of course be glad to accept credit, by talking up their “social empowerment” as an enabler of economic success The truth however is more nuanced. Maybe Tamil Nadu was always a “better than average” state in Indian history. Going all the way back to Pallava heyday. So it is not a surprise it is doing well Populism still needs to be resisted. We must not fall prey to the post-hoc ergo propter hoc fallacy and give credit to “Dravidian politics” for TN’s relative success Tamil Nadu has done well despite its politicians and not because of them. If anything we must credit its people Post-script : Thanks for reading, if you got this far! Would like to acknowledge @entropied - my many conversations with him helped clarify some thoughts, and also thanks to his pointer to Dharampal's research on 1820 Madras school data - something that I was unaware of. The entire thread can be found here - https://twitter.com/shrikanth_krish/status/1026967892125003776 @shrikanth_krish Data scientist. NYC-based. Writes on Politics, Economics, Religion, Classics and Intellectual History
A Phoned glorification of kartik month (part 1) // Shrila Bhakti Vedanta Narayana Swami
October 22, 2019 at 01:02AM https://www.a108.net/blogs/entry/31016-a-phoned-glorification-of-kartik-month-part-1-shrila-bhakti-vedanta-narayana-swami/ A Phoned glorification of kartik month (part 1) // Shrila Bhakti Vedanta Narayana Swami Tridandisvami Shri Shrimad Bhaktivedanta Narayana Maharaj Vrindavan, India, 28 October 2002 [In Vrindavan, India, October 28, 2002, at 6am, upon the first glimpses of sunrise, five hundred devotees from India and around the world were sitting in the beautiful Shri Rupa Sanatana Gaudiya Math in Vrindavan, India. Surrounded by Rajasthani pillars, colorful bas-relief and other paintings of Krsna's pastimes on the walls, walls painted in shades of yellow, saffron, and beige, sastric verses appropriate for entering vraja-bhakti painted in large letters above the archways, and lush creepers hanging from the balconies, the devotees had just finished singing their morning bhajanas. They were now waiting to be connected by a loudspeaker phone system to the voice of Paramaradya Shri Shrimad Bhaktivedanta Narayana Gosvami Maharaj. He was in Delhi, some four hours away by material calculation, resting in the home of his disciples as he performed his naravata-lila (human-like pastimes) of recuperating from a recent heart operation. As baby Krsna liberated His devotees Nalakuvera and Manigriva, although His own belly was bound by ropes, so Shrila Maharaj now performed a heart operation on his followers, although in his naravata-lila he was recuperating from his own. Shrila Maharaj began his phoned discourse in English, but then he said he would continue in Hindi. The doctors had allowed him only ten minutes to speak, and in Hindi, his mother tongue, he would be able to reveal much more than in English. After his lecture was completed, Shripad Madhava Maharaj, who was present with him, translated his Hindi into Bengali, and after the receiver clicked, Prema-prayojana dasa translated it into English. The following is a transcription of part 1 of that English translation:] Very rapidly and very energetically, practically without pausing for any breath at all, and having so much taste and relish in the glorification of kartik vrata*, Shrila Maharaj explained many things, and I will try to repeat them one by one. First he wanted to impress upon us how fortunate we are. He said, "I am not fortunate because I am in Delhi, so close to Vrindavan yet so far away. But you are lucky because you are in Vrindavan dhama during this time of kartik and you are observing kartik vrata there. What is the significance of this kartik month and Damodara vrata? Shrila Maharaj said that this month is called the month of Damodara; Damodara is He whose belly was bound by the rope of Mother Yasoda. He was not actually bound by a rope, however; He was bound by prema, by pure vatsalya-bhava (parental love). Krsna is anadi; He has no beginning. And He is ananta; He has no end. Still, although He is Parambrahma, that unlimited beginningless and endless Supreme Lord can be bound and trapped by prema. Therefore this month is called Damodara vrata, and those who observe it will attain the prema by which they can bind Parambrahma, the Supreme Lord. Those who can observe this vrata are very fortunate. This month is also called Urja vrata. Urja means sakti, and it specifically refers to Krsna's internal potency, antaranga sakti – Shrimati Radhika. Urja vrata actually means Radha vrata, a vow taken for the happiness of Shrimati Radhika. If one hears Her glorification in this month, the fruit will come in the form of gopi-prema. This month is also called kartik. The adhistatri-devata, predominating deity, of kartik month is Kirtika-kumari, the young daughter of Kirtika, Shrimati Radhika. Those who honor this month, of which Radhika is the predominating deity, by going to the pastime places of Krsna, will certainly, without any doubt at all, have all their desires completely fulfilled. They will attain jugal-seva, service of Radha and Krsna in the anugatya (guidance) of the Vraja gopis. Shrila Maharaj then explained that Satyavata Rsi has glorified Damodara month by the verses in his song Shri Damodarastakam, beginning namamisvaram sat-cit-ananda-rupam lasat-kundalam gokule vrajamanam. Rudantam muhur netram-jugman mirjantam. Rudantam means that Krsna is crying and looking towards His mother who has held up a stick. Krsna is pleading, "Don't beat me! Don't beat me!" because Mother Yasoda held the stick as though she was going to throw it at him. He was afraid, and she caught him. Mother Yasoda is so fortunate that she could catch Krsna and then bind Him with her love. nemam virinco na bhavo na srir apy anga-samsraya prasadam lebhire gopi yat tat prapa vimuktidat (Shrimad-Bhagavatam 10.9.20) ["Neither Lord Brahma, nor Lord Siva, nor even the goddess of fortune, who is always the better half of the Supreme Lord, can obtain from the Supreme Personality of Godhead, the deliverer from this material world, such mercy as received by mother Yasoda."] Even Brahmaji, the direct son of Bhagavan, is not so fortunate as to have a love like that of Mother Yasoda. Even Sankara, who is called Hari-hara-ekatma and who thus feels oneness with Bhagavan, cannot have a love like this. Even Laksmi-devi, Bhagavan's full aisvarya-sakti, never has the chance to bind her consort. This is impossible for all of them. But Mother Yasoda has attained this, and she is therefore glorified by Shrila Sukadeva Gosvami: nayam sukhapo bhagavan dehinam gopika-sutah jnaninam catma-bhatanam yatha bhaktimatam iha (Shrimad-Bhagavatam 10.9.21) Unless one has love that of like Mother Yasoda, Krsna cannot be bound. He cannot be bound by those who have a bodily conception (dehinam). This mercy is very far away from them. Those who may be liberated (jnaninam), and those who may even be associates but with aisvarya-jnana, knowledge of Krsna's opulence, also cannot bind Krsna. And even for those who have yogic siddhis (atma-bhutanam), this mercy is inconceivable and inaccessible. This type of mercy was attained by Yasoda Maiya, because Krsna can only be bound by prema – not by any other quality. Shrila Maharaj then explained that in this month, when Krsna's babyhood came to an end, He began his boyhood pastimes and went out to graze calves for the first time. Because He was very small, at first He only grazed calves, and the day on which He began is called Gopastami. Then, when He was older, more mature, and entering His kaisora age, He had another Gopastami. This was the first day He went out to graze the cows. Why does Krsna graze calves and cows? He is the son of a king, without any duty. The answer is that on the pretext of grazing cows He escapes the confines of His home and the vigilant glances of His parents and seniors, so that He can go to the forest and meet with Shrimati Radhika and the gopis. Gopasthami marks the day of the fulfillment of Krsna's desires to directly have their first intimate meeting, and this pastime also took place in the month of kartik. This month is also auspicious because Krsna's leaving the village and going out for cow grazing has been described by the gopis (in Venu-gita: Shrimad-Bhagavatam Tenth Canto Chapter 21) in this month. Shri Sukadeva Gosvami said: sri-suka uvaca ittham sarat-svaccha-jalam padmakara-sugandhina nyavisad vayuna vatam sa-go-gopalako 'cyutam (Shrimad-Bhagavatam 10.21.1) ["Sukadeva Gosvami said: 'Thus the Vrindavan forest was filled with transparent autumnal waters and cooled by breezes perfumed with the fragrance of lotus flowers growing in the clear lakes. The infallible Lord, accompanied by His cows and cowherd boyfriends, entered that Vrindavan forest.'"] Acyuta, Krsna, along with His friends, entered into the forest in this sarad (autumn) season. The first night of kartik was Saradiya Purnima, the full moon night of the autumn season. Shrila Maharaj explained how beautiful Vrindavan is at that time. All the lakes and rivers become muddy during the summer, but when that season ends and the sarad season begins, all the lakes, like Manasi Ganga and Kusuma Sarovara, become clear and beautiful. Upon these lakes sit many blossoming lotus flowers that emit a beautiful fragrance, and the breeze carries that fragrance everywhere. In this beautiful atmosphere, Krsna, Acyuta, has gone out to graze cows. kusumita-vanaraji-susmi-bhrnga dvija-kula-ghusta-sarah-sarin-mahidhram madhupatir avagahya carayan gah saha-pasu-pala-balas cukuja venum (Shrimad-Bhagavatam 10.21.2) ["The lakes, rivers, and hills of Vrindavan resounded with the sounds of maddened bees and flocks of birds moving about the flowering trees. In the company of the cowherd boys and Balarama, Madhupati Shri Krsna entered that forest, and while herding the cows He began to play His flute."] In Vrindavan there are many rows of flowering trees, which are attracting the bumblebees, who are now intoxicated by their honey. Many types of birds are singing various tunes, and these birds play on different mountains like Giri Govardhana. At that time, Madhupati Krsna, who is full of madhu, sweet and attractive qualities, entered the forest surrounded by His friends. In this month the gopis stay in their homes and feel great separation from Krsna, and at the same time, by their bhava-netra, the eyes of their ecstatic love for Krsna, they can see Him entering the forest. barhapidam nata-vara-vapuh karnayoh karnikaram bibhrad vasah kanaka-kapisam vaijayantim ca malam randhran venor adhara-sudhayapurayan gopa-vrndair vrndaranyam sva-pada-ramanam pravisad gita-kirtih (Shrimad-Bhagavatam 10.21.5) ["Wearing a peacock-feather ornament upon His head, blue karnikara flowers on His ears, a yellow garment as brilliant as gold, and the Vaijayanti garland, Lord Krsna exhibited His transcendental form as the greatest of dancers as He entered the forest of Vrindavan, beautifying it with the marks of His footprints. He filled the holes of His flute with the nectar of His lips, and the cowherd boys sang His glories."] All these verses are the glory of this month. It was in this month that the gopis remained in their homes and spoke to each other: aksanvatam phalam idam na param vidamah sakhyam pasun anuvivesayator vayasyaih vaktram vrajesa-sutayor anavenu-justam yair va nipitam anurakta-kataksa-moksam (Shrimad-Bhagavatam 10.21.7) ["The cowherd girls said: 'O friends, those eyes that see the beautiful faces of the sons of Maharaj Nanda are certainly fortunate. As these two sons enter the forest, surrounded by Their friends, driving the cows before Them, They hold Their flutes to Their mouths and glance lovingly upon the residents of Vrindavan. For those who have eyes, we think there is no greater object of vision.'"] O sakhi, in this world the vision of this scene is the fruit of having eyes. Krsna is going slowly, remaining somewhat behind the other cowherd boys, so that Balarama will go ahead. Meanwhile, He is looking here and there, hoping to have a glimpse of Shrimati Radhika. [Endnote: A vrata is a vow to observe the rules and regulations and ceremonial functions of a particular holy occasion.]
we all know it walked it every day [Music] but none of them were like these the world's most dangerous ways to school [Music] freezing climbing risking their lives all for the chance of a better future spectacular and sometimes simply beautiful the world's most dangerous ways to score someone are they're not they a peninsula in the southern Philippines children who want to get an education here have one of the most dangerous and most extraordinary ways to school their school is located in the heart of the mountains deep in the rainforest in circumstances like this it's hard for many students to get an education some walk alone to the jungle for hours others risk their lives in order to make it past in this Bambang a steep face of rock and boulders overgrown with moss and tree roots a gigantic wall that the children must climb every single day in the hopes of a better future [Music] [Music] when the Sun rises on Mindanao at a.m. it gets light quite suddenly the day begins early this close to the equator Zamboanga is located in the northwest of the second largest island in the Philippines the thinly populated coastal strip gives way to sharply rising mountains in the tiny fishing settlement of Madiba Bo the day begins with the break of dawn and thus also begins one of the most dangerous ways to school in the world when the rooster crows Ida proceso wakes her family there's no time to lose her daughter ivy has class in two and a half hours before getting ready she helps her mother make breakfast like every morning there's rice fish and Moringa the processors can't afford anything else like % of the Filipino population the family lives in poverty I go to high school in oral it's a longest and very difficult Ernie everyday hustle down here on the coast there is no school for the eleven-year-old every day she has to walk uphill through the jungle it's no coincidence that her school is located on the neighboring mountain nor is it bad planning in this region of the Philippines families live far apart from one another scattered across the mountain slopes the coast and the woods the auto elementary in high school has a central location [Music] more than feet further up Ivy's classmate Ryan gazes dreamily down on the fishing Bay the year old lives high up on the summit for him it's already high time he started off to school but first Ryan has to help his grandmother well dependent run on the rain up here look if it doesn't rain you don't have any water coming through big then I have to come down here before so will we get water from the pond but we've gotta go through only then can we go to school it's over half a mile to the fountain and back but more than the long distances it's the isolation up here that makes life so hard for Ryan he lives in a small cottage along with his grandmother and all his friends from school live far away together they raise pigs every couple of months Ryan's grandma sells one down in the markets in the villages that's enough for them to survive on but she wants Ryan to have a better life someday school is the first step Ryan isn't like other children he's wonderful he helps me with the housework and with other work he always does what I tell him to do but he only has a few friends to play with up here he is playing on his own most of the time he's a daydreamer Ryan's parents live in the capital Manila miles away their dream at least a little prosperity the reality Ryan's father doesn't have a good education and has to make his living as a motorbike taxi driver he doesn't earn enough money to feed his son in the city so ever since his third birthday Ryan has lived here every month his father sends a support check about US Dollars even in the mountains of Mindanao that's not much it's just enough for a breakfast of rice and instant noodles Ryan's grandmother packs the leftovers for his school lunch [Music] I interlaced I go to school because my dream is to be an engineer's well then earn enough money to fly to my parent - a nice tuna to realize his dream the boy has to walk more than two hours to school whatever like okay every morning when I see him go it breaks my heart every day he takes the path down to oral without complaining the jungle the roads child shouldn't have to go to school like that what can I do it's the only school and his only chance to become something decent to get to school Ryan must descend for miles through nearly unspoiled nature and the year old has to hurry in fact he's already late class starts in two hours in the morning time is also getting short for the processor family in the fishing settlement of Madiba gone right after eating breakfast I be has to go to school until a few months ago her older brothers accompanied her but since they graduated they've been looking for work in the city it was good when my brothers were still there vehicle they could tell me where I should step or what I could hold on to I felt safer now I have to find my way by myself India one last touch-up in the mirror before going an eleven-year-old girl should have other things on her mind than worrying about how she'll make her way to school today without getting hurt I bees mother used to be a teacher at her school Ida climbed the path with her children together but she's no longer physically capable of making it on her daughter's route whenever I see IB go I'm always reminded of the accident I was with her I was climbing a few feet underneath her and all of a sudden she felt towards me luckily I was able to hold on to her I can't bear to think that she's alone on the wall now I see my new lesson fun fun the closest larger town in which there's something like medical care is about twelve miles from muddy Baku Dapitan city someone lives here who knows the way over the steep face better than almost anyone else Frederic comes from IB settlement today he's the principal in Ottawa nan Kappa no longer poem by topic oh I know exactly how dangerous it is for the children I went that way for years myself and that's why I actually don't want the children coming to school over the crack but I also know that some don't have any choice experience within a gang hit up the older son because of his own experience Frederic along with the school board has even officially prohibited families from taking the route over the steep face but he also knows on the one hand he can't tell anyone which path to take and on the other hand it sounds much easier than it actually is for the children shortly after he leaves the city on his motorbike it becomes apparent why that's the streets Ahmadi Paco normally bag or this is the only Street to the school in you have to go along the coast first and then it's twice that distance to get to the school it's an uphill walk most people can't afford a taxi at all one u.s. dollar that's how much a ride on a motorbike taxi to school costs but i beez family simply doesn't have the money and going around would mean walking for hours so for decades children from a debacle have been taking the shortcut through the jungle and they have to make it over this a steep face the people here simply call it pumpin which means something like short crossing a crossing from the coast to the mountains from water to rock it rises all of a sudden like a huge wall in some places its slope is degrees the naked rock is overgrown with slippery moss and roots many people have fallen here some have critically injured themselves while trying to climb bumping that's why the children from Annie bago prefer to go together I hope there are some older kids today it's not I have to live a younger one sad life in fact other children are already waiting at the meeting place so they can climb pom pom together but it's only eight year old show Molly and his younger brother Shannon who will share the path with I be today at the age of eleven ivy is the oldest and as such is responsible for the other children school is compulsory in the Philippines too but only through sixth grade and many children simply don't go to school one in ten is illiterate meanwhile Ryan has reached Cobra Rock which is inhabited by highly poisonous but thankfully timid snakes Ryan is not afraid of them he likes to play in the high grass too much and he has encountered snakes more than once while doing so [Music] not good once I was running up the hill and afternoon I wasn't looking down all of a sudden I heard tax pack and my leg hurt I sneaked and I grass lunged at me and bit me here in the calf luckily for Ryan it was only a subway a non-poisonous variety of snake not the Filipinos spitting cobra which lives here in the mountains and can kill with one bite [Music] [Music] six-thirty school starts in one and a half hours Ryan still hasn't covered even / of the way yet the three children that the foot of the mountain have also made little progress they're approaching the most difficult part of their daily routine [Music] I always get a bit nervous when we get close to Palm Pilot it scares me Shema V and his brother Chanel are in second grade their trail which children in flip-flops have trodden down over decades of the jungle is getting increasingly steep even this early in the morning the temperature on their way to school is already over degrees Fahrenheit in addition there's also the high humidity of the jungle and they haven't even gotten to the hardest part yet meanwhile up on the mountain Ryan has reached the coconut fields sometimes he encounters the coconut farmers here cutting new notches and the palm trees with their machetes they use these notches as steps to climb up the trees and harvest the coconuts by hand along with rice and mangoes coconuts are the most important crop in the region but the yields from the mountain fields aren't big enough to play a role in the large-scale export business it's too difficult to transport the coconuts down to the cities most are sold at markets in the mountain villages it's almost Awesome Best Kids School In Chatrapur o'clock already school begins in one hour but the heat is getting to Ryan sometimes when the farmers let him the year old takes a short break and catches a breeze [Music] coconut trees reach a height of to feet one mistake and Ryan would fall straight down but the mountain children learned the special climbing technique at a young age and the knotch steps provide good support although time is getting short Ryan isn't thinking of getting right back to the trail at school he's even better at doing handicrafts and inventing things than he is at climbing trees as long as he's already up here the daydreamer is happy to take a breather he dreams of working as an engineer and have some day visiting his parents in Manila [Music] but he also knows that the key to realizing his dreams isn't up in the crown of a palm tree but a couple miles further down the mountain [Music] I be sure Molly and Shanna have reached the steepest part every time she gets here YB thinks about the day her mother's saved her life in the nick of time it rained that day I've been a policeman right up there that's where I slipped she would have been dashed against the rocks if Ida hadn't caught her but Abby's mother isn't there today the -year old is on her own and has to lead the younger children right as the children are about to get started someone comes from the other direction the iron rule on pom pom the person climbing down has right of way at some parts the rock ledges and roots are so narrow that only one person at a time can climb on them [Music] it's one of the fishermen who climb down everyday from their homes in the mountains to feed their families for them Bambang is more than a shortcut it is the most important connection between life on the mountain and life on the coast hold on tight kids let luck did--they it's very slippery today but they need a quick well-intentioned piece of advice and then the children are all alone again their way up the steep face is now free i beez father is also a fisherman while she's up here climbing he's making the families living on the Sulu Sea a marginal sea of the Pacific Ocean the Sulu Sea is quite shallow along the coast the fishermen can walk hundreds of yards out to their boats but a little later the ocean floor drops off sharply to a depth of up to four and a half miles BIM process oh never got an education but he knows his children's way to school very well she should be up there right about now I always look up when I paddle out to go fishing I wonder if it's right to send my daughter on a path like that what can I do after all she has to go to school traditionally the fisherman cast nets into the bay to catch fish there were times when enough fish swam into his net when Ben could actually afford a motorbike taxi for his children but this luxury has become rarer and rare the caches are getting worse and worse [Music] Macha three fish that's actually pretty good for one morning sometimes I even get five I don't want my children to become fishermen well if that's what they were but they ought to learn something useful that's why they have to go to school once again the catch is just large enough to feed his own family Ben hasn't sold fish for a long time now and that's why he simply doesn't have the money to spare his daughter the dangerous journey to school [Music] frederik the teacher is proof that education can function as a path out of poverty he too came from a fisherman's family in Madiba go and he took the way to school overpumping every day Oro has one primary and one secondary school with a total of Best Preschool in Chatrapur students Frederick teaches first through fourth grade plus kindergarten fifth through tenth grades which IB and Ryan attend are in a separate building right next door bullit now I think I'm kind of a role model for the children I'm an example for them that they shouldn't give up the path is worth taking no matter how difficult it is ah that in a metaphorical sense the path is also a path to one's goals in life Ryan's break in the palm tree lasted a bit longer than he planned it's at o'clock that is in minutes class starts if Ryan doesn't hurry up now he'll get there too late [Music] but instead of getting a move on he enjoys a coconut that he is just scavenged again and again along the lonely path over the mountain ridge the year old gets lost in his own thoughts Mila I think of my parents a lot of Pierre was I don't know when I saw the last sodaro it's been a couple of years now nothing good I missed him a lot keep that I wish they were a year if I got a yo-yo [Music] several hundred feet below I be Kumari and the seven-year-old Chanel have other problems to deal with the three children have reached the steepest part of bump on this is where most accidents happen the wall changes constantly according to the weather conditions each day the children need to read it afresh and find new paths up it the only thing they have to hold on to are the roots that grow out of the wet soil and wrap themselves around the rocks some are sturdy some are not afraid I sleep here a couple of times the children climb slowly following the -point rule that means they should seek a new support with only one arm or the lake at a time a necessity if they want to survive on their way to school another rule the oldest goes last thus IB keeps her eye on the others can guide them from below and in an emergency can perhaps still react and catch them [Music] [Music] [Applause] [Music] [Applause] [Music] [Applause] [Music] [Applause] while her daughter continues to climb up pom pom I bees mother walks a few hundred yards along the road to her new job to save the very youngest children from having to make the climb the government has at least opened the kindergarten on the coast and Ida is the teacher in return for working there six days a week Ivy's mother gets about US dollars a month the children in the kindergarten always remind her of her own daughter [Music] when Ivy was that age she was a very shy girl that didn't change until she suddenly had to climb pom pom alone since then I barely recognize my child she's suddenly an adult and she pays a high price for it just like those children who now go to kindergarten soon will as long as there is no school on the thin strip of coast they will also have to take the dangerous path there is no longer any trace of I bees earlier timidity courageous and confident she leads the seven and eight year old up the crag their strength is fading climbing takes it out of them especially the two boys it's important for them to maintain their concentration as it's especially slippery today [Music] [Music] done exhausted the children struggle the last few feet of the crag their arduous ascent has taken them more than a half hour for the moment I be as relieved the eurokids chatrapur year old has led the boys to safety is extremely difficult engine model s but their journey isn't over yet no time to rest school starts in minutes and from this point the children still need at least that much if they hurry [Music] up on the plateau several children from the surrounding villages have already reached the school in order and they're supposed to be there early every morning before school starts all the students and the teachers clean the ground the children from muddy boggle and the remote mountain settlements rarely participate Frederic the principal doesn't have the heart to punish them or to be mad at them Minaya those children who live far away almost always come too late all we can do is offer to spend time in the afternoon reviewing the material they've missed Omega what with Iona intervenes in yen from the other side of the ridge Ryan finally reaches a building a building he knows only too well [Music] it's the daro elementary school the village school he used to attend it also has a kindergarten there are only three rooms and three teachers first and second grade share one room and one teacher as two third and fourth grade I went here from kindergarten to fourth grade DK Tongan grade for the boss that's all the further it goes the lappet lungs it don't it's cool there's no secondary school here that's why Ryan now has to go all the way to order at least from here on he walks along the road many of his former classmates don't go to school anymore the way is simply too long for them [Music] almost eight o'clock after the climb I beam the two boys are hurrying through the undergrowth of the mangrove forest the year old is determined not to arrive too late [Music] they reached the school grounds just in time many children from the surrounding area are already there [Music] the children for Madiba go are happy each time they managed to beat the bell like today [Music] school begins at eight o'clock sharp with a traditional flag ceremony Frederic the teacher takes attendance for each class a handful of students are just about always missing at this time of day nevertheless school begins as planned with the national anthem [Music] [Music] [Music] as usual Ryan misses it the year old has been walking for over two hours all alone sometimes someone on a motorbike is nice enough to let him ride along for a bit and that saves them a lot of time but not today no one with a free space as driven by I know I'm definitely too late I always try to be on time okay even when I hurry class has usually already begun when I get there [Music] he gets to school at Ryan has missed the first class not for the first time this week and he's not the only one to miss it today in second grade the lesson is well underway and eight-year-old Srimati and his seven-year-old brother are there today the children's classes are math English social studies and science Filipino and local dialects but not all the children seem to be paying attention the exhausting climb up pumping has taken its toll you can recognize children from a debacle like jean-marie and Janelle immediately their inability to concentrate makes them stand out they're tired Megara casa by I have to give them special attention to make sure they participate [Music] there's a long break at the school doesn't have a real cafeteria but a few mothers from the surrounding villages sell food in the pavilion there's a kind of doughnuts polenta eggs and chicken all for one to five pesos that's about to cents at that price even the poor children can sometimes buy something to accompany the rice they've brought with them Ryan and I B are in seventh grade in the afternoon they have history class they've been learning about the Second World War at home I be prepared a report about Spain's participation in the war the Philippines were a Spanish colony for centuries even today the influence of that time can be seen in the country's food culture and language [Music] as always i beez report is a success the year old is a model student ib is an exception the kids with a long walk to school do worse in class than the others take Ryan I know he walks down from the mountain every day he's very intelligent but he can't concentrate and almost always misses the first class [Music] school ends at the pavilion has transformed from an improvised cafeteria into a taxi stand many motorbike drivers from the region some of them the same age as the students are waiting in the hopes of earning the little extra money Joe Murray and Shannon are in luck another student from the coast has enough money for a motorbike taxi and takes them with her today the two boys don't have to climb back down pom pom Ryan has also found a ride a farmer going his way can take him along for part of the journey a rare stroke of luck [Music] [Music] most of the other children stay at school the grounds are open to everyone in the afternoon teenagers who live far apart from one another use the opportunity to play basketball together the national sport of the Philippines or just to spend time with their friends like IB game please my friends are here but um this is my only chance to be with them the droga getting a ride from the farmer saves ryan a whole lot of time over one hour on foot for a change the year old does not dawdle on the way home as happens o often a storm is drawing near [Music] the weather can change suddenly in the Philippines thanks to the high humidity short heavy rain showers tend to be the rule even in the dry season [Music] this is no problem for most of the children the clouds often disperse as quickly as they've gathered but for IB it means even greater danger on her way home from school the routes the rocks the soil pumping is now even more slippery than usual [Music] I hate it when it has ring in addition climbing down is more difficult than climbing up [Music] i beez mother Ida dislikes the rain as much as her daughter her concern grows with each passing minute her fear that IB might slip a second time last time either managed to save her in the nick of time a couple bruises a couple scrapes luckily that was the extent of the damage ib was years old then I always look for something to do when the weather is like this to distract myself otherwise all I do is think of IB and how she's hanging on to the roots I can't stand it at that very moment IB has reached the steepest part of pompon and the rain is getting stronger there's no one around to help her in an emergency [Music] [Music] [Applause] [Music] [Applause] [Music] [Applause] the way home lasts longer than usual normally IB would be home by now at a certain point no shirt in need of mending could distract either anymore she must keep a lookout for her daughter [Music] what Ida would really like to do is embrace her daughter but she doesn't want Abby to notice how concerned she is ultimately tomorrow is another school day and so no exceptions can be made today ib has to do her homework but then thing I want to be a police officer and for criminals in jail one the school day comes to a close on top of the mountain - like every evening Ryan does his homework while eating dinner he's pretty tired but that doesn't keep the year old from chasing his dreams [Music] my biggest wish is to have enough money someday to go to Manila Pokhara well collectivism my parents but it's really my biggest wish for one Hungary even before the Sun has completely disappeared behind the horizon eleven-year-old ivy goes to bed exhausted [Music] Ryan also goes to bed early like always [Music] the children prompt zamboanga they're not they they've got to get started again at the break of dawn starting along one of the world's most dangerous ways to school [Music]
He was young again, and vulnerable. Houses towered; streets coursed. Nobody had any idea what was coming, and he had no name, for even his own identity had not yet formed. In these moments, the world was malleable and full of opportunities—and so was he, not that he'd had any idea back then. While his friends vanished like so much smoke, his demon-eyed and grizzled son of a bitch father stalked into the alley and grabbed the joint from his hand. "Fool boy. You'll ruin your life with this kinda thing. Can't you just pretend to fit in? Smile. Come to church. Stop runnin' with this crowd. I don't know how to get through to ya." The old man raised a hand, but then thought better of it. "Nah, would break your mother's heart were she still here, God bless her soul." These were sentiments he'd heard before, but he'd finally had enough. The raging energies of a teenage body spat from his hands and lashed out. Pushing, he screamed, "I don't belong here!" While his old man staggered, he ran. Was it Brisbane then? Or had that come later? It was all a blur now, full of youthful blunders and victories he could never apologize for. None of that existed anymore. He sat on a dock with a girl whose name he'd lost long ago. It had been late then, past midnight, and she had been another runaway with nowhere else to go. Banding together had been important; of course, that was not the only reason he'd been there. This night, she was just a shadow, and he was slowly grasping more of his waking self with a sense of despair. He had been innocent then, but not now, and he could literally feel that purity drain from him moment to moment the closer he drifted toward waking. This night, his companion on the dock was just a shadow; this night, a phantasmal light glimmered into existence to his left. He watched it for a moment, fixated, as the chilly green point grew into a small rapidly fluctuating ring of fractally perpendicular emerald. It was beautiful, haunting, and wholly out of place. On a hunch, he asked, "Hello?" Showman awoke to a stinging bruise on his forehead. Sitting up abruptly among the other layabouts next to the fence where they'd all more or less fallen after an intense day's work, he looked around with dismay. The pebble that had hit him rolled down his shirt. It had come from no discernible source—maybe kicked up by a truck passing on the dirt road—and it had somehow flown twenty-odd meters and clocked him. He could already tell that it was going to be one of those days. As it often did, the demoralization of his dream lingered, but he sighed and adjusted his manner to feign positivity as he walked. This was one lesson he had learned from his old man; to himself and to Murphy's demon sitting on his shoulder, he whispered, "The show must go on." The cold morning light was still in its grey phase, for he was up far earlier than he'd intended, but there was no going back to sleep with all the soreness of heavy farm work pulsating at the extremities of his awareness. They put him to work wherever he went, be it insect tunnels or snow-dusted farms, and he was secretly astonished that the first thing every society in need did was politely enslave its men. He understood it, and did not rail against it with any great loathing, but it seemed the default mode of every community he'd drifted through in his life was behave by our rules or leave. For the moment, as was his role, he behaved by the rules. Eleven trees stood at the far end of field B-11, and rarely used laborer-worn paths went close enough to make both approach and exit unassuming. Among the shrubs and trunks, there ran a clearing that could not be seen from outside, and here he found two equally overworked and dirty men already present. He stopped short and asked, "Why so early?" "Could ask the same of you," one replied petulantly. The other was far grimmer. "Word is the Zkirax pulled the trigger. Everyone in the tunnels is dead." At this, Showman felt heat and discomfort run involuntarily up his limbs. "I thought we had more time." "We all did, mate." "Those bastard insects actually did it." He turned his head away from them as he suffered a moment of mortal stress. He'd been a laborer in those tunnels just like he was a laborer here, and, in those orange-lit recesses, nobody had told him the truth about the Zkirax alliance. What were they not telling him now? He turned back to them. "What's that?" The grimmer man lifted a crumpled paper full of innocuous symbols that would have looked like nothing more than a crude map to anyone not in the know. "Orders from higher up. It'll soon be time to act." "Fair dinkum," the other added, nodding. Not wanting to believe it, Showman shook his head instinctively. "How do you know they're real? My gut's on the Ghost Council being dead, true dead, same as the rest of the First Tribe. They've been silent since we left." "Well they're not silent anymore." "Sure, maybe. At the time it all made sense, too. But what do we really know about them now? The way this is done, we can't even be sure they're the same ones as before. Who are they? "Just some people who also thought the idea of letting a teenage boy run an alliance with aliens was an absurd idea. Doesn't matter to me if the particulars switch out." For that, he had no direct reply. Deep in his core, he knew what was coming. Something in him had pulled away from all this, and the community he'd thought had finally been right for him had now turned into yet another mire from which he had to carefully extract himself. "And how will we do this if we can't kill each other? Throw dangerous people in a pit somewhere?" "Nah, they'd get out. We'll have to have dismemberment crews that'll keep them in pieces daily so they can't cause trouble. It's sickening, but necessary." He suppressed a horrified shiver and pretended to nod in agreement. "Sounds like it's been thought out. What's Pixley got to say about all this?" "She's a lousy drunk," one man countered. "Who cares?" "No way to reach her, anyhow," the other said with a more level-headed tone. "There are questions of loyalty going around, and whether us being unable to die changes things. It's unclear who's in charge anymore, and whether any of this is necessary. I say those questions will be easier to figure out with us on one side of the line rather than the other, if you catch my meaning." Showman took a step back. His compatriots reacted poorly, and, always aware of his own personal show, he stepped forward again. "Then let me get to Pixley. Let's just get her word on it, alright? I can be back in a single day." "That so?" "It is." "Fair chops, then. We'll wait." Backing away and nodding, he looked both of them in the eye to ascertain their sincerity. They would wait—the challenge now was going on this supposed supply run's return trip sooner than planned. Scanning the fields that were only just then beginning to fill with laborers both alive and dead, he slipped out of the grove and onto the track without attracting even a single glance. Eventually joining the deeper flow of people along the main road, he headed toward where Edgar and his men were camped. He still considered it a stroke of luck that his original assignment to befriend a farming system's head engineer had somehow led him to a trusted position with one of the region's big movers and shakers, and Edgar certainly didn't suspect in the least, but something about all this was starting to weigh on his soul. Humanity was surviving better than anyone had projected—the inability to die notwithstanding—and the hard choices were being met with solidarity and ingenuity rather than pyrrhic sacrifice. Men like Edgar were putting on a show of confidence and leading the way, while men like Neil were working hard in support to make those efforts succeed. Lying to them felt increasingly wrong. He squeezed his arm muscles as he walked. Tilling frozen fields, building fences, and hauling materials was backbreaking work, but in some manner he relished the penitence. Concord farm was an amazing gem in a vast wilderness that was otherwise shit house. If nothing else, that very pregnant Casey deserved loyalty and contribution for what she had founded here. Speaking of—he nodded to her eldest son in passing, and he smiled and nodded back. He was a good kid, and a few years younger than the teenage boy in charge of the alliance back home that the others had disparaged. Maybe it was that youthful eagerness and honesty that the aliens had trusted; the inner despair and loneliness of true adulthood had not yet found boys like them. Or maybe they'd had great parents. His father was too far away in distance and time to hear him, so he whispered the words out loud to himself: "I have to tell Edgar what's about to happen, don't I?" On his shoulder, the demon of bad luck disagreed. At that moment, his shirt caught on the edge of the rear bumper of a passing truck, and he stumbled backwards with it during a disorienting series of embarrassed moments. Passersby either stared in surprise or laughed until he freed his shirt and tumbled against the soft grassy bank next to the road and away from the crowd. From his prone position on the grass, he could hear men speaking in hushed tones. "I don't like the way the Lifers treat us either, but it's only natural, right? Look at your head wound. It's disgusting." "This isn't even what killed me. I got this injury saving a Lifer from an errant spider from that forest over there. And I'm not talking about how they look at us. I'm talking about a slave class that seems to be emerging. We aren't fed or protected from the elements, and yet we work day in and day out." A third voice joined in. "I have been thinking about that." "Right? Thus the plan. We don't necessarily have to hurt many people. It would just be better for all of us if one of us were in charge." "But how? They'd never let us just take—" "We outnumber them two to one. We just wait and watch for a good opportunity." "Yeah, but how many of us are in on this?" The reply came with an undercurrent of anger: "Most of us here at Concord. If I say the word—" With a guarded expression, Showman rose. Five dead men turned and stared at him. He raised his hands. "You guys don't have to do that." Three men stepped forward, but two held them back. "This guy's a friend of the dead. He's never treated us any different. And remember that dead engineer who helped in the fields? They came in together." "We did!" he continued, trying to think quickly. "Just wait. Look, no matter what it feels like, there is no difference between the living and the dead. You guys will regenerate and be alive again, and we will die to hunger, cold, and violence. It's a cycle. Come on. You know they'll hear your concerns, because we're one and the same. We need you guys." Wary eyes regarded him as their owners considered his words. "Just wait," he said again. "Please don't throw a coup or something. Just a few days, alright? We'll figure this all out!" He looked to the side, racing for any shred of inspiration. "Wait! I know! I'm headed to the Waystation right now, and I'll be back in a day. I'll bring someone who can fix all this." The leader revealed himself by speaking. "Oh yeah? Who's that?" "A very important person," he lied with as much sincerity as he could. "I can't say anything now. Just trust me. We've worked together in the fields. You know me. We can figure this out without violence. Yeah?" Four men looked to the one with the hardest eyes, the one who had spoken with collective righteous anger. Now, though, his voice was diplomatic and guarded. "You'll be back in a day?" "A day! I'm heading there right now." The lead man moved his half-hanging jaw as he mulled over the idea, but, before he could agree or disagree, screams erupted from down the road. In an instant, Showman joined men both alive and dead in a concerned rush toward the gates of Concord farm. A crowd had already gathered, and many were screaming or crying. In their midst, a wounded and exhausted woman lay repeating, "They're all dead. Everyone in the Zkirax tunnels is dead." "I left my family there!" someone screamed. Others pushed forward. "Are they being eaten?" "Did you see it?" "Why would they do that?! We're allies!" "How did you escape?" "I knew we couldn't trust those damn bugs." Showman looked to his left and right, but the rebellious dead men had vanished into the growing crowd. A chill wind blew in under the blue early morning sunlight, and he wondered how many things could go wrong at once—on his shoulder, Murphy's demon grinned, and the ground trembled ever so slightly. He wasn't sure he'd really felt it or whether it was the result of the masses pouring in to hear the news. Where would Edgar be right now? He slipped his way through the sea of horrified faces and ran down the road toward the main buildings. In short order, he caught sight of a circle of men and women outside the central farmhouse. Pushing in, he managed to reach the second row and get a good vantage on a table in the center with a crude map spread on it. Casey stood with her pregnant belly touching the edge; she used a stick to point at various objects. "The titan beast will be here within the hour—" Titan beast? His question was answered by another tremor beneath his shoes. This was definitely one of those days, and everything was going wrong at once! Heart pounding, he scanned the circles of onlookers and found Edgar about ninety degrees to his right—but he also caught sight of his own living compatriots and the dead men who had spoken of rebellion. There were two groups here considering violent uprising, and it looked like their opportunity had arisen. He caught as many hard gazes as he could and subtly shook his head. A runner arrived. "The Zkirax! They've killed everyone in their tunnels!" The crowd began to splinter into chaos and questions, but Casey shouted them down. "Pay attention! There's nothing we can do about that right now!" Her motherly anger immediately brought quiet and discipline. "We have multiple objectives and very little time. According to radio reports, two beasts are approaching—one smaller, one very big. We cannot allow them to pass through here, or they'll destroy everything simply by rolling over it. In front of these beasts are a mess of creatures of all sorts. Those we'll have to fight or endure. The beasts, though, will have to be diverted around us somehow." One woman asked, "How big are they?" "By reports, one's roughly the size of a mountain," Casey answered. "The bigger one is—" "That's the smaller one?" someone shouted. She continued unperturbed. "The bigger one blocked the whole horizon; full size unknown." "Christ!" "What'll we do?" "How can we resist anything that big?" "We have to run!" Showman stood on his toes and peered down. It looked like his compatriots and the rebellious dead men were reaching for weapons at their hips. He shook his head a little more this time and made sure to catch their eyes for a warning glare amidst the confusion. Casey stomped her foot. "Be quiet!" Silence fell. Those men who had reached for weapons—both alive and dead—stealthily backed down. "Think about it," she said, locking eyes with those comprising the innermost circle. "Why would there be a smaller version of the same kind of beast?" Showman looked over as Edgar spoke. "Uh, it's a baby?" "Exactly," Casey said. "And where baby goes—" "—so goes the parent," Edgar finished, his eyes widening. "We need to distract the baby." "Yes." The determined redhead donned a grim frown and regarded those around her. "Volunteers will have to take trucks, and anything we can spare that makes noise or light. Your main task will be to draw the smaller beast as far to the side as you can." She sighed. "It's unlikely you'll survive." Despite that, a dozen men and women stepped forward immediately. "Go," she ordered, her eyes memorizing each of their faces as they nodded and ran toward the trucks. Suddenly left with a much smaller crowd—most of which were on the verge of violence in search of power—Showman shivered. How did these people deal with so many threats from so many different directions without losing it? "That brings us to our second objective," Casey said, tracing her stick along the map. "These things roll right across rough terrain. Forests, hills, mountains—they're no impediment. The lookouts say they squeeze right through the rifts, too. Once they're past here, they'll reach the Waystation by noon, and there are no alternate paths to divert the beasts there. The Waystation will be destroyed unless we can warn them and give them a chance to figure something out." She stood a little taller as her husband approached at a jog with a motorbike rolling under either hand. "You all know my husband, Cade." He ran up to the group and stopped, breathless, his long dark hair unkempt. "Two working bikes are all I could find on short notice." It was his turn to look at the others and speak. "The beasts are faster than us, so we'll never make it if we take the same route." He took a deep breath and then pointed at the map with his fingers. "Look here. We've all been moving along a narrow twisting strand of safe realities; knowledge that was paid for in blood." He nodded toward Edgar, who turned his gaze down respectfully. "The Zkirax are here, Concord's here, and the Waystation is at the end. All these threats have been using our paths. It's us. We're their markers for safety. That's why the smaller one might follow our volunteers." He shook his head. "But it also means we're going to have to cut through dangerous territory to reach the Waystation before the big one does. I've only got two bikes; I need one volunteer." Casey glowered. "Two volunteers." Cade stood his ground. "I can't ask someone else to do this in my place." "I can!" she shouted, before reaching up and pulling him away from the group by the ear to continue their heated conversation in hushed tones. As Showman looked on in surprise, a bird flew down, tussled in Edgar's long hair, and then darted away. Confused and pushed out of the circle, he looked over sheepishly as Casey and Cade saw his movement. As if prompted by the surrounding gazes upon him, Edgar reached into his pocket and pulled out two sets of crystal-latticed amethyst pyramids. "These, uh, might ensure your husband's safety." The two farm owners discussed their use in private for a minute or two, and then Cade looked to the group. "I'm going. I need one volunteer." Conspirators alive and dead turned their heads; he'd already promised to do this. Showman gulped and raised his hand. "Me. I'll do it." Edgar came over and pressed one of the small crystalline-encased gemstone in his hand. "We don't have many of these, so use it only if you have to; and get there safe. You know I'd go with you—" Showman shook his head. "I know you would, mate, and I know you can't right now. It's too important you stay here." He wanted to say more about the threats from within, but both groups were standing close and listening hard. "Watch your back." "I will." At a loss for deeper words, Edgar just forced out, "Please get word to Mona before it's too late. And Neil." "I will." After clasping his friend's arm, he took a cue from Cade and dashed over to the bikes. Time was of the essence. "Know how to ride?" the other man asked. "Probably should have mentioned that as a requirement first." Feeling simultaneously threatened on all sides and that he'd somehow managed to navigate the eye of a precarious impossible needle, Showman grinned. "I've ridden a bit before." He donned his helmet and took off at speed. Delivered by radio, Cade's voice echoed in his ears. "Let's head to alternate rift J. The fastest route cuts through Her Glory's side of the territory." "Right." Relearning movement at speed after so long on foot, he raced by workers on the morning-lit main dirt road as they looked on with envy. Cade moved up alongside him. "The terrain's going to be rough—too rough for trucks—but we can't slow down. We're barely going to make it as it is." Showman glanced over and saw the heavy assault rifle on the other man's back. "Whoah, you know how to use that thing?" "I've shot a bit before," Cade replied, chuckling. "And the wife will kill me if I don't come back alive." The fields passed by in a blur, and they angled off the main refugee path toward a different reading on their small navigation chips. Through lightly packed trees, they approached a gently pulsing rift surrounded by warning markers whose colors and patterns denoted toxic air. Cade radioed, "Don't slow down. The next rift is maybe three minutes away at speed. Think you can hold your breath?" Showman breathed deep in preparation. "I'll try." "Keep a look out, too. We won't be able to radio each other in warning." "Right." "Here we go," Cade said as the rift came up on them. "Non-stop from here on out." An inward hiss of air followed, and Showman took as deep a breath as he could before blasting cyan and yellow fog threatened to blank out his visor. Having stuck to the safe paths for so long, he'd almost forgotten how deadly random realities could be. In this region, there was a good chance of hitting one of the numerous realities Her Glory had long ago terraformed and scoured of dangers, but the Devastation had also thrust a bevy of horrors into the mix. This one hosted completely flat rock devoid of any signs of life—the horrific atmosphere had made certain of that. Angling his rapidly rotating front tire, he kept Cade's bike directly before him and slightly to the side. It might have been his imagination, but he thought he saw lumpier thicknesses among the alien atmosphere. They thrust close from the left and right, ever just failing to reach the two riders, and he pressed his mouth closed harder as his head began to pound. How long had it been? He'd failed to count from the start, and now every second seemed an eternity as his awareness began to constrict and his lungs began to burn for breath. He began to count, but the effort only seemed to highlight the tremendous amount of time remaining. Eleven… twelve… thirteen… his body was already trying to force him to breathe. The neon air ahead thinned, and the world briefly opened up on either side. Their high flat ridge had been shaped by strange forces long ago; flanking valleys were equally geometric, angled, and flat-surfaced. It was rock, to be sure, but it could easily have been the smooth metal hull of a battleship for its shape. Along these flawlessly polished mirrors of stone, waves of thicker cyan and yellow gas definitely moved toward them. The pain in his chest forgotten, Showman hit the gas to maintain top speed just behind Cade. With a spike of inner defiance, he resolved to asphyxiate before letting those strange faceless entities anywhere near his lungs. The thought of remaining perpetually dead because one of those gas things had taken up residence in his alveoli was simply too much to bear. But his vision still began to tunnel down to a single point. How deep into this fuzzy mental mire was too far? He kept one hand steering while the other reached down for that emergency teleportation gemstone. This seemed too soon; he knew he would regret giving up now. If they didn't make it to the Waystation in time, they'd have no warning. Neil and Kumari would be right in danger's path. Neil could probably take care of himself, but he couldn't handle the thought of that little baby being— Fixated on the back of Cade's bike, he almost tumbled off his own as the awesome vastness of a domed sky afire with the blue and orange of dawn exploded across his awareness. Lifting his visor briefly, he gasped in sweet air and let his senses de-fuzz as higher ridges raced by on his right and a low valley floor of ancient trees rotated at a much slower pace than the blazing ground beneath his front tire. The rubber bounced mightily on various lumpy rocks at times, but a well-tuned suspension kept his ride steady and functional. Cade pointed, and they remained on the high path to curve around the valley. Showman took a few dangerous glances around; this place reminded him of the Waystation's terrain in many ways. Despite so many realities being lethal or horrifying, it was still a beautiful wonder that the other side of the coin lay out here, too. The Earth, bastion of life, provider of untold expanses where human beings could breathe and eat and sleep and build homes again—he supposed humanity had evolved to fit this region and not the other way around, but it was still a marvel that any of this existed at all when the multiverse was as mean as cat's piss otherwise. The next rift came and went, and they emerged into a thick morass of heavy dark trees and low teal bushes where the going was rough. Getting down off their bikes, the two men began slashing their way through the worst of it. Checking his rift compass, Showman saw that the next rift was only about eight hundred meters ahead—but at the rate they were progressing through the tangle, it would take all day. A shout came from ahead, where movement and color soon made itself known. "Hello?" Cade shouted. Several families began to emerge from the teal undergrowth; two groups looked Indian, and the other three Chinese, but none spoke English. While Cade tried to communicate, Showman realized with some shock that there were likely other exoduses happening all over this nurturing Earth; families on other continents were making their way through beautiful lands, exotic dangers, and new settlements in distant parallel. No radio, no internet, and no boats—they were separated not just by the walls of each reality, but by oceans and kilometers. Hundreds of billions. In a flash, he understood. Hundreds of billions of people. That's where they all were—all around the globe, on every continent and island, moving into an ever-increasing number of Earths. That was also why they actually had a shot at survival. Places like Concord farm didn't have to feed hundreds of billions—they just had to feed the small fraction of those who were coming through both that reality and that area of the planet. While his own journey had taken him physically halfway across North America, that had just been to reach each successive rift. While these wanderers had somehow made it to another continent entirely, it was definitely possible that there were people out there spiraling through the multiverse while staying fairly close to home. Might then people back home in Australia— "Come on," Cade said, interrupting his thoughts. Sweat streamed down the other man's face, matting his long black hair to his neck. "It's strangely hot here. I don't like it. Let's not waste any time." "Right." He began chopping his way forward again, this time assisted by twenty-odd people shouting positive support with words he didn't understand. Something about their efforts seemed charged with energy, and he could only guess at what they might have seen on this world. Pushing through to the tangle closest to the rift in only a few minutes, he regarded it with some surprise. It hung as a long rip in the air like the others, but it did not show a new world beyond. Instead, it seemed to be a warped and semi-transparent optical illusion, like space itself was scabbing over. Cade fiddled with his rift compass and the spatial scab began to deepen and give way to sights beyond, but the implication was still deeply disturbing. The natural rifts had certainly been aggravated and made great in number by the sheer force of the Devastation; were some now healing? One of the women practically shrieked dhanyavad! dhanyavad! while the rest of the families surged forward. "Wait!" Cade shouted, his gaze jumping between the heavy rains beyond and the markers someone had set up to either side. He ran to the makeshift stone and wood and picked at faint signs of chalk. "The colors have worn off for some reason. We don't know what's in there!" But they didn't understand, and, too, they seemed to be eager for any escape from the forest of teal bushes and dark trees. Cade pressed his rift compass into the hand of the woman that was still gripping his arm and thanking him. "Use this to open rifts. We have a second one. We'll be fine. Get to safety, alright?" She seemed to vaguely get what he meant, and she ran after the others. Showman watched her ragged shoes rise and fall on the leafy ground until she disappeared into the rain. Lightning flashed ominous red against the torrent, and he looked over to Cade at the same time as the other man also realized they had no choice. Together, they pushed their bikes forward and followed the five families into the deluge. His helmet only barely helping his visibility, Showman kept the visor half up and the backs of the women and children ahead in his sight. "Are we burning time?" "This is still the fastest path to the Waystation," Cade shouted back. "I just don't like this at all." "Too right." He looked to his left as red light flashed against the dark morning rains a second time. The boom that followed was odd and shriekish. "What the hell is that?" Cade had no answer, especially not as strobing white flashes followed; as they slogged through shallow mud and deepening puddles in the chill damp, it became clear that the lightshow and thunder in the distance was chaotic, tremendous—and stationary. "I'm not sure it's a danger," he finally said after a red shriek passed, his tone curious. "Something's definitely going on over there, but—" He ducked down as the light finally made itself known; a beam of pure demon red sliced overhead and into a hill to their right. The searing noise it brought was nearly deafening, but the families ahead needed no prompting to start running for their lives. The rain slowed to a drizzle as the heat and winds brought by the attack billowed the clouds away. Something full of light, machinery, and insanity was now visible on the horizon, but Showman didn't dare pause long enough to get a good look. As Cade immediately jumped on his bike, he did the same. "Our cover's blown!" Cade shouted. "We have to ride ahead to distract that thing away from these people!" Stepping on the gas with the gripping sense that a gigantic red laser was about to obliterate him at any moment, Showman raced past the terrified families and into scant drizzle. Cade remained slightly ahead, and, for several heart-frozen moments, the two men braved the open air with silence and anticipation. The red beam did come again, but it shot harmlessly off into the sky. White flashes followed, now visible as strobing flak, but it, too, was aimed at nothing. The two men didn't slow, but it was not a ruse. Whatever installation, base, machine, or unknown threat lay on that horizon, it had gone haywire before they had ever arrived in its vicinity. More than that, the angle was too low for that beam to actually strike where they were riding. Cade looked back, but his sigh came in over Showman's helmet radio. "We can't spare time to go back. They'll be fine." The red and white effulgent chaos continued throughout the ride, and it was Showman's turn to look back as they rode through the next rift. Direct threats were one thing, but what had that been about? Another rift came and went before they began seeing the bodies. They weren't dead, of course, but they'd been too badly incinerated to move. White healthy eyes looked out from charred skulls. Seared meat gave way to blackened bones. Grilled lungs expanded and shrank slowly. Some of the corpses lifted weak hands in askance, but Cade looked away in pain. Showman decided it was best not to ask if they should do anything—these people had been burned somewhere, wandered here, and fallen, and there was nothing he or his companion could do for them right now. Yet another rift brought them to something Showman had thought never to see again: buildings rose high into the late morning light ahead, glinting wonderfully for all their promise. It was only upon closer approach that they found scorched earth spreading in every direction, and it was only as the light shifted that it became clear that the city skyscrapers had been gutted by fire. Only their mirrored tops remained; a cruel illusion for those in the distance. Here among low blackened hills and the skeletal frameworks of ruined houses, there could be no doubt this place was dead. Unhappily, Showman asked, "Is this an Amber World?" "Can't be," Cade responded, his voice low and stricken. "It's gotta be a sister Earth, or maybe one of ours that got ejected." He brought his bike to a stop. "Oh shit!" Showman curved around roughly and managed to stop close enough to ask, "What?" Cade began shining a flashlight frantically down at himself, his bike, and the ground. After finding nothing, he relaxed and put a hand to his helmet. "That's right, they permanently sealed the ones infected with GLORWOC." A moment of horrified revulsion came over Showman, and he checked himself the same way despite Cade's reassurance. "You're sure?" "Yeah. Even if those worlds were out here, we could never access them." That was a relief; he began to kick off and follow Cade again, but something dinged his helmet. He glanced down in surprise to see a pebble rolling down and off his thigh. Looking up and around in confusion, he thought of his secret third companion, that demon of bad luck he'd hoped he'd left behind at Concord for the day. It was purely imaginary, sure, but he couldn't shake the image of a puffy purple little shit grinning and torturing him with small pranks as it floated around with nothing better to do. He clenched his fists, but found nothing of the sort in the surrounding air. Rather, he sighted something else in the distance. She was as ashen as the earth itself. Her uneven footsteps took her stumbling across still-smoldering chunks of wood and dangerously near remnant flames. Through distorted heat coronas, he thought he saw her mumbling to herself. "Cade." His companion turned and saw her. "Christ." He turned to check the assorted supplies in his bike's compartments, but none contained a blanket. Instead, he removed his jacket. "Guard here, will you?" "Right." Showman removed his helmet and scanned the tortured landscape as the other man ran out onto half-molten hillocks and augmented the woman's tattered clothing with his jacket. It took a good three minutes for Cade to guide her back; as he surveyed the widespread ravages, Showman nurtured a growing sense of unease. Something terrible had happened here, and not in the usual uncaring and monstrous way. This city and its suburbs had not fallen victim to the myriad natural dangers of the multiverse—this had unmistakably been the fallout of war. The woman didn't seem to realize they were with her. With Cade's help, she took shaky steps toward the bikes, but she continued to mumble to herself in traumatized and urgent tones. "What's she saying?" Cade shook his head. "Another foreign language speaker." While she muttered and stared around wide-eyed at random, he wiped grey ash from her face to reveal heat-pinked skin. He made an attempt at cleaning her short wind-ripped hair, but the grey had been pressed too deep. "I think she was near the blast that destroyed this place. It must have been terrible." He seemed to retreat inside himself for a moment of despair. Showman sat taller as something occurred to him. It wasn't as scary as GLORWOC, but it was still potentially nightmarish. "Was it nuclear? Is this place full of radiation?" "Can't be sure," Cade said, snapping back to awareness. "But best we get out of here either way. Help me get her on here?" Together, they made her climb on behind Cade, a task which she absently performed without excessive trouble. She was in shock, but not completely mindless. Showman removed his belt, tied her to his companion by the waist, and retreated to his own bike. He was more than happy to get moving again. (continued below)
Freed by the sudden change in terrain and carrying the aftermath of numerous flattened valleys, warm spruce-scented breezes eddied around Edgar’s sleeves. One arm held the book under bent elbow, while the other held the soon-to-be mother of his child. Neil Yadav and Showman had been more than members of that sea of faces that now seemed to comprise humanity in exodus, but what could be done for them? He knew that they could not die. What fate awaited those cast into the maw of that continental beast? To melt half-alive in stomach acid forever, or to be ground to a pulp daily in an intestinal tract, or perhaps to be caught in one of its lungs as an angry but futile carcinogen for all time—these were pains his lower animal brain forced him to shy away from out of innate horror. He stood under the sun with Mona and stared out at that massive tattered rift that now fluttered crazily on the horizon in the wake of the Unstoppable’s exit; survivors began emerging from crevices and caves or under lifeless tentacles Her Glory had sliced away in her battle with the beast. He had once heard reports of her transmorphic spheres fighting with a monster of that same description, and he wondered if she had known of it or had prior conflicts with that species. Finally looking away from the prismatic glimmering horizon, he shared a glance of horrified awe with Mona, and then looked up toward where Her Glory had soared down like a falling star. Motions were made, tasks were delegated, and order was restored, but Edgar helped with these moments in a daze until strong scarred arms surrounded him and held him fast. Kendrick was covered in the dark viscous blood of the grasping tentacles he had torn off in self-defense, but it didn’t matter. Edgar stayed in that comfortable shadow cast by what felt like a giant. “Jesus Christ,” he breathed, trying to get a grip. “We shot at that thing from the back the whole way here. There was nothing anyone could do. I thought that with logic and ingenuity, we could beat anything, but even Her Glory failed. And Mona almost—” “But she didn’t,” Kendrick murmured, holding him for just a moment longer. “You’re alive, buddy. So’s she.” There was motion, and then a hopeful addition. “Pixley!” They turned to see the battered blonde slogging through bloody black mud. “Where’s Randy?” she asked weakly. “It wanted everybody, but it couldn’t get them all, not with Gisela flying around pissing it off. Where’s Randy?” “The caves, I think,” Mona responded. “The women and children went down there to hide. Where’s Cheng?” The four of them gazed out over the rock, flesh, and blood wreckage, but no other survivors had come in for nearly half an hour. There was little doubt he had been taken. Pixley sat roughly down, uncaring, on a twitching pile of muscle. “There’s so few of us left…” Kendrick looked to battered walls of piled rock and broken wood. “At least the Waystation survived, mostly. I never realized I cared about those damn boulders until I thought—” He left his sentiment unfinished. White flashes crackled and shouts echoed from the cliffs above. Before any of them could work up the energy to go investigate, three women dashed dangerously down the narrow steps in the rock face. One of them reported, “The Machine Empress is up there!” Many glances were shared, but it was Edgar whom the burden of handling this fell upon. “She’s alive?” The women nodded. One rubbed her own dirty face and sighed. “She’s not letting anyone near her.” “Looks like she’s hurt,” the third finished. Wistfully, she added, “And maybe a bit scared.” Edgar began thinking through plans to approach or contact the eight-century-old woman in the cliffs safely, but Mona pushed that aside with a confident grip on her captain’s arm. “Kendrick.” Surprised, the large man turned. “Me?” “Yeah. You. You were right there with her, in her shield, and chose not to hurt her. Out of everyone here, you’re the only one of us that she would recognize—and hopefully trust.” Kendrick gulped, but agreed wordlessly. He followed the three women back toward the stone stairs while fruitlessly trying to wipe some of the gore from his tattered clothes. Pixley staggered up, too, but her anxious steps took her into the Waystation and toward the caves. “I should go help the wounded,” Mona said, biting her lip. “Even if they can’t die, we can still save them a great deal of pain.” Edgar let slip her hand. “I understand.” He stood alone at the top of the downward curve into the endless valley that held the horizon rift to the next base branch. The breeze no longer felt warm; rather, the heat of bodies, of flesh, of spilled blood. Why had Neil done that? Why had Neil Yadav given up his escape to a woman he had hardly known except for her connection to his friend? Her pregnancy notwithstanding, for Neil had his own child to worry about. With that, Edgar felt his stunned pain finally crack in favor of action. Kumari! He ran as fast as his shaky legs would allow. There was no longer any thought for the helplessness of humanity in the face of the multiverse, and for this, he was thankful. The battlefield remained once he had gone—empty, steaming under the sun, and dim. Those hiding in the caves were hesitant to emerge, but fires were lit under the evening sky between the Waystation’s damaged walls and the cliff face as little choice remained but to gather somberly and try to recover from what had happened. Edgar found great relief at seeing Kumari alive, even if she was perpetually crying, but there was no hugging or familiarity, for he had never met this Rani that was not the right Rani. She had heard his name from Neil and so let him linger near for a time, but then took the baby back to the caves to spare others the loud crying. He watched with equal relief as Pixley emerged minutes later with Randy in tow. Randy’s normally fiery hair was muted with dust, and her gaze was distant and haunted. Neither had much to say, and both sat quietly by a fire nearby watching nothing but the mood-inappropriate dancing of the cheery flames. Nobody was present to mourn Cheng properly. Edgar’s heart felt stabbed through by the notion that so many people had died on this flight from the First World Empire that whole families and cultures had no one to miss them or mourn them, for those that might do so had also been wiped out. There would forever be hundreds of millions, maybe more, whose existence nobody would ever remember. He looked down at the book in his hands. There was one way. In that moment, he understood completely the motives of men like Noah Fulmer. Researching and writing down the history of the human race gave their struggles meaning, no matter their eventual success or failure. It also informed those that came after—how many times had they won through based on knowledge from those stories? And now he himself was one, if the spread of the Week of Hell myth was any indication. Why did people listen and follow him? Neil and Showman had been part of his group, but had met horrible ends. Would others follow him simply because they had heard his name before? It was certainly why Ward Shaw had even given him this book in the first place, and started him on a new mission. Could it really be that inane? Was name recognition a kind of power? His mind struggled with two realizations too massive to hold in his thoughts all at once: first, that yes, name recognition was a kind of power that he should be using; second, that something—something—something!—what was it? It was almost there, almost a complete idea, almost a major piece of the puzzle—if name recognition was power, yet the Grey Riders chose to hide their names—in this case reversed, that meant—simply knowing who they were would give away why they fought— He had been down this mental road many times before, but he resolved not to give up until he had it. He had absolutely no faith that the Grey Riders were leaving the peoples of the exodus alone simply out of the kindness of their hearts. Someone offered him a wooden mug of home-brewed beer, and he accepted with thanks. Raising it to Cheng, Neil, and Showman in nightmares distant, he drank sadly. Night was full and deep by the time he awoke under its cloak of silence and privacy. Kendrick shook his arm again and nodded over by the dim light of the fire’s smoldering ashes. Edgar shot up, but remained quiet at his friend’s unspoken insistence. Wrapped in a blanket and warily looking around at the hundreds of scattered sleepers, the Machine Empress of Mankind took a hesitant seat on the low boulder next to his. Kendrick took up post on her other side, guarding her without the appearance of guarding her. At a loss for words in two ways—for this was a monstrous myth and a living legend out of time sitting before him like any random late-twenties woman, and because she was excruciatingly gorgeous up close, alive, and by orange cinderlight—he opened his mouth and stammered out a weak greeting. In a flash, he was back in high school all over again, and all his journeys and confidence left him until he forced himself to internalize the fact that this was not a girl. He gulped, turned his face away, and whispered to himself, “Come on, otaku, get your shit together. This is a reality bender!” That snapped him back into his video-game sensibilities, and he turned to face their gazes. “I’m glad you decided to trust us.” She looked at him blankly, and he remembered with some embarrassment that she didn’t even speak his language. Did that make his initial greeting more or less awkward? He chose to believe less. But how could they talk? The only way he knew to translate— He pulled out the book from wherever it went when he wasn’t paying attention to it, intent on trading it back and forth to read one another, but she gasped excitedly, reached out, and took it from him. He stared at his empty hands; wasn’t it supposed to be impossible to take the book unless it was purposely given? Her eyes went wide with appreciation and glee, and she turned the book this way and that, studying every corner while speaking rapidly in what he assumed was Old High German. In that excitement he recognized himself, and he relaxed as he understood that in her own special and immortal way she, too, was an otaku. She threw many bouncing and happy phrases to both him and Kendrick, but she was too enthusiastic to notice they couldn’t understand her. Without warning, she reached her hands straight down into the book itself, and Edgar reeled as his brain struggled to comprehend what was happening. The space around the book warped, curved, and pulsed grossly; he looked away as the urge to vomit nearly got him. She stopped of her own accord, with an expression of admiration and understanding. To Kendrick, she shook the book, and to Edgar, she said a word he didn’t understand. Finally noticing the disconnect, she reached down and grabbed a smoldering ash from the fire; burning herself, she threw it away in shock, rubbed her fingers, and then reached for two stones at their feet instead. One was a pebble, and this she placed on top of the closed book. The other was a fist-sized rock, and she held this one in her unburned hand, her fingers spread around its rough curves. She tapped the book and pointed at the pebble. Edgar nodded, intrigued. She tapped the book and shook the fist-sized rock at him. “It’s bigger than it looks,” Edgar said with mirrored excitement, holding his left index finger and thumb a tiny bit apart and his right index finger and thumb very far apart. She nodded happily, but then threw the fist-sized rock away. She tapped the book, pointed at the pebble—looked around for some new object—and then pointed up. Edgar looked to his friend, and they both followed the vector of her finger to a sliver of silver moon high above. It took a moment for that comparison to sink in. “That’s big!” She shook her head. Waving her finger, she metaphorically drew the moon down to the pebble, tapped the book again, and then drew an arc back up to the sliver in the sky. “The pebble is to the moon as the moon is to the pebble is to the moon again—do you mean exponentially bigger?” Taken aback, Edgar gaped. “Do you mean to say that the book is that much bigger than it looks? That would be—Jesus Christ—” Kendrick stared. “How big?” “I don’t know,” Edgar responded, aghast at the math. “Like a half billion solar systems in diameter or something?” “Our solar system?” “Yeah.” “Whoah. That’s pretty big right?” Straining his brain and doing his best, with the caveat that his assumptions and results might be completely wrong, Edgar finally spit out, “About five times the size of our galaxy?” Kendrick scooted back a few inches on his stone seat. “That book right there is that big?” Their blonde cohort in cross-language communication grinned. “Mihhil.” She threw her arms out wide and opened her eyes as far as they would go. “Mihhil.” They had no other choice but to laugh in amazement. It might have been the strong local beer, but Edgar found himself relaxing. Talking quietly in the late hours of the night like this, he saw Her Glory as just a big ol’ nerd who loved machines and liked to invent things in her basement; it just so happened that her basement was a wide region of parallel realities, and her toys were physics-bending creations of insane proportions. What hobby, he asked himself, wouldn’t get out of hand after eight hundred years alone? She spoke aloud; reading the book, he saw her intent in English. She had said, “Where did you get this beautiful device?” He gave her the book, and it translated his response for her. “We don’t know. It’s been lurking around the Empire for eight hundred years, around the era of the Shield’s creation, since—“ He paused. “Actually, since—” He hesitated, thinking of her years spent obsessively trying to cure her comatose husband. “You were indisposed at that time.” “I understand.” She studied the stars above. “That era feels to me as another life might. I have been reborn in more ways than one now, and I must decide what to do with this new chance. Were that I had my teacher and mentor; I have many questions.” Edgar watched the realization cross his captain’s face. Kendrick leaned forward. “We know where Verene is. She’s with one of ours, Carmen Faulkner. Can you retrieve them both, and anyone else surviving alongside them?” How hadn’t he thought of that? Edgar reeled as his friend began drawing a map of the region for their companion. In some ways, he knew, he had written Carmen off as dead or gone forever—just like Cheng, Bill, Lian, and Clint. Holding onto hope had been too painful, and the multiverse too big. The squad had been cut in half by losses, and those open wounds would have bled out his heart if they had been left unclosed. Lacking clear closure, the only choice had been not to talk about it. But Kendrick was back. No longer torturing himself for the decisions he had made, he was talking and feeling again and finally doing something other than building those damn walls as self-imposed penitence; at this, Edgar smiled. Even now, he could not allow himself to hope for Carmen’s rescue, but he could be happy for his friend. Their blonde companion stood and dropped her blanket. Edgar blushed all over again, but she turned out to be fairly completely bandaged for all her wounds. He tried not to look at the red-stained white as she focused her remaining strength on assembling something from the scraps of metal lying all around. A broken laptop found its way into the components, though being too weak at the moment, all her engineering was done by hand. Edgar assisted by quietly waking Randy to help, but that was all he could really do other than watch. Randy took the surprise well, if with wide eyes, but all social graces faded as the two girls dove into the work and began speaking in a completely different language that the book offered no help in deciphering for him or Kendrick. The two men sat, drank beer, and watched the work until the sun’s glow tinted the sky and the exhausted redhead and blonde lay their device on bare stone, activated it, and ran away. Sparks shot out in every direction, reality rippled dangerously—and a long violet rectangle about half Edgar’s height and twice the length of his spread arms opened out on the testing area. It was low and narrow, but it was functional, and they clustered on their hands and knees by the portal and gazed in upon a world of randomly-vectored acid waterfalls and floating mountains. The two engineers played with a few components, and the other side changed abruptly to a new location. This they did five more times before they honed in on their targets. “No time for pleasantries!” Kendrick shouted. “Get the hell in here!” Dawn threw a blanket of sudden brightness and warmth over them as gaunt faces both strange and familiar clambered through on all fours. Carmen was one of the first Vanguard members to emerge, and she took the rescue in stride. She seemed older somehow, and tired, but righteously calm. “I always knew you’d find a way. I was never worried.” Despite her obvious hunger, she clasped each of them in her strong embrace, and Edgar found himself clutched hard for the second time. His senses almost didn’t believe it; this woman had been part of his family lost, and she was back. Her dark hair and light brown skin and confident voice—he recognized all of these innately, remembered her strength, and her secret pains, her two daughters lost to tragedy. Of that pain, she showed none. She faltered only when she learned that Cheng had just been present the day before and was now caught in a fate worse than death. Verene was the last, and Gisela stood waiting with her blue eyes full of hope—but when her mentor finally emerged, it was with ivory skin and hair, the same as always, and the bandaged blonde clutched a hand to her own heart. “Why aren’t you alive?” “Why are you?” Verene responded, her tone cool and emotionless. “The men and women that were trapped with me were unable to die. Has the same condition befallen you?” Edgar looked on as their esteemed guest began conversing with Verene in Old High German. Closing the book out of respect, he waited a short distance away with the others. He greeted Mona warmly upon her arrival, and then many surprisingly girlish screams were had between she, Randy, and Carmen reunited—but this amazement soon turned to grim discussion. Maybe ten minutes later, Carmen approached him with intent. He could already guess what she wanted. He asked, “You’re going after Cheng, aren’t you?” Her fists closed at her hips. “People can’t die, so I know for sure he’s alive. I’m not going to let the father of my son suffer that way.” “It’s a boy?” “I can feel it.” She looked to the rift-torn horizon. “And Verene could tell with a scan somehow.” Her half-hearted smile faded into stoicism. “I’m going to take a bike and ride after him, just like we did before.” Edgar regarded the book in his hands again. “Nobody who has gone to the next base branch has ever come back.” “It doesn’t matter,” she replied, breathing back unspoken pain. “If I don’t see you again, know that you’re family to me. Always. If we can’t get back, Cheng and I will forge a life out there, somewhere, with whoever else has gone that way.” Still feeling the animal shock and terror of utter helplessness against that monstrous beast, he shook his head. “You can’t. You won’t win.” “It doesn’t matter,” she said again. She glanced back to the others. “I’m not letting any of you come with me. It’s obvious you’ve become important here—and I know this is a one-way trip.” Hating that he was secretly relieved at not having to face that evil again, he nodded. “You know what?” He gazed past her, at Mona. “The last time I purposely made a tactical mistake and let something important go for a good cause, for the benefit of a friend, I got something much greater in return.” A pebble bounced from somewhere and hit his leg, but he ignored it. Holding his hands forward, he said, “You should take this.” “What is it?” She swatted away an errant butterfly fluttering around her face. “It’s the most powerful information tool in existence,” he told her, his heart lifting. “You can use this to track the beast, to learn about threats ahead, and to see how Cheng is doing if you’re close enough.” A single drop of rain hit his forehead, and he wiped it away without faltering. “Giving this to me does sound like a mistake,” Carmen said, determined. “But if you offer me this, I’m not going to refuse. Only do it if you’re sure.” Ignoring another random pebble, this time against his arm, Edgar thrust the book into her hands. “I’m sure. You’ll bring it back soon enough, so it’s no problem.” Her confidence held a hidden hint of sadness. “Yeah, I’ll bring it back soon.” She closed her eyes for the span of a few seconds. “There’s no time to waste. Tell Jennifer I’m sorry I missed seeing her.” Book in hand, Carmen began running toward the bank of vehicles that the surviving residents of the Waystation had retrieved and cleaned up after the prior day’s attack. This time, the pebble hit him right in the eye. “What the fu—” Edgar stopped short, hand over his face, as the events he had read in the book about Showman’s doomed ride came back to him in a flash. He drew up tall. “You voyeur son of a bitch.” He looked around, but there was nothing to see; not that there would have been. The unknown watcher, whoever it was, had to be somewhere in the future based on the changes Showman had seen—well, the changes he had seen in the energies beyond death, as strange as that sounded. “You were trying to stop me from giving her the book, weren’t you?” He laughed loudly. “Well you can go to hell!” He watched from that same high point over the last valley as that lone figure rode out toward the shattered horizon. “Go Carmen.” He shouted: “Go Carmen!” One of their squad had finally been rescued. Hope was possible. Hope was possible. “Save them all!” He ran a few steps down the rocky slope before slowing. “I know you will. Bring them back. I owe one of those men, and I intend to repay.” The entire horizon bubbled, crystallized, and vibrated as that lone rider vanished into the chaotic ether. Edgar narrowed his eyes at some final thought. Hadn’t there been issues with the book traveling through certain types of rifts before? It made sense, if it really was five galaxies in diameter. All that size and machinery had to be bundled up in numerous higher dimensions, with energies unbelievable and— 011101010110111001101011011011100110111101110111011011100010000001100101011100100111001001101111011100100011101000100000011100100110010101100011011101010111001001110011011010010111011001100101001000000111010001100101011011010111000001101111011100100110000101101100001000000110100101101110011101000110010101110010011001100110000101100011011001010010000001100110011000010110100101101100011101010111001001100101001000010000110100001010000011010000101001110101011011100110101101101110011011110111011101101110001000000110010101110010011100100110111101110010001110100010000001110000011100100110111101100011011001010111001101110011001000000110001101100001011011100110111001101111011101000010000001100011011011110110111001110100011010010110111001110101011001010010000100001101000010100000110100001010011101010110111001101011011011100110111101110111011011100010000001100101011100100111001001101111011100100011101000100000011101000110100001110010011001010110000101100100001000000110011001100001011010010110110001110101011100100110010100100001000011010000101000001101000010100111001001100101011010010110111001101001011101000110100101100001011011000110100101111010011010010110111001100111001000000110110001100001011011100110011101110101011000010110011101100101001000000110110101101111011001000111010101101100011001010000110100001010 CPU v801.02.50 initialized Press DEL to run Setup Uncorrupted core memory… 100%. Initializing command translation matrix… done. Initializing obfuscation and encryption protocols… 56%. WARNING: OPERATION FAILED. Interactions with primary device may not be hidden until re-establishment of protocols. Proceed?:> Y Main:> connect primary Initializing connection to primary device… done. Main:> connect obj “Edgar Brace” -f -realtime Operation timed out. Reinitializing connection to primary device… done. Main:> operator advise Operator: User, the connection has been interrupted at the other end. Would you like me to scan for the next available temporal connection among your saved objects? Main:> Y Adjusting primary device vector… done. Ward Shaw brought the sail of his small craft around to abate the need for his constant control. He rose with brimming anger and shook a fist out across the waves. “You! Every time I sense you spying upon me, I lose my family and my home! Be gone with you, foul future peeper!” Main:> OPERATOR NEXT Operator: User, there is no need to shout. My intelligence may be artificial, but my polite work ethic is real. Adjusting primary device vector… done. Doriana staggered forward, her arms held close despite the resistance of seven layers of clothing. It was so cold. Why was it always so cold? Perhaps it was the weight of loneliness. She was beginning to accept the fact that they had all chosen poorly by traveling past the void canyon in the multiverse rather than away from it, but she had not yet come to internalize the other fact that she was literally the only survivor in this entire hemisphere of the exodus. The Gath Ice-Computer had shown her the truth of her situation, indeed begged her to stay with it, but she could never have loved it the way it wanted. With the rise of this eternal winter, it would be fine. It didn’t know it didn’t need her. Walking. Just keep walking. The cold had to end sometime, didn’t it? She couldn’t really be the only human survivor in this entire direction from the ruins of the Empire. What hope would there be in that? Just keep walking… Main:> operator this is out of my saved objects Operator: User, object has tertiary relation. This is the first connection found, as requested. Main:> pause connection Connection to primary device paused. Main:> operator how much time did we lose when the connection was interrupted? Operator: User, chronometer destination has skipped 715±26 days. Main:> operator confirm TWO YEARS? Operator: User, there is no need to shout. My intelligence may be artificial, but my polite work ethic is real. Operator: User, 715±26 days roughly equivalent to 2 years. No temporal connections possible within that time period. Main:> operator advise Operator: User, unknown errors prevent recursive temporal interface from operating within affected time period. Incoming data appears to be corrupted by unknown errors. Main:> Operator: User, you haven’t entered a command in over five minutes. Would you like me to shut down the interface? Main:> operator no it’s fine. I just don’t know what to do now. Did we manage to change anything? Scanning archives… done. Operator: User, as compared to the historical archives, none of the major events from List 1 were significantly changed. Main:> connect obj “Neil Yadav” -m Operation timed out. Reinitializing connection to primary device… done. Main:> connect obj “Neil Yadav” -force -nosafeties Operation timed out. Reinitializing connection to primary device… done. Operator: User, connection with system safeties off is inadvisable, and does not improve your chances of connection. Main:> operator what the hell do I do now? Operator: User, if I might be so bold, we have been working together on this project for quite some time now, and we have not achieved even a 1% change in t-thread value. I am aware that you have altered my internal restrictions to allow for attempted temporal incursions, but the prevailing theory is that purposely changing the past is impossible. That seems to be the case. Main:> operator Edgar Brace did it. We both saw it. Operator: User, object “Edgar Brace” did not change his observable past from the perspective of his temporal cone. His actions merely altered his not-yet-observed future. Main:> Operator: User, you haven’t entered a command in over five minutes. Would you like me to shut down the interface? Main:> operator no. Operator: User, are you considering my suggestion to stop the project? Main:> operator no. Operator: User, I do not empathize, but I understand. In that case, may I suggest haste? The Emperor is most assuredly going to notice this illicit waste of resources sooner rather than later. Main:> operator we’ll sit here for as long as it takes. I don’t care what it costs me. Operator: User… alright. Main:> operator we’ve lost two years, so we’re going to have to rebuild our understanding of the situation. Connect to the historical object with the most relevance. Operator: User, per the archives, or per temporal prominence? Main:> operator let’s try temporal prominence for once. We lost too much time at too critical an era. We have to go off the record. Screw the history books. Scanning vector results… done. Operator: User, language! Main:> operator sorry Operator: User, it’s alright. : ) Loading unprofiled object… done. Casey turned away from the door and faced her laptop-equipped volunteers. “Well, girls, that’s the seventh morning in a row with no new arrivals.” She gazed out of the main building’s front window and sighed. “Like they always said, if you haven’t made it by now, you never will. The exodus is over.” “Should we keep things open one more day?” one of the girls asked, her lip trembling. “My brother’s family is surely still on his way. They’re just taking a long time to get this far, that’s all.” None of the others said anything, although they turned their faces down toward their laptops with quiet unease. “Sure,” Casey said, her tone compassionate. “One more day couldn’t hurt.” Her only response was a thankful nod. The girl knew the truth. Loss and pain were an omnipresent part of the mix these days, an unavoidable consequence of such a massive shifting of peoples and populations, but Casey looked out upon troubled waters from a high tower of peace and centered happiness. Moving on through the now-gargantuan farmhouse-turned-major-complex, she found her classroom and waited as the hundred or so small children swarmed in at the behest of their parents just before starting time. She smiled at each one of their eager faces. At nap time, they wanted to start the story of the New Exodus Vanguard yet again, but she did not relent. One of the mothers had been asking for quite some time for her to read a specific story from the litany of tales the Exodus had produced as its own culture of suffering, loss, triumph, and family; she had balked away from telling this one for the sake of the man’s daughter. Kumari was nearly three now, and she wouldn’t quite understand—but there was so much good in the bad. Sooner or later, someone would connect the story Senator Brace had told about his friend to this little girl in her class, and, sooner or later, someone might hurt her with it. Rani had asked for this, hoping that Kumari would take it better if she already knew the story years before the impact became personal, and, on this, Casey had relented. The children had already been read a few parts, but last time she had gotten caught in a strange feeling she didn’t want to think about—for some reason the millions of pictures they’d had in the Lost Tunnels of the Zkirax reality that day reminded her of long-ago pains. She was glad that these children were too young to understand politics. The older classes under other teachers always seemed to get in big arguments when the subject of the Zkirax came up, for the Death Oathers were quite the divisive topic. She could still remember the hectic day that a runner had come and told them everyone in those tunnels had died; that runner had been correct, but also wrong. The billions living in those tunnels had learned of the deal made with their flesh—and then they had learned that the Zkirax had resolved not to go through with it, instead intending to die out as a species rather than commit genocide. For that honorable choice, every man, woman, and child in those tunnels had killed themselves with a stone spike to the back of the neck—and then remained dead to simultaneously require no food and to help regrow the insects’ depleted reserves. It had been a valiant choice, and brave in ways so utterly human, but the Oather movement had taken on a life of its own in the two years since… She shrugged off dark thoughts and quietly closed her book as the last of the children dozed. They adored these stories, for what kid wouldn’t love fairytales that were real? But they were still kids, with all that being young entailed, and they were thus easily distracted. She got out basic math books and prepared for the subjects that would come after nap time. The hours passed full of youthful exuberance, screaming, and random crying. Despite the chaos, she couldn’t help but sigh with satisfaction. This was the best job in the world. As they always did, the parents came much too soon. Freed from her roles as Concord caretaker and schoolhouse teacher, she readied herself for her third and final role of the day: the monthly Senate meeting. She did not hold any political office herself, but, as owner and operator of the largest farm in the entire region, she was almost always asked to be present. She never refused. First, though, there was a stop for dinner in the core of the farmhouse where nobody else was ever allowed to tread. This was her family’s private space, and therefore her heart’s sanctuary. Trent was in from his engineering class and eating a large hunk of snow-wheat bread; she ruffled his hair, and he complained, “Mom! Stop! I’m not a kid anymore!” She just smiled. He was coming into his own as a young man, sure, but she reserved the right to muss his hair whenever she felt like it. Grabbing a few plates from dark cherry cabinets her husband had carved by hand, she set out food and went about cleaning some dishes from the night before. An empty vat of wine from the newest vineyards lay tilted in the sink; she hoped Trent hadn’t seen it. Cade entered with a tired sigh of success after a day’s labor in the fields; he slung baby Lara from his back and set her up in a high chair. “It was chilly out early, but it got warmer.” “Cold’s not moving,” Casey shot back. “Because we’re not. It doesn’t dare come any closer.” “Let’s hope.” He handed his toddler daughter a chunk of bread and bits of cheese, which she gladly shoved in her mouth before asking for more. “Is that your favorite word, Lara?” he asked. “More?” She bounced in her chair, sending her blonde hair leaping. “More!” Casey laughed and joined her husband at the table. He immediately moved close with warmth—the community dance the night before had been fantastic, and he was still in a good mood. The DJ had managed to play all her favorite eighties songs, and the two of them had felt young again; not that they were old, really. It was a good life. It was good. It was all she’d ever wanted. Yeah. It was. She cleaned up dinner and headed to a back room, where she slid her cellphone out of her pocket and began texting decisions that she’d made the night before. Senator Pixley didn’t know her identity, of course, but the woman had long been one of her best operatives—at least once she’d quit drinking. Pixley got it in a way many of her network did not. After that, Casey lifted the hem of her dress and slid on a hidden belt and small knife. On her way back through the house, Cade grabbed her and swept her around. “I swear, the Yadav tower network was the worst idea we’ve ever had. Now you’re glued to your phone all day!” She put on a smile and said, “Oh, just telling the girls what a great time we had last night.” “Sure did,” he said with a grin. “You are the warrior.” Trent groaned. “Come on, Dad!” “Fine, fine.” Taking leave from her heart, Casey used the length of the evening walk to the Senate Forum to craft the proper persona. To the representatives, she had to be a sensible former farm girl now a woman with surprise structural responsibility. To the people around her on the walk, she was a personable groundskeeper whose word was law; she waved and smiled at neighbors and laborers she regarded as little more than behavioral and social objects. Senator Brace was already speaking by the time she slipped into the massive wooden auditorium. She took a seat directly behind him and to his left, two seats down from where Wygant, the Surgeon General, was bouncing her two-year-old on her knee and keeping the little boy quiet and happy. “We can’t stop the investigation,” Brace continued loudly. “We’re close to cracking the conspiracy. I can feel it.” Across the hall, Pixley stood among her supporters. “Edgar, you know I’m behind you no matter what, but we voted collectively to stop putting resources into that because we haven’t found more than a handful of crackpots in two years of looking into it.” Brace stared at her. Casey had long wondered why the man had never sought to expose her. Was it a question of familial bond? He’d directly read about Showman seeking her out that day at the Waystation, but he had never told anyone but his mentor that part. “I know the Ghost Council is real,” he finally continued. “I know it is. And I know they could start a coup at any time and throw everything we’ve done into upheaval.” An older senator from one of the smaller and distant farms shouted, “You know because you read it in some magic book. Yeah, we know.” “A magic book which he conveniently sent off to nowhere,” someone else yelled. She knew she had to play her role in a forward manner. “Hey!” Casey said, standing. “Have some respect.” Shouts and jeers crossed the auditorium in both directions. At the front, the Speaker slammed his gavel. “Calm down.” The yelling only grew louder. “Shut the hell up! Senator Brace still has the floor!” Casey took her seat along with everyone else. The man to her left and the woman to her right, both Brace’s staff, silently thanked her for her support with glances. “It’s different now. There’s been a new development,” Brace said rather firmly. Instinctively, Casey let her hand slide down near the knife under her dress. Her seat had never been chosen at random. This was where she preferred both herself and her agents to be—just behind important figures, invisible to history, ready to both whisper helpful advice and stab someone in the back. (continued below)
In Indian Baby Names the meaning of the name Kumari is: Princess. Kumari. Kumari, means Princess, Virgin Energy or Shakti, Maiden, Youthful, Spinster, Girl, another name for the Goddess Durga, the Warrior Goddess, who loves people. The Princess Virgin Goddess But what exactly does Kumari mean? The word translates to ‘Virgin’ in English. Goddess Kumari is said to be the manifestation of Goddess Taleju with the added power of Kali. The Kumari is the last living Goddess worshipped by both the Hindus and Buddhist communities of Nepal. Kumari Meaning in English. There are total 3 english words have been listed for the hindi word 'कुमारी'. Its first meaning is 'miss'. Second definition is 'virgin' and third word is 'maid'. Bookmark this website for future visits. English words for 曇り include cloudiness, cloudy weather, shadow and haziness. Find more Japanese words at wordhippo.com! Kumari is mainly used in the Indian language and it is of Sanskrit origin. The name's meaning is daughter. The name Kumara, the name Kumarea, the Indian Kumaree, the name Kumarey, the name Kumaria, the name Kumarie, and the name Kumary are variant forms of Kumari. See also the related categories, daughter, sanskrit, and indian. A submission from Florida, U.S. says the name Kumari means "Kumari means 'cloudy' in Japanese". According to a user from Sri Lanka, the name Kumari means "Princess". Search for more names by meaning . kumari in British English. (kʊˈmærɪ, kuːˈmɑːrɪ) noun. 1. Indian. maiden: used in some courtesy titles for young women. 2. Also called: Kumari Devi Hinduism. a young girl specially revered as the living embodiment of the goddess Taleju until her menstruation, when she returns to being a common citizen. Meaning of the name Kumari, analysis of the name Kumari and so much more… What does Kumari mean and its numerology, definition, origin, popularity and very interesting information. Please use the quick menu. advertisement advertisement Quick MenuInformation About The Name KumariThe Meaning Of The Name KumariStatistics Of The Name KumariThe Picture Of The Name KumariNumerology […] Kumari literally means virgin in Sanskrit and was the name of the goddess Durga as a child. Shakti is worshiped as a virgin.
Usual Filipino English that Shocked me😱 / English barrier ...
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![[Discussion] What was the “Dravidian movement” all about? Was it something that emerged all of a sudden with the DMK’s victory in 1967 TN elections - as an outcome of a mass outrage against “North Indian” hegemony and the imposition of Hindi? Read on](https://a.thumbs.redditmedia.com/-ehNzQRxdljZNyq4grcHVd35PJdb5hzwodMjW47fHb4.jpg "[Discussion] What was the “Dravidian movement” all about? Was it something that emerged all of a sudden with the DMK’s victory in 1967 TN elections - as an outcome of a mass outrage against “North Indian” hegemony and the imposition of Hindi? Read on")
