Rewind - John Chhana

Three men removed the heavy marble stone and placed it aside, then went on to dig out the coffin that had housed him for eternity. Mourners arrived by the throng, the pastor read from the Bible and the coffin was taken to the morgue. There his corpse was removed and carefully inspected, after which the doctor came in to check on him, and eventually, to pronounce him alive. It was his birthday.

Seventy-six years, twenty four days, thirty two minutes and seventeen seconds, said the doctor, the cancer will be gone in five years or so. That was how much time he had left. He shrugged, got into his birthday suit, the black one, and was pushed out on a wheelchair. His family was there – the wife and the twins, both in their teens and they cried when they saw him. He said nothing, for he was but only one day into the world. There was the house, which he would go on to give to another person by also paying that person, and there was the dog which had been born on the same day as him, and now had twelve years or so left.

The years passed, and with that his memories left him, along with much of what he already knew. Fortunately, the pain in his side had gone as well; things were looking up. His children grew dumber and moved from college to high school, while he got a job at an office but then got fired because he now knew too little. When the twins grew smaller, he found that his problems got bigger and they had to have their diapers changed. Eventually, their time was up and they were sent back into their mother’s womb to the sound of joy and laughter. They had died and it was the first happiest day of his life.

In a year, he and his wife entered the church where the pastor pronounced them single man and single woman. They kissed and removed the rings from each other’s fingers; the second happiest day of his life. They had some time left together after that though, and they gradually fell out of love until that fateful day when he said goodbye to her forever. His brain grew duller every moment, and just like his children, he moved from college to high school, when in time, he knew nothing and the seventy-six years had all but passed.

And so, on that day, he too, was sent back into the womb. His father, who had been born miraculously out of a car accident only two days ago, gave him one last look, smiled happily and said, “You shall no longer be called John.”

On a bigger scale and long story short, the government decided it was time to wage war to give away their independence and one brave man thought it time to do away with the electric bulb. People kept erasing all the good books during all this time, while some experts were hired to unmake every last thing- skyscrapers and bridges were taken down. Millions awoke from their slumber on the fields of war, only to jump right into the fray with rifles at the ready. People were released from prison after which they brought back others into the world. Trees were returned to the forests where they stand for ages and all the minerals were taken back to where they belonged. Cities receded, the waters became pure and birds returned to their place in the sky. A great wall was demolished and the barbarian hordes returned to their humble beginnings.

In the end, a man walking on all fours removed his spear from a stag, bringing it to life. Big, monstrous creatures began to roam the earth again and the human was all but a tiny speck in the universe, as it always was. When all these things did come to die, the one perpetual thing undid the earth itself and roamed the void, because for Him there would be no beginning. 

John Chhana lives in Shillong and has an unexpectedly scientific background for a young creative writer, being a postgraduate in Biochemistry. He is also a talented artist and graphic designer, as well as being interested in photography and videography. He recently made a no-budget Christian short film, doing the script-writing, acting and cinematography with the help of close friends.

He won second place with a very creative, tongue-in-cheek piece on headhunting in a short-story writing competition I had the good fortune to be on the judging panel of earlier this year.  I am delighted to be able to feature one of his writings here.

The Squall - Aduhi Chawngthu

A gust of wind blew from nowhere, making schoolgirls hold on to their skirts and young ladies to their hair. Dark clouds rolled about in the sky, and the air suddenly felt colder and somewhat sinister. It was twilight, the sun had set but darkness had not yet set in, there was an eerie glow in the air. “This is the scene where the vampires would sit up in their coffins and walk up the dungeon steps,” Pi Parteii thought to herself. Why had she seen that movie with Charlie last night? It was so unlike her, staying up until eleven watching a movie, that too on a Sunday night. She looked around the bus stop, everyone looked so grim and serious, and they all seemed to be running. Running from something, vampires perhaps? “Stop it, Parte,” she told herself, “There’s no such things as vampires.”

The bus came, and it was jam-packed. If it was any other day she would have waited for the next one, but today she was in a hurry. Cecilia and Zotea were coming to dinner, and she was worried about the cooking. She had put the boys in charge, but something was bound to go wrong, it always did. She had hoped to go home early today but it turned out to be the busiest day she’d had in a long time. She climbed inside the bus. It was even worse inside than it looked from the outside. It was so crowded she had to stand near the door. The air smelled of cigarette smoke and sweat. The two women sitting next to her were talking loudly. The young man standing beside her had earphones plugged into his ears, he must have turned the volume to the fullest; she could hear the music coming out through the earphones.

“And then he called me and asked me to go back, but I said if you want me back come and fetch me, and you know he wouldn’t dare set foot inside my parents' house, so I guess I'm not going back,” the woman sitting beside the window said.

“That’s the spirit. You are much better off without him. And you look... happier,” her friend said.

“You know what, now I'm officially a nuthlawi, a divorcee,” the first woman said, and they broke into giggles.

There was a loud bang of thunder, the wind grew fiercer, and it was rapidly getting dark. Pi Parteii reached inside her bag, felt around it, and found she didn’t have her umbrella with her. Wonderful. Now she would have to call one of her sons to meet her at the bus stop with an umbrella. Well, it hadn’t started raining yet; if this bus went a little faster she could make it before the rain came. 

“Why does it always rain every time I am away from home?” an old woman said, “I hope that daughter-in-law of mine remembers to take in the washing.”

The conductor, a short plump man with paan stained teeth, squeezed himself between the passengers. Pi Parteii took out a ten-rupee note and gave it to him, “Kulikawn,” she said.

The conductor stopped, and looked at her. “Nu Parte, is it you?”

“Why, it is Sangtea. How are you?” she said.

“I'm fine. It’s been a long time, isn’t it? How are the children? They must be all grown up now.”

“Yes, they are all bigger than me now. Cecilia got married, you know.”

“Cecilia married? The last time I saw her she was about eight years old and I had to hide my tools from her.”

“So, Sangte, why are you a bus conductor? You were a very good carpenter.”

“Oh this, I am just helping out a cousin, his conductor went home and he couldn’t find anyone else.”

Pi Parteii gave him the money again. “You know where I'm going.”

Sangtea refused to take the money. "It’s all right, you are in my bus now.”

“Take it, I don’t want to feel guilty.”

“It’s okay, really,” Sangtea said.

“You know, Sangte, we are still using all the furniture you made for us.”

“That’s good.”

“You should come visit us some time.”

“Yes, I will do that,” he said, and made his way to the back of the bus.

It was raining heavily now, and people hastily closed the windows. Pi Parteii found a seat, sank down, rummaged inside her bag and took out her cell phone. It was switched off. Now that was strange, she didn’t remember switching it off. Oh, it must have been all the squeezing and crushing. She switched it on, and dialled Charlie. It rang and rang, but Charlie didn’t pick his phone. She dialled again, and listened to it ring. One, two, three… eleven, twelve rings. Still he didn’t pick it up.

She disconnected, and dialled their landline number. All she got was short beeps. Trust the phone to stop working every time it rains. She could call Christopher, but he was using his Delhi number and had asked her not to call him. “Roaming charges,” he had said. Her husband had refused to get himself a cell phone (“I can’t work these new gadgets”)

She dialed Charlie again, still no answer. She disconnected, and dialled Christopher. He answered on the first ring.

“Hello”

“Chris, why is Charlie not answering his phone?”

“He’s over at Zotea’s house.”

“Why is he over at Zotea’s house? I put you two in charge of the cooking. Have you done anything yet?”

“They are not coming for dinner. Pi Hlimi suddenly got worse, and everyone is gathering there,” Chris said.

“When was this? And why didn’t you call me?” Pi Parteii said.

“About twenty minutes ago. We called you a hundred times; your phone was switched off. Why did you keep it switched off anyway? “

“That’s not important. Listen, bring an umbrella and meet me at the bus stop, go now.”

“All right.”

“Where’s your father?”

“He too is at Zotea’s house.”

“Okay, now go.”

She hung up.

It was completely dark outside now, the driver had switched on the lights, and she felt like she was travelling in a night bus. The bus was almost empty, and it seemed like the rain and the wind were getting louder by the minute. Pi Parteii suddenly felt sad, sad for her poor daughter, for her son-in-law, for Pi Hlimi and the grandchildren she would never see.

“Nu Parte, it’s your stop,” the conductor said.

“Oh yes. So long then, Sangte, come see us whenever you want.”

“Will do. Goodnight then.”

She got down and looked around, but couldn’t find Christopher anywhere. She remained at the bus stop, dimly aware that she was getting wet,  but she didn’t want to step inside any of the nearby shops, didn’t feel like talking to anyone right now.

“Let me have my moment of sadness, let me be alone for just a few seconds, because in a few minutes I will again have to be the comforter.”

All around her, the rain kept falling in sheets.

                                                                            ...


Aduhi Chawngthu  is presently working in the Mizoram Civil Services. In her free time, she is a voracious reader and enjoys writing and taking pictures. She wrote this short story in August 2009 as part of an entertaining serial, chronicling contemporary urbanized Mizo society. Unfortunately the serial was never quite completed.  We hope she finds time amid her hectic career to properly finish it someday soon!

The Morning Pools of the Sky People: a Modern Day Fairy Tale - Zualteii Poonte

It happens late in the year every year, around the time when the rains taper off and the harvests in the rice fields begin to ripen and glow golden in the sun. From the wee hours past midnight when earth people are in bed in blissful slumber, the fabled van mi or sky people leave their homes in the sky to stealthily descend to earth for a few joyous hours of bathing and swimming. Under the pale light of the moon, between mountains and high hills, they create huge pools of spray and water that is so pure and white it looks like soft, downy cotton wool. The pools cover entire valleys, stretching from one far distance to another, running up the sides of mountains and creating occasional happy little islands in the middle. Some pools sweep across vast expanses like tumultuous, turgid  seas while others are sandwiched between mountains and towns like hungry rivers. In the bewitched pools, the sky people play, float, glide, skim, sail, romp, wade, gambol and frolic around to their heart's content. Sometimes they take gravity-defying dives off cliffs or jump from trees into the surging white waters. 

Then as the sun awakens and unhurriedly rises, lazily stretching out its brilliant rays over the mountain tops, the sky people sigh and begin to gather their things to go back to their homes in the sky. A few dawdlers, reluctant to leave the water, linger on but as the sun gets stronger and the world gets warmer, the waters in the enchanted pools dissipate slowly till there is nothing left but empty air and mist. One by one, the lingerers too return to their homes. The pools remain amidst the mountains and rills for a while as earth people wake up and rub their eyes in marvel at the sight outside. By the time the clocks on the earth people's walls point to eight, the pools have mostly all disappeared. Late risers who are excitedly told about the magical pools thrust their necks out of windows but see nothing but green valleys and hills. 

Zualteii (A. Hmangaihzuali) Poonte is the owner of this blog.  She teaches English literature at Aizawl College and is also a keen amateur photographer. The featured photo, which partly inspired this piece, was taken by her in November 2012.