by Smita Potnis
The judge asked gravely, “Do you realize how seriously your behavior will be viewed under the laws of this country?” The teenagers went pale.
One of them, Myran, responded earnestly. “I have not committed robbery. Really, Sir! And terrorism is out of question. I have suffered terrorism and could never indulge in it.” The evidence before the court and his earnest demeanor indicated that he was speaking the truth.
Myran was in early teens, but looked sixteen and spoke like an adult. He was pleading innocence. He had just been in some bad company, unaware of what they were up to. There was no real chance that the charges would stick, yet onlookers were watching with bated breath, whether, in the vitiated atmosphere, the case would be used to expel Myran, his parents and other refugees from the country. The possibility lent an edge to his statements. “We did not want to leave our house, our country. It is so sad to become homeless. We could not make out why humans were killing other humans, creating a rift. We were forced out, Sir, and if you expel us now, where shall we go? Being innocent, have we no right to a piece of land to live on?
I just can’t comprehend,” he continued, “why are countries and religions necessary? Why do humans kill humans in the name of the country or religion? Why feel proud of a country but not of mother Earth? Are religions for humans or the other way round? Why not be a human, rather than a patriot or a zealot?” In extreme agitation, Myron had a fit, and fell.
The court doctor rushed to him and checked his pulse and heart beats. He was perplexed. Onlookers started wondering if the boy had died. Police officer Anna saw his Abba and Ammi going pale, which made her suspicious. She picked up a diary that had fallen from Myran’s hands. His parents opposed moving Myran to hospital, saying that he would recover with some fresh air. Though Anna suspected foul play to silence the boy lest he admit to some sinister act, the court granted the request and the boy was taken out. The judge ordered the diary to be read.
1st Shubat 20xx
I am restless in this new place. Cannot go back. Let me jot down my memories.
I recall Omar’s Ammi calling him home. There was a clutch of a few houses, where we were already facing hardship. So we just used to play, to forget the rough times. Omar, Anam, Bana, Noor, all of us would continue playing on empty stomachs even if called home. We were the few left, others had migrated to escape the civil war between government forces and rebels. Abba was unable to get work. No income, no going out to buy even essentials. Shooting, bombing, arson! Homes and humans were being burnt. No house was without damage, yet we felt secure in whatever was left, and afraid imagining life without it.
It was a day of lull, when Omar’s Ammi came calling. His uncle had gone out for work, which was a signal that the day was okay to continue playing. But then all parents started calling, as we heard the whirring of helicopter wings and then a bang! Fire started at a visible distance. We were stunned, the bomb might as well have fallen on us. Our parents quickly pulled us in. Abba was setting out to search uncle. I tried to stop him. He hugged me and said that his brother may need help, so he must go.
He returned much later, to Ammi’s great relief. But uncle did not come. Not then, not after two days. On the third day, the news of his death came. Uncle was loved by the neighbors for his friendly nature. People behaved like we were living there for long, though I had shifted in the locality only two years ago. Actually, my sense of time is twisted. I know things, but cannot recall how I learned them. Ammi once told me I had fallen on my head, maybe that is the reason.
Regular shelling had resulted in deaths in most families. It was as if it was a crime to stay in one’s own house or state. After witnessing death all around, we were scared only for the living. No one wept for the dead. Ammi felt the kids were getting devoid of emotions. Abba explained. Children were bound to be shocked, what with the bombing, burning, such hatred between humans. Every living being here is a worry for all of us!
Ammi was depressed to hear Abba. Will the situation not improve? she asked softly. Abba asked her, “Can you not see what is happening around? Towns are being deserted. No food, no work, no security, people are migrating.”
I went weak in the knees hearing Abba. I loved my house. Ammi started wailing. We had built this house with such aspirations, she said. Where shall we go? Abba held her hand, quiet and helpless. She continued: “And how do we take the kids? Refugee ships are overloaded. One giant wave in the dark of night, shall we survive?” Abba pacified her.
The thought of leaving my beloved house brought tears to my eyes. I recalled that occasion when, while visiting a cousin, in a fight the cousin had said it was her house I was in, so I should shut up. That had created a bond between me and my house. I never went to stay with anyone thereafter.
What do I do now? We leave the house, the city, the country! Where do we go? Will they allow us? Shall we ever return? Will the house survive? But Abba was right. One could not stay here, fearing destruction and death.
Looking at the homeless beggar urchins, I used to wonder as to how they survived. How did they satisfy their basic needs and who cured them if they fell sick? I was depressed, feeling that a similar fate awaited us.
Ammi seems to be calling. Will stop here.
6th Shubat 20xx
Writing makes me feel better!
I often used to feel like telling Abba that we should stay put. That things will improve. But how will they? Just the other day, my photographer uncle came to our house to do video shooting of the protest march passing by our house. He got engrossed and went on the street.
By the way, this concept of protest against the government was beyond my grasp. In the childhood stories, the King was always loved by all. If the government was King, why was there such hatred on both sides?
Uncle went on the road, shooting the march. Suddenly, military tanks surrounded the protesters and fired volleys of bullets. Ammi started calling the uncle to come in. Suddenly, he was hit, and dead! We kids can make out dead, after witnessing so many. Ammi froze in shock. Abba was scared, but still wanted to go to help uncle. I held on to him tightly, not letting him go. I was petrified, seeing him scare …
Too late now. I stop.
10th Shubat 20xx
Writing after many days. Not that I was busy. Just sad on leaving the house. Saw Anwar from my school. His family was setting up a tent next to ours. Thought about jotting down why we left. Wish I could have folded our house and carried it in my pocket.
The situation had been tense after uncle’s killing. A few days later, a bomb destroyed a nearby house. Those folks came to us. We shared whatever food we had at home with them. Fear was palpable. The school had completely closed. I love reading and was doing that all the while. Abba used to go out for work once in a while. He would try to bring food. At times, even if there was money, no food would be available.
One day he went out but soon returned. He was shivering with fear. He shut all windows and held us together. Apparently, the rebels had held him outside and forced him to agree to join them. While that was happening, the loyalists came and saw him with the rebels. They thought he was one of them. Fortunately, our neighbor Naeem was with the loyalists. He convinced them that Abba was a simple man, not involved in rebel activities. As luck would have it, the same rebels intercepted him near the house, called him a government stooge and threatened to destroy all he had, unless he joined them.
While narrating, he started weeping loudly, Amma wailed louder. Both were however shocked to hear me sobbing! I was in 7th grade, so a kid, but not a real kid. I had read that this entire unrest had began due to a student roughly my age. Apparently, he had a spray paint can with which he painted anti-government slogans on school walls. Possibly not even knowing what they meant. The elite police caught him and his friends and killed them brutally, on charges of sedition. Citizens came on streets in protest. Before long, the anarchists in the country infiltrated the agitation; bringing the situation akin to civil war. Why did the idiot do what he did! Causing such hardship to all.
Within two days, Abba located human smugglers online. He somehow disposed off whatever he could, packed essentials and we set out in their van. It was suffocating to hide, particularly at borders. But we made it to this country.
12th Shubat 20xx
Ammi worries about me a lot these days. This diary keeping too worries her.
Leaving our house sort of drained me. I was mentally affected, had no energy left. This new country already had many refugees. Abba was planning further migration. He got a job in a bookshop. I offered to work and earn. He felt sad at that. Ammi was in favor. But he ruled out, saying that the employers were extremely rude, and that I would feel insulted.
Even so, I took up a job a few days later. My parents were proud. Ammi used to lament at times about my lost childhood. Abba consoled her that in the next country, we shall settle down and I would resume schooling.
15th Shubat 20xx
We are here for two years now. I find it strange that boys smaller than me back home had now grown taller. Some grew long hair and mustaches. But I was as I was. When I pointed this out to Ammi, she was taken aback. Then she said it could be the trauma and that I shall be alright. I was not convinced. Yana and Hayat, my younger sisters, were now taller than me, despite the trauma. But I kept quiet.
Yana is trying to read what I have written, but she cannot read my language. Will sleep now.
20th Shubat 20xx
As I sat down to write in this new country, thoughts came flooding.
Abba was suddenly arrested in the last place. We got scared, as we had no legal papers. In Abba’s absence, I had to take charge. I got in touch with the smugglers. Somehow they managed to get Abba out and also moved us to another country.
Things were different here. We were housed in a tent. The language was different. I was learning it by talking to locals. Abba got a job in another city. It was decided that he will go first, and we shall follow after he made arrangements.
The tent’s surroundings were filthy. Water was scarce. It was six months but Abba was still unable to line up a house at his workplace. He visited occasionally. Ammi fell sick in such a dirty place.
I was idle. I felt like working and earning to help the family. With the teenagers around, I went and saw small and large shops. But where to get the money from, for trading? Ammi would have refused if I asked.
Then one day the boys brought some articles, don’t know from where. I managed to sell them, speaking the local language. We shared the money. I took my share to Ammi. Told her I was working. She asked for details. When I explained that my friends got articles by magic which I sold, she got so angry she slapped me. ” You are so wise, but you can’t make out that this was theft, not magic? What shall we do if you are put behind bars?” She yelled. I got scared, I stopped mixing with the vicinity boys.
28th Shubat 20xx
Been inside the tent last two days. Did not join the kids again. But saw the police picking them up. Then the police came for me. Ashamed to write this diary in jail. I let my parents down.
2nd Adhar 20xx
Abba came. Police told him that I may be let off, but in court. As refugees we were suspicious.
—
The court interpreter put the diary aside. Abba was called in the witness box. The judge
began by admonishing Abba. Myran felt bad. “When I have not committed any crime, why are you blaming my father?” he pleaded with the judge.
The lawyer then called the doctor. “This boy is unnatural”, the doctor told the judge. Myran could not follow why the doctor said so. But as he sensed his parents going pale, he shouted: “Leave my Abba alone. He is a nice man.”
“Your Abba?” The lawyer guffawed. His parents were ashen faced.
“Do you mean to say that you don’t know that you are a android?” the lawyer asked Myran. Myran thought he was joking. But when the lawyer asked the same question to Abba and Abba nodded, Myran was shocked.
Why is Abba nodding, he wondered. Was it some kind of blackmail to throw the family out? Or am I really an android? Is that why my physique has remained the same? Ammi does not worry if I do not eat, but insists that I spend time in the sun daily. Myran was confused. He blurted out “Abba, what are you saying! Am I not your son, am I an android? Then why did you want me to join school, instead of doing a job?”
Ammi started weeping. Abba was pained. “It was necessary that you studied. You were built that way, to acquire knowledge like a human, to learn and experience”; he said.
The prosecutor butted in. “Who built him? Did you steal our research? Built with stolen ideas, born to be a thief!” The lawyer remarked sarcastically.
“That is not true” Abba countered. “He was conceptualized in this country and is a creation of an international collaboration, with four scientists including from your country, and my brother Sami. The project was to develop a human-like android, with sentiments, feelings and expressions deeply coded into him. With the capacity to think like humans. The creation was under trial. A good IQ was achieved in him, and developments were being made to achieve a high emotional quotient too. For EQ, it was necessary that he lived a human’s life. A formal announcement was to be made after that. Unfortunately, Dr. Turner, the head of the experiment, and the other scientists except Sami were flying together for a conference, and the plane crashed. They perished. Sami brought him to us. We treat him as our son. There are mutual family feelings among all of us. We did not disclose his true nature as we did not want curious onlookers to look at him like some kind of freak in a circus. Now even Sami is no more. Myran is back in his country of birth, to put it this way.”
With each word, Myran’s heart sank. There was a vacant look in his eyes. The prosecutor would not let go. “Then how come he does not know himself that he is an android? Or is he lying?” He asked.
“He is not lying”, Abba said softly but firmly. “He was wired with knowledge of a child. A child does not know about androids. All his actions are human-like. He is programmed to eat like us, and the mechanism in him processes food. But he does not sustain on it. He is solar powered and that is his real food. That is why, after being inside the jail for two days, he spoke garbled and fell down due to a lack of energy. But otherwise he never had any reason to know that he is an android.”
The interaction between the prosecutor and Abba felt like an emotional dissection to Myran. Only Ammi could make that out. After all, she was his mother. His head swirled in all sorts of disturbing doubts. Was he only a machine? Was he nobody to Abba and amma? If he was an android, how did country or religion matter to him? He had read about androids at school and the recollection was disheartening in the present context. Humans control androids. They can build and break androids. Androids have no rights. They cannot protect themselves against humans. When one man does not care for the feelings of another, why implant emotions in androids? Just so that we understand insults and feel pain? When humans are hardly bothered about the existence of other humans, how much will they care for me?
What am I? Why am I? Just a machine! Loaded with feelings and intelligence, the ability to experience and learn? What is there to learn from humans? Their behavior towards others? Will the humans knowingly allow me to assimilate that knowledge?
With every utterance, Myran became more vocal. Abba and Ammi rushed to him and embraced him in a tight hug, drenching him with their tears. Some in the court were similarly moved, but there were faces that reflected doubts, as if all this was a stage play.
But Myran was by now beyond! Emotional overload had snapped the inbuilt humanity. He was now just an android. Nothing else!
Smita Potnis has a M.A. in Marathi literature and writes science fiction stories in Marathi and Hindi. She was president of the Marathi Literature Conference 2024 at Belgaum and has published ten story collections and other books inside and outside of the science fiction field. She has written seventy science articles for newspapers and ten research papers about sf stories in Marathi literature. She has written a one act sf play which won the 2nd prize of the Avishkar compition for drama and scripts about scientific topics for the Akashvani radio station. On her Youtube channel “Marathi sci fi stories hub” she reads sf stories and science articles written by famous sf writers. She sees her mission as a communicator or science. Apart from that she has directed a number of Marathi one act plays.