Genealogy

Consciousness

He’s gaining consciousness. Trying to get up. He’s touching his plastered arm and trying to make sense of all the beeping machines around him. He feels his bandaged head. He’s realizing now that he is in a hospital.

I can see his heartbeat rising.

He’s trying to get up. Trying to remember who he is.

I’m getting high intensity waves in my Cephogram. But, the graph is declining rapidly now.

He’s failed to remember who he is. He is getting up. Going towards the curtained window. Trudging towards it. He’s lifting the curtain.

The blue light of surveillent scanner-craft hits him hard. He’s unconscious.

Sir! What should we do now?

Send in two sentries and get him back in the bed.

Sir?

Sir! Last night I did something on this subject.

What!?

I tried to record his dreams on that old Demcorder.

But, you know, we don’t use it. It does not record anything correctly.

I know Sir. But, he was dreaming so strongly that his body was shaking. I plugged in the Demcorder and it was alive. Also, as a supplement, I used the Cephogram to enhance the recording. I synchronized both the data and the results are amazing. The digital data is rich and clear. I think you can easily covert them into images.

Let me see it.

Here, Sir. I’m sending you the data. Hope you find something about him in there.

Thank you Cipher.

Thank you Sir.

*********************

Dream Sequences

The final interpretive version of the dreams of Mr. X, send and recorded by Ministry of Internal Affairs, Republic of Dustan.

NOTE: The dreams (most of them were actually a subtle mixture of dreams, desires and hopes that the subject conceived during his term of unconsciousness) have been interpreted and ordered by a team of experts up to their best efficiencies. If this walk-through is still messy, deep and cluttered, it only means that we do not have sufficient technology or sufficient information about the subject.

The real sequences of events have been altered to form a narrative.

Sincerely yours

Dr. Dileep

Dr. Radha

Dr. Ansari

Dream Sequence 1

An icicle melts [in old Qashmiri symbolism it stood for time] melts quickly [it seems as if the subject is running out of time] suddenly blood drops drip from the edge of the icicle [a philosophical interpretation can be that the subject is conceiving of a coming age that will be bloody. As a part of personal psyche, it symbolizes death, most probably a murder of someone] the blood drops dripping from the icicles touch the black ground, shatter and sprout as red roses [seems our guess is right. The subject’s wife/girlfriend has been murdered because traditionally rose stands for one’s beloved] he picks a rose and as soon as he touches it, it wilts and is blown to ashes [most probably she was murdered by fire. We do not know. But another event from the later part of the dream connects here and makes sense] suddenly the skies snow soot. Soot falls and has been falling for many days now [it is evident by the quantity of soot deposited on the rocks and the greyness of everything around] a shadow [the subject] drags himself across the falling soot. Nothing is visible and it is very very cold [it probably is a memory of Nuclear Winter of 2025 Qashmir. The sense of the dream ends with an event from earlier part of the dream] a bright light flashes [the memory of nuclear blast] a beautiful woman kisses and withers away in soot [the dream breaks].

Dream Sequence 2

NOTE: This interpretation is a compression of two sequences. We have omitted the unnecessary and unconnected events, so as to make a linear narrative.

A silhouette dances, and dances heavily. The whole dream-space quakes [probably an archetypal image of ancestor] it suddenly turns into a bird. The birds drops a pebble and out of it a hill emerges [probably the ancient hill of Maraan] the subject emerges and trudges up the hill. At top of the hill is a shrine. As soon as he reaches the top, a bright light engulfs the whole dream-space [the memory of nuclear blast] the hill withers away to dust. Soot falls. The shadow drags himself [he is lost. For a long period of time, the subject seems to be in limbo and many wiered images emerge and dissolve. Our team found those images unnecessary for your investigation. So, we move on to the important part which will be of great importance to your investigation] a dark interior [seems like old sewage pipes probably from old Qashmir] the subject is addressing a group of people who carry old Soviet weapons] he picks a gun and shoots [the dream breaks. Our team feels that it is enough evidence to execute him for a coup d’état].

***************************

Remembrance

A dark alley, probably the inside of a huge sewage pipe. The place smells of rotten iron and dried blood. One can hear people chattering somewhere. Someone lights a gas lamp and a not so large gathering of people can be seen. The man places the lamp on a table and a person wearing a ragged pheran comes forward.  As soon as he is up, a wave of silence falls over the gathering and in few seconds dead silence echoes. The man in the ragged pheran clears his throat and says:

We have all gathered here to commemorate him. Before we begin, I know what you want to hear. Yes, he’s alive.

A soft wave of ease touches everyone’s face. They are about to turn their heads towards each other when he again speaks:

But, they’ve captured him.

The dead silence hovers upon them. He continues:

I’ve confirm report of that. Also, he’s lost his memory. But, I don’t believe that. If there ever was one thing dear to him it was his memories. He can’t lose them. I believe he’s pretending it, so that he can accomplish what he went out there to do – to share his memories and thoughts with rest of the world.

There is a panic in the crowd. Nobody is listening to him anymore. To get the attention back, he shouts:

To commemorate, I will just read the transcript of his last speech that I recorded myself.

He opens a sheet of plastic and begins to read.

***********************

Trial

From a potential source and evidence which consists you and your psyche, it is confirmed that you were planning a coup against this Republic. And because you’ve not cooperated in revealing the locations and names of your organization and its members, the Honorable Court sentences you to death by any means that this republic likes. Any last wish?

“Yes”

What!

“I would like to reveal my last wish Live to the people.”

Because in any case your execution will be live on all televisors across the Republic, and because you have no memory, so pose no threat, you have been granted an uninterrupted live telecast of five minutes.

The court is dismissed.

*********************

Execution

His hands held the plastic sheet firmly and he began to read:

Freedom should not hit like a virus and politics should not run like a rabid dog. I know you all want me to attack the enemy as soon as possible. That you burn with hate, rage and passion. I know our loved ones have been murdered. But, I also know that our number is very low. . .

The execution chamber was small and well lit. He was tied to the chair and wore white clothes. In front of him was a big screen which telecasted his image. He looked up, there was a camera. He looked up to the roof. There was a gas nozzle fitted.  For few moments he gazed upon his image, then cleared his throat and said:

You’ve denied me my identity, my name, my ethnicity. That is enough to tell me that you’re oppressor. . .

. . . Our strike now will seem like a revolt while it should be a revolution. And revolution does not mean only to die or kill but, most of the times it only means to survive. . .

. . . You show me your tall buildings, sky scrapers but, let me tell you, your iron and your steel smell of oppression. . .

. . . Your being alive is a revolt, a revolution. As a long as you live, stay together, share your memories, your stories, your songs, you’ve the weapons of survival. Shoot them and prosper. . .

. . . You chase darkness away with your electricity but, you can’t exorcise the dark shadows. It hovers upon you, and let me tell you, your electricity bulbs buzz with imperialism. . .

. . . If you think that your colonizer kills you because he wants to get rid of you, then you’re thinking wrong. If you think he kills you to put fear in you and others, you’re wrong. . .

. . . Your tall buildings and furnished rooms where you are watching me right now, listen to them. The echo the cries of those whose land you’ve taken. . .

. . . Tyrants and kings might’ve killed because of these reasons as they considered the people their subject. But, this is not the case with colonizer who sees you as an object. . .

. . . Right now, gazing upon your screens you ask me how you know it all. I know because you don’t talk to me. Even if you did, your breath will stink of oppression. . .

. . . He kills you so that with you dies your memory, your dreams, your personal history. That’s why he insists upon you being an individual. But, you’ve to stop being an individual and start living as a community where everyone’s memory is the collective memory, your dreams everyone’s dreams, your history everyone’s history. . .

. . . You so want to kick your screens and stop me. But, the sound of your shoe, the way you walk tells me that it’s your nature to disrespect souls and trample bodies. . .

. . . I won’t let anyone of you to give your life unless you’ve shared your dreams, memories, songs with each other. Unless and until you haven’t written down and recorded your experiences and dreams and memories, you’re condemned to live. . .

. . . The sheen of your TV screens laments the people you’ve controlled. . .

. . . They can kill you but, they can’t kill your memories, or your dreams. They will keep on living and haunt the enemies till they are dead awake. . .