Auspices

Auspices


It was the day of the test. As the dawn sun rose, thousands of alarms rang across thousands of domiciles in the city of Tadh. People awoke to great expectations and a thrilling evocation to superiority. Families rose excitedly, and gathered around the radio to get their latest updates on the Machine. Children gleefully giggled and stomped their energy upon ritual carpets as they swerved in joy. The elderly lightly reprimanded their hopeless progeny, with their inability to be timely about an early homily for this great occasion. In the prayer rooms, the incenses had been lit, their unsubtle aromas danced to the melodious winds of this auspicious day.

For it was an important day, an awaited day. Fifty years ago, the venerable saint Tarapati had announced the initiation of a great and terrible project. A way to reach the gods, and force their attentions upon a mature humanity. He proposed what was, to put it crudely, a bright electric bulb for the gods. It would light up and shine like a blazing coterie of stars and blind the divines with its promises of human-god association. After centuries of silence, the gods would be compelled to take form within humanity again.

Scientists had been gathered from every nation on Earth. The Zhongguo had provided the material gurus to build this bulb, the Yavanas had aided with the algorithms, the Caliphate with their resources, but the citizens of Bharata, they had assembled the results and given them life and purpose.

The Tadhi were struck by a great, infinite happiness when their town in the Thar desert was chosen as the site of the machine, now called the Machine. Over the next decades, Tadh transformed into a glorious center of human civilization, a cultural crafter of temporary renaissances, a wielder of political attractions and risks, and a de facto capital of the planet. The Ayobahu Square was tasseled with slogans and prophecies of crowds flew in the zephyr around the seating arrangements and stands. On Sangama Road, that magnet of guild centers and merchants, bands had gathered to perform the sacrificial greeting ritual to this new day. They roared in chants that surfed across a quarter of the city. The immense statue of Emperor Matithasena was bedecked up to its ankles in flowers and offerings. The Vedic University was coated with announcements and final warnings about this grand event, to an infuriatingly ever indifference of the youth.

As the sun climbed further, the radio announced the arrangements at the site of the Machine. Nuanced ambassadors, crafty diplomats, acrimonious generals, necessary socialites, all the gangs, the lottery winners, the obscenely wealthy, and the connected, had already arrived. The priests had gathered in the central dome in droves, thieving each other of blessings in a Machiavellian dance of well intentioned prayers. There was even the stipulated Most Sacred Cow. The Caliphate citizens resented the animal placed above their station most, but they forgot this injustice in the collective emotional prurience that the day of the test produced.

The core scientific group was now smaller by two-thirds from Tarapati’s team in the beginning. Many had fallen to death, others to madness, and one particularly stressed Magadhi from the top of the massive Vaishnavite temple during a romantic entanglement. The commentators on the radio advertised the wares of dozens of marketing plans for illiterate objects and services. The Ta Jatayu Organization for instance, were excited about the latest iteration of their mini zeppelin line coming in winter of that year. Zhou Patel Food Products were delirious about their raspberry puranpolis (limited edition) out now for only a handful of rupees. There were many sculptor ads. Their business had boomed in the last few years.

The time crawled closer and closer and the marketing was ceased. Insecure speakers announced minor events with great clarity. The organizers had thankfully held the political speeches yesterday, so that they wouldn’t distract from the first test of the Machine. The sacrifice to Ganesha had finished, and it was time for the activation.

Across the world, minds being crushed by sex, hunger, thirst, and sleep, paid attention closely on the next words.

Activation in five, four, three, two, one…yes.

To the billions listening in, there was maybe a slight shiver in the quality of the incoming sound. An almost silent sigh of satisfaction, as noise. Nothing too tangible, that couldn’t be mistaken for imagination. To the Tadhi so close to it, there was a tremor in their domiciles. The very air seemed to stretch upon invisible grindstones. Dogs howled. Water stirred. Birds paused.

Shocked and stunned, they wondered about the changes closer to the Machine.

And the overwhelmed fortunates of luck near the Machine were unable to respond. Their nerves seemed to have been consumed by sorcerous angst. Vision curiously remained stable. Unnatural winds cooled nervous, sweating necks. A groaning sound came as if from everywhere and a mellifluous whistle blew from the Machine.

Within the span of a minute, an eternity died living a life of sin. An insanely priced ad spot blared like a banshee upon the silence of a world held breathless.

And now the wait.

The fabric of space shimmered almost invisibly. A low moan licked the air. In a depressingly dark moment, every living being within a circle of a thousand kilometers, lost something intrinsic. Almost intangible, but not intangibly.

And a man appeared in front of the Machine.

He wore golden armor and jewels. He looked at the dignitaries sitting upon the most raised dais. They looked at him with a look of wonder. He thrust a furious fear into their souls with a look of murder.

Then the slaughter began.