Exhale
Page 1
Exhale
A Many Lives Story
Laxmi Hariharan
13 Suns
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
About the Many Lives Series
About the Author
1
Synopsis
Sofia must mate with Kris and birth a race superior to humans, but she cannot accept her fate. Can she create her own destiny?
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1
June 2055, McLeod Town, Himalayan Mountains
Whenever I ask my grandmother why she’s so dark that there's almost a bluish tinge around her in the sunlight, she says it's because of the hours spent on the hills near her home. It isn't until I inherit her little black box that I discover more to it.
Today, on my obligatory annual visit to see her from Bombay, I sneak away after dinner to her study tucked away under the roof of her little home. As always, when I see the wall of books taking up the entire length of the room, I lose my breath. After the 2014 tsunamis that swept much of the world, paper is a rare commodity. But Nana hoarded her books. Refused to sell them even though they'd fetch her a tidy sum.
Hearing footsteps behind me, I ask, "Have you read all these books, Sofia?"
"Of course, Sofia." She joins me where I stand looking up at the shelves.
It's a game between us, this calling and replying to Sofia, one we play only when alone.
Running her fingers over the spines of the jackets, she picks out a book, handing it to me. "This is my favorite."
It's a well-thumbed copy of The Origin of Us—A collection of legends. A comic book.
"I'm twenty-two," I huff. "About to start an internship with the Mayor's office. A bit too old for this, don’t you think?"
"Not this one." She pulls me to the love seat near the small window. Opens it. "I haven't shared this story with you, now, have I?"
I shake my head. She's told me stories of the hermitage she grew up in, not far from here. But no, never this one.
I read: After the next great dissolution, when everything goes into a state of sleep, the self-manifested being will rise. A formless being which will re-establish the seed of creation in the Golden Womb. Ultimately the Golden Womb will break into two halves to form Earth and Heaven, and so life begins. Again.
Earth and Heaven.
"And hell, what of hell?" I ask, caught up in her story.
"Hell is where we are now." She snaps those blue eyes on me. Eyes unusual in someone with her dark skin. "Do you know why I’m telling you this?"
I don't respond. But my heart thuds in my chest.
"You, Sofia, are the Golden Womb," she says. "You'll give rise to a new race. One more connected to their inner selves. Something we have forgotten in their quest for material wealth."
I almost laugh at that.
Almost.
But her eyes sharpen into dark pinpoints of focus. She's not joking.
I have never seen her so serious before.
Never.
A shiver runs down my back. Something buried deep unfurls, bringing a flush to my cheeks.
I shake my head. "What do you mean?"
She grips my shoulders. "You've been chosen to birth a new species," she goes on, not noticing my rising panic. "One more evolved than humans. Than any living beings today."
What? She just puts it out there, and all I can do is stare. My head whirls. What is she trying to tell me?
She lets go of my shoulders and takes my palm in between hers. "Listen carefully. Your parents birthed you, but that's where any resemblance to them ends. You are different."
“Different?” I stutter.
She nods. "When you were five, I had a vision, Sofia. I saw your future. I knew I had to tell you about it. But had to wait till you were old enough to understand."
I know my grandma is intuitive. She sometimes gets glimpses of events before they occur. But she's never foretold my future. Not till now.
"You must mate with an Ascendant and birth a new order of humans. One who will save the future of this world."
"Right!" I chuckle. Trying to make light of what she’s saying.
No answering smile on her face. Her jaw hardens, sending another shiver of fear down my back. Try to step away, but she doesn't let go.
"You have a purpose, Sofia. One different to ordinary mortals. Do you understand?" she asks, voice hard.
"Oh! I understand all right," I snap. "You had a dream. And now I must give up my own ambitions to fulfill this crazy vision you saw?" My voice rises in panic.
I don’t want to believe her.
And yet…something in her voice. The lack of any emotion in her eyes insists she is not lying. She believes in her vision.
No!
I pull away, and this time she lets me go.
Jumping to my feet, I walk to the bookshelf and stare at the rows of books with unseeing eyes.
Half turning, I ask, "What—Who are these Ascendants?" I don't want to know; and yet, a part of me waits for her to speak.
"Humans refer to them as Gods. Angels," she replies. "They are much more than that. There are only a few on this planet. They birthed as normal humans. Grew up among us. The look like us, can blend in. Except they are stronger, far more intelligent, and live longer. They each have a mission."
"Mission?"
She nods. "Every time evil reaches a crescendo on this planet, the Ascendants are called to bring it under control."
"A divine order of soldiers, then?" I ask, intrigued despite myself.
She nods. "It won’t be a hardship to mate with one of them." A glint comes into her eyes. "Know what I mean?"
"Nana, please!" I exclaim, cheeks growing warm. "I don’t want to discuss sleeping with an Ascendant…or with anyone else for that matter. Besides, how do I know what you're saying is true? What if all this is just a delusion?" Or a sign of senility?
I don’t say the last aloud.
But perhaps she senses it, for her jaw hardens. "Evidence? You’ll have that soon enough. For what I’m telling you is true. You must hear me carefully, Sofia, for there may not be another chance."
Her features set into a mask of certainty. One I don't recognize.
"What do you mean?" I ask, voice sharp with worry.
Something about how she says it bothers me. She sees something else. But she's not telling me.
"What do you mean, Nana?" I push her for an answer.
She cuts the air with her palm, her gesture so impatient it's as if she's slapped me. I jump.
"It doesn't matter," she says, her voice crisp.
She's on edge. Worried about something. Is there a deadline she's up against? Is that why she wants to tell me everything now? This very moment?
"What's important is that you listen to me."
"What are you trying to tell me, Sofia?" I run my fingers through my hair, trying to focus my attention on her.
"That this is your future." she insists.
"No!" I turn away and put my hands over my ears to block out her voice.
If I look at her, I'll see the conviction on her face. That she believes every word she's saying.
This is my grandma. Someone who was perfectly content taking care of her family in this little town. And one day she turns around and tells me that I must birth a new species. That my destiny is laid out for me.
Just thinking about it makes me want to push back. Push away what she's trying to tell me. Push her away from me. And yet, something in her tone, her utter stillness, that clarity of purpose, reaches out to me.
"No," I insist. "You're lying.
" My voice so low I don't think she can hear me. But of course she does.
"The truth is bigger than you or me, Fia," she says in a gentle tone.
I wince. Calling me by my nickname makes it all so personal. As if it is me she's been talking about all along.
"The world as we know it is going to end," she adds.
"What do you mean? Like, destroyed? All gone?" I stutter.
The lack of any expression on her face sends a cold stroke of fear down my back.
"Not physically. Earth's vibration is going to change, and humans will be forced to Ascend. To upgrade their vibration or die. And it is through you, the Golden Womb, that those who choose can make that shift. A start to populating the world with beings who don't have to hold back their emotions, who choose to follow their heart."
"What the fuck does that even mean?" It's the first time I swear aloud in Sofia's presence. I want to get through to her. Convince her I am not who she thinks I am.
"So, I am supposed to get pregnant and birth a superior race?"
"Not just superior. More empathetic. Physically resilient too. Not as weak as us humans."
Right!
"And what if I don't want to give birth? Don't want to go through with this?"
Her eyebrows furrow, on her face, confusion.
Like she can't understand why I am questioning her. She expects me to fall in with whatever she's saying. Hadn't she counted on my having an opinion?
"It's understandable that you feel scared, only natural that the idea of conception make you feel afraid."
I burst out, "I'm Fia, remember? Your granddaughter. I was born right in this house, and I have dreams of my own. A life plan I intend to stick to." My shrill voice echoes around the room, only to be thrown back at me.
I hear my own resistance. My inability to look beyond my own concerns. Beyond my immediate circle of life. And that maybe she's speaking the truth.
But I'm not ready not for this.
The blood rushes through my veins, making my heart beat fast.
She can't make you do anything you don't want to do. She can't.
"Thanks, but no thanks." My voice is light, to show her words are of no importance to me. "I mean, it’s flattering to be chosen for this 'job’; but no, I don’t want it."
She stands up, arms on hips. Her features twist as if she's trying to control her emotions.
When she finally speaks, her voice is calm.
"You've been shown a destiny. The rest is up to you; the choice is yours." Folding her hands in front of her, she bends her head, her pose deferential.
I swear aloud.
Whatever she's saying can't be true. Even if it is, well, I do have a choice, right? For now, I choose not to choose.
"Thanks for sharing and all that, but I have to leave," I say, my voice cold, fierce.
The sooner I get away from here and get on with my life the better. I make for the door, and she doesn't stop me.
"Not everyone gets to be the mother of a new race." Her voice goes so soft I almost don't catch those words. "If only I were here to see it."
And that makes me pause, right at the threshold. I want to leave, to keep going, but I can't. A cold fist twists my heart, hinting that something is about to change.
If I leave now, I'll regret it forever.
Turning around, I walk back. Sink down next to her on the love seat. When I grip her hands, they are cold, and I rub them, trying to transfer some of my warmth to her.
"Of course you'll be here, Sofia," I say, forcing those words thru lips carved of stone. "You’re going to be alive to see your great-grandkids."
I start at my own words.
She grips my hands back, stares into my eyes. Those blue eyes shine with clarity, like a sheet of glass. So clear I see myself in them.
"Of course," she agrees.
2
A month later
Perhaps it is the casket and imagining her dead body inside that finally breaks me. A body which does not exist anymore, literally; for the very day after our conversation, Sofia began to disappear.
First, holes appeared in her hands, creeping up her legs, eating into her back and stomach.
Finally, her face.
As if once she'd revealed who I was and my task in this world, she'd lost her will to live.
As if she couldn’t wait to give me the evidence I so demanded.
She deteriorated, rapidly.
By the time she died, there wasn't much left of her. Much like a soldier having gone to war and returning in a casket, there she is now. Hair, nails, a few bones, it all fit into a tiny jar.
I sit in Sofia's little cottage, holding this little black box she left me in her will. Trapped below the surface, a rainbow of colors, loosened by our conversation, mesh into a storm.
Flipping open the lid of the box, I see a note. Written across it in firm handwriting a name—Krishna. Also, an address. In Bombay.
When I sniff the paper, I scent sunshine, dust, and something I can't quite place. A hint of wood smoke?
On the other side of the note is Sofia's familiar scrawl. "Find him, Fia. And when you do, don't look back. Follow your instinct."
Instinct? Easy for you to say, Sofia, now that you're gone. Couldn’t you have also left me a way out?
No, all she did was remind me that I have a choice.
A choice on which depended the fate of the human race. My head spins just thinking about it, and the note drops from my hand into the box.
I shut the lid and set it aside. Jumping to my feet, I pace back, forth, back, in front of the ancient sofa.
Look around the house where Sofia lived since she arrived as a bride at twenty.
She left the place to me.
Not to her children, but to me.
She left me no option but to believe her. Not after how she died.
I swear to myself, running my fingers through my hair.
Why hadn't I insisted she tell me more about me being the...the...I can't bring myself to say it. It just feels so weird, almost obscene to think of myself as a womb.
My eyes fall upon her picture on the mantelpiece. She looks as I always remember her. Serious, as if she has a lot on her mind. I'd never bothered to ask her about herself.
It hadn't been 'til our very last conversation that I glimpsed a hint of the woman behind the façade.
And now she's left me with this note that's calling to me to follow it. Find out about my own path.
Purple-black rage shivers up my spine.
Why, why, why hadn't she told me more before leaving me alone? Why? The anger splashes over me, and I smash the picture against the fireplace.
Looking at the shattered pieces, it fades away just as quickly. I owe this much to her, to see through what she started.
To find out for myself what my future could look like.
3
A week later
It took me this long to shore up my courage. Now I grip my backpack and look out the window of the ferry that takes me to the main island where the address is situated. The sun shines off the blue-green of the Arabian Sea.
As the little boat draws up to the pier I swear at my foolishness.
Will someone even be home?
Or have I made this trip for nothing?
Getting off, I walk up the road leading to a little bungalow not far from the sea. In the distance I can still hear the waves ebb and flow.
I hesitate, almost losing my courage. I am about to turn and leave when the door is flung open.
I look into a pair of jet-black eyes set in a nut-brown face with a shaggy, grey-flecked beard. The man's dressed in a pair of cotton trousers and a flowing long white shirt, over which he wears an apron. There's a dish-cloth flung over his shoulder.
"What?" he barks.
"Krish…Krishna?" My voice emerges shaky, and I clear my throat, trying again. Even as I say it, I know it's not him.
"I am here to see Krishna," I say, my voice firm this time.
He opens the door wider for me. Once I am in, to my surprise, he steps out. Before I can ask him where he's going, the door slams shut behind him.
All right then.
I look around the living room: the sofa set in one corner, a couple of wooden chairs, a rug on the floor. One side of the room is taken up by a bookcase. Half filled with books, as if someone has given away the rest. Beyond that, windows thrown open to a lawn that leads down to the beach.
A sudden tiredness overwhelms me, and I sway slightly, dropping my water bottle.
It's quiet in here; even the wave are muted. Conscious that I am all alone with a stranger in the home, I grip my back pack firmer. Then walk down the corridor. I count at least three bedrooms before I reach a room at the end of the passage.
When I touch the door, it swings open. A room beyond in partial darkness, and at the far corner, a silhouette by the window.
"Krishna?" I ask, my voice thready.
He doesn't reply. Doesn't even acknowledge me, just stands there, back to me, staring out. The evening sunshine slides through the window, highlights dark-brown glints in his hair.
When he doesn't move, I take a step forward, then another, ‘til I reach the center of the room. After the heat of the city, the room seems calm, welcoming, even cool.
I shiver, and the hair on my arms stands on edge. The silence in the room grows. It fills the space inside my head, and I have to say something just so I can hear my own voice, make sure I am really here.
"Krishna?" I ask again, raising my voice so it echoes around the room. I wince at that, but at least it gets a response.
He turns. The light at his back casts his face in shadow. I squint, making out high cheekbones, a thin upper lip, the shadow of a beard on his broad, square jaw.