‘Don’t you care?’
‘Don’t start, I’m trying to wind down.’
I stood in front of the screen, he leaned to one side and waved his hand at me. ‘Move.’
‘Can’t you see what is happening? Nature is trying to fix things. She’s resurrecting some ancient bugs. Anthrax is back. That’s what the reporter is saying, or aren’t you listening?’
‘Of course I am.’
‘Anthrax, Dad. What next?’
He turned the volume up and shoved me out of the way. ‘Who cares? Whatever, we’ll survive. We’ve still got a bit of an ozone layer. We’re fine, for now.’
I stiffened. ‘Really, are we?’
Mum came in carrying his dinner on a tray. ‘Leave your dad alone and go and do some homework, or something. You worry too much. You’ll see, everything will be fine.’
‘No, it won’t.’
‘You take things too seriously. It’s not up to us to sort things out.’
‘Then who is it up to, Mum, who?’
‘I don’t know, or quite frankly, care. All I know is that we have a nice home and…’
‘Forget what’s happening right under our noses? Fine. Let’s do more Fracking. Dig deeper and deeper. Let’s suck the earth dry of all its natural resources so that we can fly, drive, sail and jettison off to other worlds. Best try to find somewhere quick, just in case this one doesn’t make it. Why not explode some nuclear weapons, you know to show who’s boss.’
‘Now you’re being silly.’
I watched on as Nature, upset, quite rightly, and seeing the danger we did not, decided to wage a war to quell man’s lust for self-serving destruction. Before they brought out the all-new anti-matter bombs, and to take their mind off global annihilation, Mother Nature brought mighty winds and floods to make them see sense.
When that did not work, long extinct volcanoes erupted and shallow, devastating earthquakes laid waste to many countries. Then came tsunamis, acid rain, snow, and drought. Mother Nature threw it all at these feeble, self-indulgent, arrogant creatures. They didn’t care. Believing that something would come up to save them all.
Nothing did.
Things got worse.
Especially in our isolated island once known as Great Britain.
I was sad, depressed, without hope. I lost weight, became sullen and withdrawn. Shunned my peers and family members, wanting nothing to do with humans. Instead, I sought out animals that came into my garden. Feeling more at ease with these creatures than my fellow man, I thought I would remain an outcast. Then everything changed for me the year I visited Bhaktivedanta Manor.
It was 2082, the era of the new king, the old one snuffing it without ever concerning himself with the problems of the masses. This king, did, unfortunately, taking sides with the more gentrified landowning minority. The clashes that ensued reinforced the tension between newly formed borders that divided the country even more than when the Brexit laws ripped the nation apart causing so much anger and rioting.
It was my last week at High School. The only teacher I liked, Mr Brook, arranged the trip to the Buddhist Centre. A recent convert to vegetarianism, I was glad to find a sanctuary where the animals were not abused or slaughtered for food.
Many livestock had drowned, due to swamped fields, and those that were left led a miserable life crammed into windowless sheds. Subjected to, at best, indifference, at worst, undernourishment and brutality at the hands of cold-hearted butchers under pressure to feed an ever demanding public.
The animals housed at the manor lived in luxury by comparison. As soon as I stepped into the place I felt at ease. I marvelled at the calm and happy faces of the monks and workers that tended the sacred cows. The troubles of the world outside melted away as I inhaled the smell of fresh milk.
The other students milled about, tasting unpasteurised cheese and squealing when they touched the warm udders of a cow. I wanted quiet and found a small windowless room, where I listened and watched a vid about the Manor.
The establishment came into being during the mid-twentieth century and was devoted to prayer and the preservation of the sacred cows. All thanks to the generosity of the kindly George Harrison, who was once part of a popular music group in times gone by.
He gifted the house to the Krishna movement to spread the word of the Holy One’s teachings and faith. The Harrison is proof that reincarnation works, as he was once, I believe, a beetle.
Although I only went there once, the people and atmosphere of tranquility haunted me. I could no longer bear to be around my parents or friends. I stayed in my room and watched the rain.
There were downpours every day for months at a time. More farmers went bankrupt, and businesses went under at an alarming rate. Thousands of flooded-out families took to the streets, all hungry, homeless, penniless, desperate.
Surrounded by hardship and suffering I became increasingly intrigued by the idea of a place of calm. I longed to go back to Bhaktivedanta Manor and applied to be a helper.
I was denied entry.
I think I cried for a week. Then I received an email from Prabhupadasundra das the leading monk at the recently constructed Mahabharata House, inviting me to visit.
The place was far closer to my home than Bhaktivedanta. Situated in Lakenheath, an abandoned airfield, it was one of the few remaining defunct air bases not under water in the beautiful Suffolk countryside.
Although I was a visitor at first, it became clear to me when I touched Buttercup, the lead dairy cow, that I was destined to remain. When I felt her heart through my fingertips, something stirred within my soul. Yes, she was the one who asked me to stay. So I did.
I was only eighteen and had not intended to train as a Krishna devotee and cow herd at the Goshala, but there was so much peace and tenderness to be had, that I could not fail to be influenced. I stayed and took a vow that I would never abandon the herd. Even when Gertrude, the first great storm in 2086 arrived and blew away the rooftops, I remained. It was hard, though, many bad things happened.
Especially when hurricane Ophelia came. Snow that had not graced our land for many years, fell heavily. The Goshala lost several cows, oxen, and monks.
Three years later storm Brian hit us causing utter devastation, heralding the decade known as - Bluster and Chaos.
Ferocious squalls tore off roof tiles and chimneys. Raging tornados sucked away the surface soil of many countries including much of the farming land in Great Britain. Food became even less plentiful as the years went by. Starvation loomed and people prayed to their gods asking, ‘Why Lord? Why are you forsaking us?’
It was not their gods but the weather that had turned against mankind.
Across the globe, the sun took no pity and scorched through the depleting ozone layer to make even the most arable land virtually arid. Many died.
The polar ice caps melted rapidly. Water levels rose engulfing land masses, and as the oceans continued to swell they vomited out creatures that once lived on the seabed. Their rotting carcasses fuelled the germs that spread the plagues. Famine and disease killed human and animal alike. Until a mere spattering of life survived.
Mankind was lost, on the brink of disaster. Mahabharata Manor House was a shining light in the darkness of our history. When storms and famine ravaged the globe, including our small isle, and when people succumbed to despair, the monks tried to keep spirits up. They wanted to share the love of Krishna. But it was too late for religious piety and all they could do was to share what little food they had with those who attended. But after the drought in 2091, all handouts ceased.
Hunger made people cruel.
Nasty sorts entered the commune and murdered some of the cows, forcing the monks to lock the doors. From then on they devoted their time to protecting the herd from those that would butcher them for food.
Before we finally shut ourselves away from the fearful populace, four scientists joined the settlement.
I asked our leader, Prabhupadasundra das, ‘Why do you
allow these outsiders to remain?’
He took my hands in his and smiled. ‘The world is in peril. Times are not what they used to be. Survival is all we can look forward to. Ah, no, remove your sad expression, wipe away the tear that forms in your eye. We are here for a purpose. We survive because it is our fate. These scientists are our only hope. You see, they have found a way to maintain life. We must welcome them.’ He squinted, turned his bald head to one side and stared at me so hard that I succumbed to a blush. ‘One of them will become important to you. You are intended to do great things. Do not deny the emotions that you will experience.’
I would have objected to his words, but there was a look on his once-round now thin face that made me accept what he said to be fact. I nodded, he smiled, patted my hand and looked to the grey sky.
‘I am tired and old. The world holds no more thrill for me. I have seen the best and worst of times and wish to see no more.’ With a deep sigh, he turned in the direction of the animal shed where my fellow cowhand, and friend Arjuna Bhutapanchaka, stood at the entrance. ‘Come, my boy,’ our great leader called out. ‘Stand by Gopi Jnanamaya Kosha.’ Prabhupadasundra das placed Arjuna’s hand in mine. ‘Now you are bound together forever. You must attend to the herd, keep them well and alive. Protect them.’
‘I will, and with the greatest of joy do your bidding,’ Arjuna said.
‘I too will obey.’
‘These times lay heavy upon me. Tend to your herd.’ He pressed his forefinger against my temple. ‘Go by the grace of Krishna.’ He did the same to Arjuna and walked away.
His death was a cause of great lament at the manor, but as is our belief, we sang a song of letting go and sent his soul into Krishna’s everlasting light to be reborn and live again.
The techs that stayed with us were friendly enough, except for Sarah. She did not take part in any of our prayers, or general meetings, but the others did, especially Paul Dresser. Arjuna said that he spent too much time following me around when he should have been doing whatever it was they did inside the aircraft hanger at the end of the concrete runway. No one knew what kind of experiments went on there, the doors always locked. A thing alien to us where all were welcome in any room.
My interest in their lab dwindled as conditions deteriorated in the world, causing our daily chores to become more exacting. However, there were times during the day, when I caught a glimpse of a sleep-deprived scientist stretching and yawning outside the building, that I did wonder.
‘Whatever it is they do, I am sure they’ll tell us when and if, they feel it is necessary,’ Arjuna said to me one day when as we brushed down the herd inside their stalls.
‘Prabhupadasundra das would not let them be here if it were not for all our well-being. Surely?’
Arjuna patted Daisy’s rump and sent her outside to soak in the bit of sun that had managed to squeeze through the dark clouds. I did the same with Oak and Meadow before following Arjuna’s gaze to the scientists building.
‘I did not hold for the way tech has invaded our lives, but as the world continues to succumb to chaos and despair, they are all we have, it would seem.’ Arjuna’s shoulders slumped as he spoke. ‘Some say they are cloning human hybrids that can withstand these abnormal weather conditions. That these beings will be immune to the diseases that pick us off on-by-one. At least, that is what some say.’
I touched his full lips that looked strange on his thin high-cheekboned face as if he were always about to deliver a kiss, and smiled. ‘We are not meant to surmise what we do not know. I trust them, well, nearly all of them.’
‘Sarah?’
I nodded. ‘Paul says that unlike the others, who work in the same space, she insisted upon having a separate room where she spends most of the day. She locks it when she is not there. He is suspicious.’
‘Arjuna, let us not become like those outside, harbouring negative thoughts towards people we know little of. Let us go about our routine and pray for things to get better.’
We did pray.
Things did not get better.
Five years of drought dwindled the number of cattle as well as devotees. The horrible heat ended abruptly to be replaced with a never ending succession of wind, rain, snow, and mud. Each day came reports from around the world telling of mass drowning’s, of more tsunamis. Then, to contradict the swell of water-related deaths, great raging fires whipped up out of nowhere and wiped out whole cities.
The time of misery was upon us.
That was many years ago, or so it seemed. Before the worst came.
I began recording events in earnest on a Friday. The month was February. The year 2099. At least I think it was. The days bled into each other as the tornados and flooding crept ever nearer to our beloved sanctuary.
Outside, the continuing rioting and severe weather conditions sent more people to our gates. We had no choice but to turn them away. Our provisions dwindled fast. Especially now the techs were here and asking for all sorts of things I didn’t even know existed. Still, whatever it was they were doing was for the good of us all. How did I know this? Because, at their own instigation, they invented a new kind of lighting for the barn.
Bioluminescence.
They smeared green algae stuff over the walls, doors, and ceiling. When it became dark, it glowed, giving off such a soothing light I wished that I could have snuggled up with the cows and slept amidst them.
Indeed, the techs were whizz-bang at all sorts of things I did not understand. Paul Dresser invented a clever wind-up recording device that had a microchip with so much memory space that I became dizzy looking at the number of zero’s and bytes. He said it would last forever, well, nearly.
He gave the memory gadget to me one wet morning. With a look of sadness in his heavily lashed brown eyes. ‘For you, Mayer.’ He found it difficult to pronounce my full name, Gopi Jnanamayer Kosha, and took to shortening my title. ‘Take this gift and record all that occurs from now on. I have a feeling that events will take a turn for the worse.’ He touched my cheek, brushed a lock of hair from it and continued. ‘We must survive. If mankind and other creatures are to continue, we must live. Mayer, you must live. Do you understand?’
I nodded, tying my loose locks into a long plait.
‘Journal in detail as much as you can. I and the others must continue to work in secrecy. I’ll tell you everything that is necessary so that you can record our efforts, if we succeed. Ah,’ he sighed and bent his head, then raised it and stared into my eyes. His were bloodshot. ‘There’s a lot I can’t tell you. Know that what we are doing is for the good of all, even if, if it may not seem like it.’
‘Why do you talk like this? What is it you do that scares you?’
He opened his mouth then closed it again and shook his head. Pressing the recording device into my palm, he smiled and said, ‘You are, very beautiful.’
‘Oh, no.’
‘Yes, you are. Those eyes of yours, blue like the summer sky. Your hair the colour of ripening wheat and those lips…If we survive, may I, could we, maybe…’
I blushed. He grinned, then walked away.
Paul was right.
A plague of sorts erupted
Many folk succumbed to an unknown virus. It began when the Thames burst its banks and engulfed most of London and the surrounding county. Flies came. Big and black, they carried the germ to every home. Not here though. We kept our doors and windows shut for months. However, some brave monks ventured out into the disease-filled world to offer comfort and aid to those inflicted.
Arjuna and I feared for the safety of the herd and kept the cowshed locked. The animals were afraid and some kicked the doors to be free, but we could not let them outside for fear of contamination. We tried to make them as comfortable as possible.
The techs provided different lights that shone like the sun before it burnt the land. Making them feel as if they were outdoors. A flow of clean air kept the temperature regular, and we played music to calm them. Arjuna and I sang to them too
. They seemed to like melodies without words, so we began to warble like the birds that fled to take refuge elsewhere
I missed them
They used to sit in the branches of the three great oaks and let their joy resound around the place. But, with most of the trees dead and the high winds buffeting and blowing so hard that not even the biggest and strongest ox was able to push against it without being knocked over, there was nothing for them to stay for and the birds went away.
An owl or two could be heard on the rare occasion when the winds dropped. It was a dead sound that filled our bellies with a strange disquiet.
I began to document diligently when the bad winds came.
The mighty gusts battered the great doors of our haven, locked to keep out the dying world outside. We too were dying. Each day a fellow devotee passed into the light. The ones that braved the ravages beyond our home to help those more unfortunate, became ill and despite being quarantined, they succumbed to the plague they tried to treat. We prayed for their souls and all the souls of those who passed.
Once there were over two hundred monks and followers. When I began to write my journal, only twelve remained.
I was the only maiden in a house of males. I prayed and worked as hard as the others vowing to save with my last breath, the holy herd. To protect them from the pestilence without, and from the butchers that would kill and eat them. Arjuna gave up sleep. He looked after the cows and oxen as though they were his children, but then, they were, mine too, for I was their milkmaid and was glad to tend to them. But, our devotion was put to the highest test.
One day I heard a deafening crack and crash.
Through the window of my small bedroom, I saw the willow tree by the cowshed split in two by a lightning bolt. Black clouds quickly followed bringing a storm to batter us down. The rain turned into hailstones the size of my fist, which I pounded against my forehead. It was the last tree standing. I stared at the awful devastation that the hurricane left, and wondered how we would survive.
The Chronicles of Mayer - Beginnings Page 2