“But my doctor has expressly forbidden me to read or write anything in my present condition. As a compromise, Ken, I will bring you another book soon when I am well and I will sign both of them.”
Ajit’s tone had an air of finality; so Ken and I did not press further. Ken appeared satisfied with the offer of another present—he had already developed a liking for books. But I found Ajit’s response highly uncharacteristic of him.
“Now Ajit, perhaps you can tell me why you came here tonight.” My suppressed curiosity finally burst out as I pointed him to an armchair in my study and offered him a glass of port. We were alone now and I expected something momentous from him.
“Take it easy!” Ajit had a relaxed smile on his face. He slowly took out a packet from his briefcase and opened it carefully.
It was a beautiful idol of the dancing Ganesha, the elephant god of the Hindus. (The elephant god has the head of an elephant and its idol is usually in a sitting posture with legs crossed as in the Buddha’s sitting statues. This particular idol showed the elephant god in a dancing pose, which is not so common.) I recognised it immediately, for a similar idol existed in my museum in the British India Section. It belonged to the Maratha rulers, the Peshwas who controlled most of India before the British became dominant. Ganesha was one of the important deities of the Peshwas and this particular idol in my museum had been recovered from their palace, the Shaniwarvada, when Elphinstone’s army marched into Pune in 1818. How it finally made its way to this museum is a long story. My immediate reaction was to ask how Ajit managed to get a replica of this valuable piece.
“Look carefully! Is it really a replica?” Ajit had a provocative smile on his face.
I subjected the piece to the many visual tests of authenticity that I knew. Yes, so far as I could tell this piece was made by the same craftsman who had made the idol I had in the museum. Then suddenly, I noticed one glaring difference: how could I miss it in the first place?
The trunk of the elephant head was turned to the right instead of to the left as with most idols of Ganesha.
This particular aspect not only distinguished the idol in my hand from that in the museum but it also made it far more valuable because of its rarity. I explained this to Ajit.
“Indeed? I would like to see them side by side for comparison.” Ajit seemed more amused than surprised. He continued, “May I present your museum with this piece since you find it so valuable?”
I thanked him for this generous gift and promised him a properly worded formal letter of gratitude from the trustees of the museum. But I could not contain my curiosity and asked, “What is the history behind this piece? How did you come by it?”
“All in good time: but I am happy to see you so surprised. Let me now ask you another question, John. You know me well. What do you think is a distinguishing mark of my body?” I was surprised by this sudden change of subject. But of course I knew the answer.
“Your left thumb is about half an inch smaller than your right thumb.”
“Can you swear to it?”
“Of course!”
Ajit opened out both his hands in front of me. Yes, one thumb was shorter than the other. But I realised with a shock that it was the right thumb that was short.
I must have passed out with the shock, for when I came to I found Ajit gazing anxiously at me with a glass of brandy in hand. “Are you OK?” he asked.
“Just who the devil are you?” I asked aggressively. I was conscious of a chagrin at having displayed a weakness earlier and was trying to compensate for it.
“I am Ajit and none other—only I am slightly changed.” Ajit picked up my right hand and held it to his chest. His heart was beating on the right.
A crazy but connected picture began to form in my mind. I made Ajit stand in front of a mirror in my study, and I got the answer to a nagging thought which had been with me all evening since Ajit’s arrival. In some subtle way he had appeared different. Now I could see that the image staring at me from the mirror was more familiar to me than the live figure I was holding by his shoulders. Had Ajit somehow managed to convert himself into his mirror image?
I recalled the fantastic left-handed bowling of Pramod. Was it real Pramod or was it his image? Surely it was no illusion, because I had not been the only person to watch him perform. Even instruments like cameras and TV had conveyed the same effect. Was the Ganesha idol also an image of the real one? I went to the desk to feel it. It was as solid and real as Ajit grinning in front of me.
“I am sorry to have shocked you—but there was no other way of convincing you of the fantastic discovery I have made. I will begin, as they say in books, at the beginning …”
“Before you do that, please tell me one thing. Am I right in supposing that you are behind Pramod’s mysterious performance?”
“Of course!” said Ajit and he began his story which I give below in his own words as far as possible.
You might recall that about five years ago I had left Cambridge to take up some classified research work in a government lab. I had brought with me expertise in fundamental physics and electronics along with an innocent enthusiasm for work. The latter I quickly shed aside as I found that, instead of research, the main emphasis was on desk work, sycophancy and politicking.
With growing disillusionment I began to cut myself off from my colleagues who seemed only interested in idle gossip. I made sure that I did the work assigned to me promptly. As this was very little, I found myself with a lot of spare time to do my own thinking and research. Knowing my introvert nature, my colleagues and superiors also left me alone.
I had long been toying with a curious concept which came to my mind when I studied Einstein’s general theory of relativity at Cambridge. As you may be unfamiliar with this theory, let me describe its salient points which were of use to me.
Einstein introduced the idea that gravitation modifies the geometry of space and time. We are familiar with the geometry of Euclid which seems to serve us well in our daily life. Yet, nearly a century and a half ago mathematicians had begun to realise that Euclid’s geometry need not be the only logically consistent geometry. Non-Euclidean geometries based on rules different from Euclid’s axioms could be thought of. However, Einstein in 1915 was the first scientist to employ these abstract ideas in a physical theory. He argued that massive gravitating objects have non-Euclidean geometries around them—and he gave equations to describe these. Some of his predictions were verified in the second half of the last century.
Take, for instance, light rays which are supposed to travel in straight lines. The meaning and criterion of a straight line are different in different geometries. Near the Sun, its strong gravity will modify the geometry significantly so that, if a light ray passes close to the solar limb, its track will be different from what it would have been in the absence of the Sun. Such differences, although small, were measured and they confirmed the predictions of general relativity.
In the jargon of relativity, we say that the geometry of spacetime is ‘curved’ instead of ‘flat’ when gravitation is present. A two-dimensional flat creature moving on the surface of a sphere is conscious of the curvature of the surface. Imagine a similar curvature in higher dimensions—it is difficult conceptually, but easy mathematically!
Now I will introduce another concept into the picture—that of twist. Have you heard of the Möbius strip? If you wear your belt with one twist you will get this strip. It has many peculiarities. For example, unlike the original belt which had two surfaces, this has only one. If you cut an ordinarily tied belt along a line at half width, you will get two separate belts. Try doing the same with the Möbius strip and you will be in for a surprise.
Now imagine our flat creature crawling in this single surface of the Möbius strip. Suppose he has only one hand say, the left hand. However, if he makes one round of the strip he will find that the one hand he has is his right hand! If you do not believe it try it on a paper strip. To us, observing from the vantage point
in a three-dimensional space the creature has undergone a half rotation round an axis passing through his body from head to foot. But the creature is not conscious of this. To him, in his limited two-dimensional perception, this appears as a reflection.
Now imagine a similar twist in our four-dimensional spacetime. Like the creature, we will not be conscious of it, except through similar effects. By going through it, we will appear as our mirror reflections, whereas in fact we are being turned round in high dimensions and showing our ‘other side’.
Can we produce such twists in spacetime? It is here that I departed from Einstein’s theory and had my own conjecture. I expected that the property of spin found in subatomic elementary particles could generate twists in space. I had the mathematical ideas fully worked out in Cambridge. To put these into practice became possible in my present establishment.
To generate a substantial twist I had to make a beam of elementary particles with spins not randomly oriented but well-coordinated. This is sooner said than done and I will not bore you with the intellectual convulsions I went through. I will only say that I succeeded for the first time about six months ago.
Thanks to the prevailing atmosphere in my lab I was able to construct equipment with almost no interference from anyone. I had erected a small cabin around it and put notices ‘top secret’, ‘dangerous’ and ‘do not enter’ on it. Nobody bothered to ask what I was doing, so long as I kept within my funds. In a highly bureaucratic system it is possible to wangle things if one is clever enough. The alternative was to submit a proposal, then have it evaluated and most likely rejected by a committee which would rely on so-called expert opinion from people long past the stage of active research.
My first experiment was with my wrist watch. Apart from a mirror reflection I wanted to see whether its mechanism would survive the transformation. It did. This was important because my next step involved live objects. I experimented on insects, butterflies, guinea pigs, etc. When I found that even living objects survive the experiments, I decided to take the final step.
Knowing the many possible outcomes of such a step I wrote all the details and kept them in a safe place. I set up video and tape equipment to ‘observe’ and ‘hear’ the outcome as I submitted myself to the reflecting machine.
My experience as I went through the beam produced by the machine was surprisingly normal. Never was I conscious of being twisted or contorted. There was no discomfort as I walked round the beam. I spoke out whatever I felt and this was duly taped.
As I came out I found that I had indeed been transformed. Not only that, my dress, wristwatch, pen, everything on me went through that change. My brain had also been transformed so that I found it difficult to read normal writing. All operations which distinguished between left and right were confusing. I had to think which way to turn the screwed top of a bottle in order to open it—for my new instinct dictated the wrong way. But physically I was fit and felt my left hand to be much stronger and versatile than my right hand.
Then, to complete my experiment I went through the beam again. As expected I regained my usual form as I emerged, but with one important fact which I had anticipated.
My brain retained no memory of my reflected state!
It was only through the evidence recorded during my transformation by the various instruments that I could convince myself that it had in fact happened. I looked at notes made by me in the reflected state. I could not read them until I saw them reflected in a mirror!
This erasing of memory of what happened in the reflected state is an unsatisfactory feature of my experiment which I have not so far been able to rectify. When I change myself back to my usual form I will have totally lost all memory of my encounter with you tonight!
As I listened to Ajit’s weird tale I had the feeling that all this was not real—but a mixture of Lewis Carroll, H.G. Wells, and the Arabian Nights. But I was looking at the living proof quietly sipping port in front of me. To set any remaining doubts to rest, I asked Ajit the question which had been bothering me:
“Is this Ganesha also a reflection?”
“Why don’t you verify it yourself? You live right above the museum.” Ajit’s suggestion was a practical one.
I took a bunch of keys and we both went down to the British India Section. By the time I reached for the cabinet where the Ganesha was supposed to be locked in, I knew what I would see.
The cabinet was empty!
“So I was not such a generous donor after all!” quipped Ajit, as I returned to my study after placing Ajit’s ‘gift’ in the empty cabinet. He must have somehow pinched the original and subjected it to his infernal experiment.
“What about Pramod’s performance?” I asked. Surely, all that I had learnt so far shed considerable light on the mystery.
“Pramod came to see me on the eve of the test match. He was very depressed. He knew that he was past his prime as a test match bowler and that his inclusion in the final test was not purely on merit. It was something he then said that gave me a daring idea. ‘There are no surprises left in my bowling,’ was what he moaned about.
“Suppose I turned him into his reflection? I thought he would bowl as a left-hander but not as an ordinary left-handed bowler would. All his actions would be that of a right-hander reflected in the mirror. In any case, none of the batsmen expected him to bowl like that.
“I drugged his coffee, and while he was unconscious, subjected him to my experiment. Taking him to the lab in spite of the tight security was no problem. I had discovered the loopholes in the security system long before. After the experiment I left him on his hotel bed.
“Early next morning, I had a frantic phone call from him. He was hysterical—he felt weak, could not read, found letters inside out … He wanted to know if he had eaten something at my place last night that caused this trouble. He was scared to call the doctor lest he was declared unfit for the match.
“I rushed to his room to reassure him. His right hand had gone weak and he could not bowl. What about his left hand? Surprisingly it was in good condition and I suggested he bowled with it. He found the idea ludicrous—but the more he swung his hand the more reasonable it appeared to him. He suggested that he should have net practice. As his team-mates were still in their beds, I offered to take him to the practice enclosure. This turned out much better since his new-found prowess could be kept secret from everybody until the crucial moment. You know the rest,” Ajit concluded.
“Was it you who spirited him away after the match?” I asked.
“Yes. And it was I who telephoned to give the message to the newspaper. I had kept him in my flat for a couple of days. When he recovered sufficiently I transformed him back to normal and delivered him at Bow Street. Of course he had totally forgotten all his traumatic experiences. “I felt it unwise to tell him the truth.”
As a good scientific theory can explain many phenomena so were all my mysteries resolved by this remarkable discovery of Ajit. I could also see why he did not want to eat with knife and fork. Ann and I would have detected his awkwardness. As it was, we did comment on his difficulty in eating with fingers but he had a reasonable explanation for it. What really caught him by surprise was Ken’s request for an autograph. Even signing one’s name can be very difficult if your brain insists on projecting all letters the wrong way round!
“Ajit, you must publish all your findings at once. You are sure to get the Nobel Prize.” This was my advice as a layman.
“No, not yet, John,” Ajit replied. “You know I am a perfectionist and I find the loss of memory a grave defect in my work. Until I remove this defect I am not prepared to announce my discovery to the world.”
“But Ajit, let me offer you some practical advice. You are playing with unknown laws of nature. That you have achieved success so far does not guarantee that you will succeed again. Wouldn’t it be wise to keep a clear record of all you have done in a safe place?”
“Of course, I have done that. After reading my account any sc
ientifically competent group can repeat my experiment. As regards your statement about future success, I do not deny it. But I am in the process of modifying my experiment which I feel will soon remove the final blemish. Indeed I would not have revealed to you my progress so far, but for my impish desire to surprise the only real friend I have.”
I tried to argue with him; but as I had feared, once Ajit’s mind was made up it was impossible to change it.
A few months later I received a phone call from Ajit’s lab. I was hurriedly summoned to see the Director.
With ill forebodings, I knocked on the door. In his office were sitting the Director, a doctor in a white coat, a non-descript man and Ajit. I breathed a sigh of relief—I had feared to see him dead.
But my relief was only short-lived. Ajit did not recognize me. Indeed, as the doctor explained, Ajit was suffering from a totally irreversible amnesia. It was only because they had found my name and telephone number in his office that his lab could contact me.
“Has he left any written records of what he was doing?” I asked cautiously. I remembered with chagrin that I had forgotten to ask Ajit in what ‘safe place’ he had kept his records.
“If he did, we have unfortunately no means of knowing,” sighed the Director. “You see, whatever experiment he was doing blew up and shattered everything in his room.”
“He is lucky to be alive,” commented the doctor. What an ironical choice of words! For a genius like Ajit this loss of memory was worse than death.
“What about his house?” I asked, hoping that there might be something there.
“A typical bachelor’s mess,” commented the non-descript man. “We searched his flat with a fine-toothcomb. There is nothing there. Indeed we called you here to ask whether you could throw any light on the matter.”
“Sorry, I can’t help you there. I am afraid Ajit, though a good friend of mine, never considered me educated enough to share his scientific confidences.”
The Return of Vaman - A Scientific Novel Page 2