“The streets aren’t safe after dawn.”
Nia adjusted her earbuds.
The other children who had also recently turned thirteen, packed the lecture hall and were fiddling with their earphones, too.
Everyone in their subterranean community had to listen to this tape, to understand why they subsisted in the man-made underground space, with artificial lighting and recirculated air.
The tinny metallic voice continued.
“Welcome to the Dawn Hazard briefing.
This lecture is to help you understand why we live the way we do.
Some years ago, everyone lived on this beautiful place called Earth. One day, an explosive volcano erupted suddenly, releasing halogen gasses into the air. They drifted up into the stratosphere. Within a week they began causing rips in the ozone layer.
People who ventured out in the sun rushed back with skin rashes, eye irritations and headaches. Overnight, crops wilted, livestock lay dead, marine ecosystems began to collapse.
The earth surface turned into a shimmering, blinding wasteland.
Even before someone understood what was happening, took charge and began planning survival, hundreds of lives were lost.
A few people got together and began damage control. Metro basements and underground parking areas were turned into temporary camps.
Outside the UV index climbed dramatically.
The work of builders who undertook the construction was brutal. They broke rock, reinforced walls, and built the ventilation system.
Scientists came up with the brilliant idea of using the sun, the enemy, to fuel their underground power needs.
Food became the next concern.
We tried growing them. But nothing worked. The plants sprouted up weakly and died soon.
What we have managed to stockpile, we have been rationing out in the form of pellets and nutrient substitutes.
We have sent officials up in protective gear and found a ray of hope. Like a wound that heals, the ozone layer has been restoring itself. We hope that by the time our food stock is depleted, the ozone layer will repair itself and we can all go back to the old way of life. Till then keep safe underground.”
Nia was surprised. She had some idea of how their life had changed after the volcano eruption. But she did not have a clue about the magnitude of the cataclysm.
Nia sought her grandma out at the elder’s wing. The rules of their community were unyielding. You could live only for a year in the elder wing. If you are not dead by then, you would be put to sleep.
Space and food, both were premium.
Grandma sat on a chair placed outside her pod, under the artificial light, weakly mimicking the sun. Her cheeks were shrunk and her body was wrinkled but the light in her warm brown eyes still held their twinkle, despite the knowledge that her life ended in a week.
“You heard the Dawn Hazard briefing, today!”
“Yes”.
Nia sat across, lovingly brushed off the hair that fell over her forehead and took her hand into hers.
“Grandma. Weren’t you alive when the cataclysm happened. I am curious to know what exactly happened?”
Grandma’s voice held a longing tenderness.
“I remember a benevolent sun that was a boon to existence. Blue skies, flying birds, flitting butterflies. Smell of wet earth when it rained: Fragrance of jasmines from the garden: Aromas of food from the kitchen.
Then that day!
I was thirteen, playing outside when my dad rushed me home. We had to remain indoors and had no idea what was happening outside. The TV sets and the radios did not work. Very few people ventured out even during the night.
A week after, we were ushered into an underground parking lot.
Initially it was utter chaos. No one knew what was happening or where our next meal was coming from. Families fended for themselves. There were skirmishes for water, food and living quarters.
Soon, there was a committee formed and rules were made and work was delegated
After a year there was a semblance of order and life fell into a comfortable pattern.
Nia’s eyes were wide open with remembered stories. “Then you met grandfather on the farming duty and married him. My dad and then Iwere born.”
“And now soon I will pass over, too. But before that I have a gift for you.”
Grandma shuffled over to her pod, and returned with a tiny cloth-pouch.
She opened it cautiously and poured the contents into Nia’s palms.
A few black-brown seeds spilled over.
“Seeds. Not to grow grains or crops: But for flowers to bloom. Those days when we were trying to exist we did not have the luxury of beauty! But now that we don’t have to worry about getting our next meal, I would like you to grow a plant. A shrub on which beautiful flowers with white petals and orange stem will bloom. Perhaps you will be able to smell its glorious fragrance.”
Nia managed to find a pail, fill it with soil, sow the seeds and water regularly. But it looked like the conditions required for flowering shrubs were as stringent as for crops.
Not a peep out of the seeds
A few days later, her granddaughter was gone. At thirteen, Nia was too young to understand death, its beliefs or its philosophies. For her death meant that she could never see her grandma. Never hug her. Never speak to her.
Her sobs never stopped and her tears never dried.
Nia had been neglecting the plant. Feeling forlorn, she went over to check. And stopped spellbound.
From the dark soil, a pair of green leaves had sprouted. Tender but strong. Fragile but fierce.
Just like her grandmother.
