Ekanta

It

The volcanic red sand glistened with wetness. Its surface seemed finely polished, extending away in all directions in fractal ripple patterns. In the distance, contrasting wide areas of sand were perfectly flat, smooth and mirror-like. Luke imagined this might possibly be quicksand.

In the evening light, water birds floated serenely on the lake-like expanses left behind by the tide, their heads and necks occasionally disappearing under the surface of the water, and then bobbing up again. Some of the larger pink birds wandered nonchalantly on the shallow red banks. Many stood quietly around in large flocks some distance away, mostly on the edges of the moving rivulets and rippling channels.

Looking around, Luke found it was impossible to tell which, if any, of these temporary lakes joined up with the sea beyond. It was, in truth, impossible to tell quite where the sea was, now that it had withdrawn so far. Further out beyond the island, bizarre-looking rock stacks reared up out of the glinting surface, like a regiment of outlandish soldiers protecting the bay. They seemed somehow to be frighteningly high and impossibly balanced.

Forlorn sounding calls echoed between birds of various kinds, occasionally breaking the peace. The rain had stopped now, but the cooling freshness of it after the intense heat of the day was still around, enhancing the salt smell.

Now, the sinking orange sun set alight a brilliant, wet, mirror-like reflection, and was giving the whole wide expanse of watery sands the promise of an oncoming dryer evening.

This remote coast was proving to live up to Luke’s expectations. His first impression had mostly been of its rocky wildness. But now, since he had started exploring, he could feel there was a kind of potent energy about it. Something about this whole place was practically throbbing with its own post-Cataclysm strangeness.

Although it had been more difficult to reach, Luke thought now it would be an ideal place to come back to, to retreat, to work, to contemplate, to create without distraction. But now he was exploring. Spontaneity, Luke had been silently repeating to himself, and the exploration was what he was here for. After all, the geography of these parts was renowned, and where he was now, was certainly unusual to the point of being unworldly.

Luke often enjoyed the solitude of remote places where he could work undistracted, and now he just wanted space away from his past. His last relationship had been like all the others. It had been comfortable enough, but there had been something missing, something vital, that he hadn’t quite been able to define. Before he came away, they had talked about it. But it seemed to Luke to just circulate endlessly in their heads, unable to penetrate down to where he felt there must be some reality.

It bothered him. It bothered him that while they both spoke the same language, they seemed somehow to be speaking different languages. They were both intelligent people, but something, it seemed to him in his most lucid moments, was missing from the whole situation. Perhaps it was just missing from him, he mused. They had agreed to work at it. But still somehow, what they worked at, didn’t work. It didn’t reveal the key to what was missing.

In the past Luke had been able to lose himself in his work, and had been happy to spend hours talking about work to his colleagues. It gave him a sense of ground, a sense of identity.

He had never before really questioned who he was, or what he was doing with his life. It all seemed to work. He was reasonably successful. There was no problem. Some of his colleagues had been quite envious of him. But then something had happened inside him. He didn’t know what it was, but he knew it had happened. It was like he was no longer so sure who he was, what he was doing, and why. It occurred to him that he didn’t really know himself at all. And that’s when it started.

It had come into his relationship. Luke didn’t feel a worthwhile relationship was something that should be uncomfortable, and oddly, when he reflected on it, he realised that it never really had been. Each time they had been comfortable together. But each time Luke had found the comfort itself disturbing. Stifling.

Something was always missing. It was missing. It was almost as if he was compelled to destroy what they had, to break open the shell, to find it. He had even tried that. But the missing it refused to go away.

He had never been sure what it was, but lately he could feel it more and more. More recently he had realised it was something that had been a constant companion to him for quite a long time now, something nagging, sometimes only in the background, but nevertheless something that was always there. It was as if he had once known what it was, but now he had forgotten. And yet, if it had just been the old self he used to be, that he was looking for, or the need to do more exploring of the world of the kind he used to do, it would have been easy. But he knew it wasn’t any of that.

He had struggled with it for so long without being able to see it any more closely in his mind, that he had decided there could be no name for it. Some things there is no real language for, he thought. But he knew that sometimes the smallest words carried the strongest message. So it seemed right that this missing thing, whatever it was, was just It. It was growing in him, he knew that. Pressing on him, pushing him. But it was still just It.

Now he had come away to this extraordinary, beautiful place, and was doing nothing about It. Now he was here. Not looking for anything. For the time being, he just wanted to forget his past, and forget the future. It already felt better. It definitely felt good.

Luke knew some of the villages inland by the mountains, but had never before travelled out this far to the remote coast. The inland mountain scenery was always beautiful, but here on the coast, somehow, it was even more striking. A fertile yet untamed wilderness with sheer cliffs and rocky outcrops and stacks whose shapes were often astonishing. They looked almost as if they had been put there deliberately by some great intelligence, just as a practical joke. Perhaps it was something to do with the Cataclysm earthquakes. They were known in these parts to have redefined the geography, he remembered.

As he continued walking on the sand, now grateful for the cooler air, he looked back at the coastline. Trees were growing in the most unexpected places, sometimes high up on eroded, spectacular rock towers, with vertical dark red sides.

Here was a vast bay surrounded in the distance almost entirely by the natural architecture of the tall rock spindles and stacks, rising up out of the sea, together with low basins of smooth, flat rocks. Even closer in it was still difficult to discern the numerous places where the sea must make its entrances and exits, between the rocky formations. It had all made the extra effort worthwhile.

On this wide expanse of sand, this far off the edge of the mainland, the focus of attention was naturally enough the island, which now at low tide appeared stranded in a temporary lake strewn desert. A band of shining, continuous water was just visible behind it. If this was the expanse of the sea itself - which was impossible to say with any certainty - then it was as tranquil as a freshwater lake.

The evening sun was low in the sky, and in the gloomy shadows along the sides of the island were what looked from a distance like exposed rock faces. These appeared to show horizontal bands of different shades in places. Luke thought they must be signs of the changing heights of the tide.

He had been some considerable time walking, and it now seemed somehow that the smell of the salt on the air was different this far out. There was something else, also, he thought, that perhaps had changed, now he had come this far towards the temporarily landlocked island.

Perhaps it was just the fragrances on the air, from the proximity of the island itself, which although some distance off, was now much closer to him than the mainland.

The island seemed much larger now, and was still inviting, but he wasn’t sure about the risk of getting cut off from the mainland by the tide, if he finished the distance and spent time exploring.

If it came to it, it looked as though the evening would be dry enough, but he knew that despite the heat of the day, the evenings could sometimes be very cold. The gear was in his rucksack, and he mused he could even spend the night on the island if the tide returned.

He hadn’t planned for this. It might be a full moon around about today’s date, he seemed to recall. There were no lights even on the mainland stretch, and he wasn’t certain about the moon, although the sky was clear enough. But maybe it was better to come out again earlier in the day, tomorrow.

Luke stood and surveyed the island slowly. He searched steadily from one extremity to the other, noticing again the tree clumps just off from the middle. He again played with the idea that the dark protrusion he could see might be a jetty of some kind.

He wasn’t sure. Some time ago he thought he had seen intermittent lights flickering further up through the trees. But there was no real sign of inhabitation. The sides seemed steep and dark, and the interior was pretty much obscured by the denseness of the surrounding trees at this end of the island.

He looked for a while longer, and then pulled out the map from the side pocket of the rucksack. Comparing the information on the map to the surrounding geography was now more difficult in the falling light. It was nonetheless still possible to confirm – this must have been the third time he had gone back to the map to check – that evidently the island was not considered significant enough to have been given a name on the map.

Strange, he thought again, because it was really quite large. What he could see of it was only one end. According to the map its greatest length extended away from the mainland, so that it couldn’t be seen from where he was standing. He was very tempted to go on, but decided to turn around.

He refolded the map, shoved it roughly back into the rucksack, and began walking briskly back towards the mainland. It was a little surprising how far away the mainland now seemed, but he presumed this was an effect of the rapidly falling light. Although it was still relatively early, the sun was quite low now, creating a strange interplay of dark shadows and fire-like, ruby illumination, making it difficult to be sure of distances and details. He quickened his pace.

The now deep orange light of the sky was reflected in the water on the sand. Luke could see his feet squelching satisfyingly just a tiny fraction under the sand’s surface at each step. And then as if by magic, the footsteps would vanish almost as instantly, leaving behind a perfect, undisturbed surface.

It was hard to distinguish the rocks from the trees on the beach and the mainland now, but the trees high on the horizon were dense black even against the darkening sky beyond. He walked for some time, making plans for later that evening.

It wasn’t long before that change in the smell of the salt struck him again. And now it seemed that perhaps there was definitely something else that was different. The noise of the birds, perhaps?

Those that he could still see had all now moved ahead of him, but they appeared to be making no more noise than they had been previously. If anything, the birds that remained were quieter now. And yet there was definitely something different about the surrounding sound out here now.

There was, somehow, less peacefulness. Listening whilst still moving, he confirmed that there was more ambient noise. That was what had changed. There was no more wind that he could feel, but the new sound suggested more wind somewhere. Perhaps it was windier closer to the mainland.

Keeping up the pace, he fixed his eyes on the route he had followed out, seeking to confirm it in the dissipating light. The now low angle of the sun made everything look quite different. It was even more beautiful now, in the deepening remnants of crimson, but somehow, almost unrecognisable.

He scanned the distance between himself and the mainland, following carefully the route between the lakes of water. But at the same time he noticed that where previously the lakes had been flat, they now had ripples on the surface. That must be it. Wind. He kept moving, and instinctively put a little more effort into his stride now.

The new rippling was not temporary, he noticed, it was not coming and going. Ripples appeared on all the watery areas he could see, as if the surface of the water was imitating the rippling of the sandy surface on the routes between. As he walked on, he continued to look at the rippling surfaces and the wet sand between them, and wasn’t sure which was which.

By now, he had become more aware of this new sound. It had definitely become louder. It was not very long before there was an abrupt point at which the level of the sound inexplicably changed, almost as if it had been suddenly revealed from behind some invisible barrier.

There was no rational explanation for this that Luke could find. Whether this sudden increase in sound had happened actually, or just in his head, he couldn’t tell. And then he began to recognise this new sound for what it was. It was not wind.

It was moving water. Simultaneously he began to realise that in the growing darkness it was definitely impossible now to distinguish between the rippling sandy surface of the route, and the disturbances he could see on the water.

In fact, to face the truth of the situation, there was only rippling to be seen. Everywhere he looked. What he had been seeing, was an illusion, he realised. It was little more than an effect of his own imagination making its own sense of the sparse visual clues in the oncoming darkness.

His interpretation of the scene, his comprehension of the situation, now underwent a gradual, but definite upheaval. It now seemed starkly obvious that there was actually no difference between dark water, and what had seemed to be the sandy route back to the mainland.

Taking in what was in front of him, in the now enveloping darkness, he found himself suppressing a growing, anxious concern for his situation. The fact of the matter was, the route he had followed out, was no longer there.

As he scanned the scene ahead, taking it in more, the situation became worryingly more obvious. His stomach tightened uncomfortably as he realised the entire surface at that distance, was in fact, undeniably, and quite alarmingly, not sand, but fast moving water.

The sound he had previously not recognised, the meaning of it, had become all too obvious. And now he found he could suddenly synchronise that new sound with what he could see, and at last he comprehended the full magnitude of what he was facing.

It was not just moving water. It was rushing water. Rushing. Definitely rushing. Racing. A rapid, turbulent channel. An enormously wide expanse of racing water between him and the mainland, possibly still shallow, but seemingly alive, and clearly indifferent to him being on this side of it.

For a few seconds he just stood and watched this spectacle in amazement, this increasingly vast tract of sweeping water. It now blocked the distance between himself and the darkness of the mainland.

Its surface was swirling, even foamy in places, and it was moving at considerable speed. It seemed impossible that this could have happened so fast. So much without warning. He immediately considered making a run through it before it was too late, and psychologically prepared himself to force his way through it, if it became deep in parts.

He stood for a moment longer, almost mesmerised. Then as he was staring at it, there came together, inside his head, like parts of some old, automatic biological survival programme, bits of relevant information, learned phrases, fragments from the past that until now he had no idea he still possessed.

It all now rose up from unconscious memory into his awareness. Unusual coastal geography Anomalous tides... Dangerous tides... Rapid tides... Can change from low to high tide in just a few minutes... The tide rushes in... Trapped by the tide... Lethal... Danger of drowning.

The apparent safety of the moment was bleeding away into a very real and accelerating danger. The thought of making a run for it came into his head a second time. But by now, rising up inside him with the increasing volume of the rushing sound, there were all kinds of involuntary, evolutionary, animal responses already going on in his body. He couldn’t believe this was happening.

Before he could comprehend it fully, there was already a heightened, instinctive and animal acuteness coming into his senses. Instead of panic, something, adrenalin or whatever it was, took temporary hold, as this flood of data from the past entered his conscious brain.

He could feel his heart pounding now, and together with increasing anxiety there seemed to come a corresponding increase in the sharpness of his faculties. Something in his blood chemistry even seemed to be making his vision physically, tangibly sharper in the dark. He found he was assessing more detail in the scene before him, seeing the full picture of what stood between himself and the safety of the mainland.

He now saw that even his previous perception a few moments ago, was naive. The scene had already changed significantly, and whether this was a change in his perception, or a rise in the water, or perhaps both, he couldn’t tell.

Despite the adrenalin rush, he felt increasingly shaken as the raw facts of the matter reared up to challenge him. There was actually no telling how deep this water was, or what lay beneath it. And if he was to be honest, all the signs were now far more consistent with very deep, fast moving water, than with shallow. He wouldn't be able to run through it.

The uncomfortable pressure of a race against time gave way to the realisation that there was already, quite simply, no way back. More fragments invaded his mind. Idiot. Far too late. "Take action now".

He halted momentarily, his heart pumping hard, his mind racing, looking for concrete thoughts, for an escape plan of some kind, but without finding either.

"No", he shouted.

He began scanning left and right as far as he could see in the falling light, searching for clues, for options. Nothing there. No way out that way. No way out there, either. He was entirely flanked by fast moving water.

"No"!

He struggled to get a full grasp of the rapidly changing situation, and was angry with himself for having missed the warning signs. The huge, dark mass of moving water was visibly increasing second by second. This was crazy. Unfair.

He turned around to face his only other option - the island. And now the already unpleasant sensation in his stomach turned into something altogether more tense and uncomfortable. He was now suppressing panic. Because the island, now a gloomy presence rising in shadow above water, was separated from him by a seemingly immense mass of menacingly dark, forbidding water, deep water, water clearly on the move, and moving fast.

Do something. Assess the scene. What’s to the left? Water. Look right. Water. No paths out. No answers. No suggestions. The rushing sound was coming from all around now, and very rapidly getting louder. It was unmistakably surrounding him, and growing fast, and it seemed to be so disregarding of his plight, so steady in its acceleration and impatience, almost alive and deliberately threatening, mocking. Even the one or two other high points of sand he had seen some distance away, now suddenly no longer existed.

He was a good swimmer, but he wasn’t an athlete. His instinct was to get closer to the mainland, not to go further out. He looked again. The mainland was definitely out of the question now. No. There was no chance of making the mainland whatsoever. Forget it. It was too far. The water was moving just too fast. It was too rough, too wild.

He considered his chances with the water now between himself and the island. It appeared black, obviously very deep, and sweeping fast across the width of the island at an alarming rate. Its surface was agitated, impatient, swirling. He seriously doubted he could contend with the current out there. The situation was changing so fast now, almost unbelievably fast. Feeling overwhelmingly isolated, another unwelcome voice inside momentarily moved in to attack his mind, "This is how it happens. This is it. This is drowning".

Even the chances of just seeing any visible detail sufficient to make a plan of escape, now disappeared abruptly as the last slither of blood red sun dropped below the gloomy bank of black cloud on the horizon. The situation was hopeless.

But now those raw, evolutionary body and brain mechanisms were kicking in again, much harder this time. The growing panic seemed to be chemically tipped over into an almost drug-like new strength. He involuntarily found himself aggressively challenging and denying the oncoming water as if it were a living adversary, despite its obviously superior speed and power. It was a kind of anger, an outrage, an absolute determination not to be literally swept aside so easily, so pointlessly, and so secretly.

Stupid. Stupid shouting. It didn’t matter. All that mattered now was action. The swelling line of water was still some distance in front of him, but was visibly coming towards him at speed. He was losing the advantage of covering at least some of the distance to the island on sand.

Without any more hesitation he just dropped the rucksack in one motion, and found himself reassessing the distance between himself and the island, now with a new, remarkable coldness and clarity.

The current was flowing very fast from right to left. He estimated if he swam at about forty-five degrees towards the far right end of the island, he might just reach the far left bay of the island if he was lucky. He knew to get as close to the island as possible before entering the water. He determined to run towards the remaining dry point closest to the right of the island, which he quickly and accurately identified.

He ran. He kept running. In a new flood of adrenalin he was sprinting. Sprinting. The surge of action forced itself head on against the fear. Soon his steps were splashing loudly and the steps rapidly became more difficult as water resisted him. Before he had any time to make a decision as to when or where to enter the water fully, the sand below just abruptly disappeared into a deep underwater channel, and he was in, and under. There was a brief moment of low pitched, quiet rumbling, then a gasp, and then everything was shock, swirling, effort and breathing, mental and physical.

Now the fast motions of his body distracted him from the engulfing fear and blackness of the water, as training from the past immediately asserted itself. The voice of his swimming coach from many years earlier was in his head again, concentrate on technique, don’t waste energy, rhythm, "technique, concentrate, focus, comes from the shoulders".

Now in the water the current was impossible to discern. He knew the depth of the water below was irrelevant now. Do not give up. Keep going. Keep going. Stroke after stroke after stroke. After some time he lifted his head more, to gauge his position relative to the island. He couldn’t see it at first. Then he could. He seemed to be no closer, but at least he was not much further downstream to the left.

He successfully resisted the huge temptation to make straight for the island by the shortest route, and ignore the danger of the current. On and on. Into the rhythm. Keep going. Ignore the buffeting. Keep moving. Don’t look yet. Just keep going. Keep going. Much longer.

After an interminable time he at last gave way to the urge to look. Yes, the island was still visible even in the darkness. But the distance to it seemed even greater. Was he being swept away? He swam harder. Faster. And now he had to slow down the pace again, as exhaustion started to take over. Keep going. Don’t stop. Backstroke. But with the continued effort came a change in the game.

Now the surface broke and chopped. As if some giant god had maliciously decided to up the stakes, the water further from the mainland was being blown by a seemingly vindictive wind, stirring up waves on the surface, making it more difficult to control his movements, creating chaotic buffeting and resistance from all directions. And now breathing was more difficult, as his judgement of where to open his mouth in this chaos of chopping waves and spray, was continually thwarted by the unpredictable directions and constantly changing heights of the waves.

Again and again he was slapped hard in his face, no matter which way he turned. His mouth was frequently filling and causing him to swallow strong salty water, and all the time he was preoccupied attempting to avoid the relentless sharp, painful spray. As he tried to force forwards, new waves slapped back against him violently, again and again, like a living, moving wall of resistance.

He was no longer sure where he was facing at any time, or which direction he was moving in. He became convinced his efforts were amounting to nothing against the strength of the current and the force of the waves. With a last thrust of effort, frustration, and anger, he concentrated all his energy on synchronising his movements. He persisted for some time despite the fact that he did not seem to be moving through the water at all. He denied the growing stiffness in his arms, and ignored his increasing disorientation. He pushed and pushed, with heroic determination and will. But he was losing the battle, and he knew it.

Eventually, inevitably, the force of his will was no longer a match for the waves and the breakdown in his physical strength. He floated, buffeted up and down, breathing painfully hard and spasmodically coughing, desperate for oxygen, attempting to tread water, trying in vain to find some clear air pocket amidst the relentlessly pelting, hard, salt spray.

He determined to start swimming again, but there seemed to be a disconnection between the thought and his body. It was as though he was no longer in control of his own body, and even the cold was now beginning to seem strangely remote. And now he began to know that he was at last at the mercy of the elemental forces, and that they were indeed overpowering him.

He continued in this state for what seemed to be hours, now and again attempting to restart swimming, but failing every time. Eventually, in some strangely merciful way, it gradually no longer seemed to matter. From time to time there came a brief opportunity to look over the waves, but there was no sign of the island in the now overwhelming darkness.

HIS BODY CONTINUED instinctively to struggle for air, but it was no longer really him. It was some time since he had let go of the struggle, stopped grasping at his traumatic world, and had been removed by a strange psychical distance from it all.

It was other forces that continued this scene of action now, whilst he himself existed only paradoxically, simultaneously both as part of the scene, and as an unconcerned watcher, somehow within it.

The noise of the waves and the wind and the spray, even the pain and exhaustion, continued behind a strange, distancing veil of obscurity, of unreality, and had lost its clarity. There was no way of knowing anything at all about the role time was playing as this now dreamlike world was being acted out. It could have been, and probably was, an eternity.

Only a continual, irregular, liquid plopping sound was in the otherwise silent vacuum on his side of the strange veil. He could no longer distinguish his extremities, but the water no longer seemed cold. There was no more sense to be made of anything. Now he was in a different place.

The slapping and buffeting no longer existed. But the motion, the ceaseless, slow, vibratory motion, up and down, up and down, in the blackness, continued, on and on. The plopping sound on his side of the veil was interrupted sometimes by a seemingly remote body coughing, and sometimes the entire strange, black world, seemed to be generated by a heart pulse, or by a deep, primal breathing, inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale, of which he was a part.

Otherwise, only the slow, vibratory motion existed. On and on. Like a formless dream, in some strange, deep, otherwise dreamless sleep. And then all was black, distant, removed, pain without feeling.

IN THE BLACKNESS HIS eyes may have been closed or may have been open, but just above the horizon the full moon shone anyway, penetrating deep into his consciousness.

The full moon, in all its unselfish beauty, in all its mystery. In all its selfless gift of lunar enlightenment. Sacrificing its own life for the Earth, illuminating the Earth’s sacrifices. Illuminating at last this final, welcome sacrifice to the Earth’s full tide. Hastening this necessary sacrifice to its natural conclusion. The full moon, glowing mercifully into his residual self awareness. Illuminating him, flowing its strange, empty light into his being.

And now his mind was silent questions. What is this? How did this come to be? When and where is this happening? What is this strange, slow vibratory motion, this continual movement? Why this smell, this acrid taste? And then a strange, slow, deep sound in his head, something like his own silent voice, something like a dream, chanting rhythmically like a mantra, Ma...ha...kart-tiki, Ma...ha...kar-ttiki, Maha...karttiki.

Why is the moon so beautiful? So profoundly beautiful? How is it that it has it no shape? What does it mean to be so full?

Silence. Nothing but slow, vibrating movement, up and down, up and down. And the fullness of the silent moon. So bright, set in such utter blackness. So bright. So very, very bright. Blinding. Impossible to see anything around it.

And the other moon, too. So blindingly brilliant. And now they both move, one after the other. Now one is not so bright, and then the utter blackness all around is not so black, and there is even a brief moment of glistening green water. And then the other way around. And then both moons together, massive, synchronised, all blinding brightness again. Nothing but light now.

A new sound now cuts right through the veil, a strange sound, but no, it is a sound he recognises yet cannot really comprehend. He thinks now there are sounds he knows mixed up in the noises behind the veil. Human sounds. Now there is a new smell, a smell close on the wind. And now the smell comes again, stronger, and for what seems to him to be some random, inexplicable reason, he recognises it instantly. It is marine fuel.

Chandrika

The two dinghies raced across the band of black water towards the jetty, bumping loudly on the surface, slicing the darkness ahead with their massive on-board search beams, brightly illuminating the inlet and beyond. Small lights ran in lines away from the inlet, some on the jetty and others glowing faintly in a crooked line all the way up the beach.

Both dinghies skilfully navigated between the dangerous rocks protruding from the water. At last coming alongside the jetty, with the dinghies still moving, dark figures from both vessels leaped up onto the landing, whilst others threw ropes up to the dinghies, which were wrapped quickly around the wooden posts.

Within minutes Luke was being carried hastily up the steep rocky beach, and on past a huge wood and iron gate through an arch in a tall stony wall.

Now there were trees on both sides, and a slight drop in the wind. Great leaves and fronds moved and rustled audibly in the dark as Luke was carried between them. Then further along, the trees and giant leaves on each side were waving like whispering beings, seen yet unseen, for a long time.

Luke was moving upwards quite steeply through dense jungle. The dark, whispering limbs, waved and gestured to each other and to Luke, seeming to be pressing him with questions as he moved past, urging him for an answer "Who are you?..."

Eventually the whispering taunts subsided again into windy limbs and leaves, and after a little more time there were stones or perhaps gravel, and then a softer surface for a little more time, and then more scrunching for