Setu, October 2025

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Setu

Volume 10; Issue 5; October 2025

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Setu PDF Archives

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Editorial

• Sunil Sharma

Creative Motivations

• Marjorie Pezzoli on "Cosmic Eye"

Contemporary Collaborative Renga

• Christina Chin and Marjorie Pezzoli

Poetry

• Aanya Jain
• Onkar Sharma
• Pradip Mondal
• Hema Savithri
• Ahmad Al-Khatat
• Manju Viswabharathi

Translation in Five Parts: Poetry: Part III

• Krystyna Lenkowska translated into Hindi by Sangeeta Gupta

Travel: Bharatpur Bird Sanctuary

• Santosh Bakaya

Author of the Month

• Dharmpal Mahendra Jain

Fiction

• James Bates
• Anand Bahadur
• Johny Takkedasila
• Susmita Mukherjee
• Sutapa Chattopadhyay

Non-Fiction

• Ritu Kamra Kumar

Three-Part Novella in Free Verse: Part I

• Pranab Ghosh

Photo Essay

• Keshav Sharma

Verse Novel: Chapter Eight

• The Schedule of Vihaan: John Clark Smith

Setu Special Edition: The Ubiquitous Presence

• Special Edition: Authors

The Limited Video Series of Literary and Critical Conversations

• Setu YouTube Channel

Setu Initiative: Setu Series of Virtual Readings (Facebook Page)

• Prose and Poetry Readings in the Time of Pestilence (Setu's Facebook Page)
  

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सेतु, अक्टूबर 2025

Setu Home - Past Issues

Monsoon Magic Mesmerizes: Keoladeo National Park

Santosh Bakaya

This bird-watching paradise, also called the Keoladeo National Park, Bharatpur Bird Sanctuary, Rajasthan, is a UNESCO World Heritage Site, popular for its biodiversity; its wetlands are a refuge for hundreds of migratory birds. Spread over 29 sq. km, it is home to over 375 bird species 

[or, maybe more] and other wildlife. Nature enthusiasts and ornithologists from all over the world flock excitedly to this eco-haven, hoping to catch a glimpse of some rare birds. 

There was a time, many years ago, when the Siberian Cranes attracted tourists from all over the world. However, their numbers gradually dwindled, and ultimately, they vanished altogether. 

Since the year 2002, no Siberian crane has been sighted there. This is due to poaching and degradation of the wetlands along the routes of their migration. 

The monsoons paint the Bharatpur Bird Sanctuary in beautiful hues, and it glistens anew, surrounded by verdant greenery.  This season is also the time for resident birds to breed here, and also a fruitful time for birdwatchers. They can see Sarus cranes and painted storks in abundance, in this wetland, which now resembles a vibrant, multi- hued painting. Mesmerizingly magical!

Fledglings peek out of nests, fascinated by the wet, pulsating world, unspooling around them.

They feel the splash- splash- splash of agile fish, the bounce of butterflies, the rumble of thunder clouds, and the sun peeping from behind dark clouds, cranes balancing themselves on thin branches, and think: 

 What a beautiful world to be born into!

 The fragile fledglings, 

the dark clouds with silver linings; 

nests alive to the sound of music-

 of hungry mouths.

Koels and cuckoos, in fours and twos

create a spell- binding melody

 with their endearing coos, 

watched by a solitary Graylag Goose.

 The leafy boughs yawn luxuriantly, 

shake themselves free of the patina of dust, 

to shine with a new ardour. 

Trust the mother birds to try harder 

Harder- harder – harder 

to replenish the larder. 

 Birds in threes and sixes and pairs 

create a tumult in the cloudy air. 

What can one do but stand and stare?

 

Ears glued to the high decibel squawks 

of hungry chicks and click a painted stork 

in the golden rays of the westering sun?

A slothful heron in a languorous flight.

 What fun! What delight!  

  The invisible gardener with the green fingers 

lingers near saplings, ecstatically bursting forth

from mounds of earth. 

On a slippery mound, sits a robin, 

its tiny head bobbin’ up and down, 

up and down; recalling its friend 

the Glossy Ibis. 

He will come in winter again. 

But he does so miss the Glossy Ibis! 

To ride on his back was sheer bliss!

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Setu, October 2025

Author of the Month: Dharmpal Mahendra Jain

Dharmpal Mahendra Jain

The Search Continues

There is a strange silence.

There is plenty of noise—

Vile, violent, meaningless—

Noise that brings silence.

Man to man

Lurks fear—

Fear of words.

Fear that gives birth to silence.

I am in search of a new dialogue.

Around me I see

The chirping birds,

The whispering wind,

The drifting clouds, 

The resolute mountains,

The rainbow trickling colors,

The whale in the sea,

The plants swaying on earth,

The flowing river, 

The timid animals,

The singing waterfalls—

They all speak that is unheard.

To converse with them,

My search continues.

***

The poet of the war-age

We lived in an age of intellect.

The world was submerged in darkness.

Pain thick and black;

Peace dead, clad in white,

We grieved our time. 

Beyond the dim veil of hope,

the smoke from pyres 

was heavy with sadness.

Time, divided into zones,

stopped for no one.

Voices lost into the wind.

The mad emperors

could never break free

from the prison of their own tongue.

Cities fled away—

in so-called golden age of ours.

A large piece of the future

floated before us,

yet far beyond our reach.

A lot of memories,

sickened with failures—

the bodies buried in debris

could not decide

whom to avenge and 

whom to forgive.

***

I Need A New Time

I am fatigued of this time.

The time that never ends,

That knows no emotion

But a shallow shimmer.

It can’t retrace its steps,

I can’t break it,

Nor leave it,

Nor even hide it.

It can’t move

Along with my thoughts.

It travels in a single measure —

Fixed, indifferent, joyless.

It’s hard to live

with this sluggish time,

While racing beside AI.

I need a new time.

***

During the Snowstorm

Autumn passed.

Time for hail with the storm,

and for ice to pierce the earth.

On this side of the quiet window,

a torrential rain of memories 

pours within me.

I recall those 

who passed away in the journey,

and those who returned as storms,

striking hard against me.

In this vast sky,

not a single bird is seen.

From the airports,

no planes have taken flight.

Only bare trees stand far and wide,

locked in combat 

with the quarrelsome wind.

The horizons turned in rebellion.

I know for sure

the tree will not lose.

Even if broken, it will still stand.

In the end, 

it is the wind that must stop.

Whether memories scratch 

The healing wounds,

or the storm tears up roots

I will grow stronger within.

***

Bio: Born in a tribal reserve in India, Dharmpal is a Toronto-based author who writes in both Hindi and English. He has published twelve books to date—eight acclaimed collections of satirical essays and four of poetry, including his debut English poetry collection Friday Evening. His English poems have appeared in several national and international literary journals. 

Dharmpal is also a proud member of the League of Canadian Poets.

https://dharmtoronto.com

dharmtoronto@gmail.com

416 225 2415  

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Setu, October 2025

Photo Album: Moods and Places मनोदशा और स्थान (चित्रावली)

Bio: Keshav Sharma, among other pet passions, loves to click the varied moods and beauty of the cities and countryside of Ontario region. His day job as transport manager keeps him busy; music, photography and outdoors give him a lot of energy.

केशव शर्मा अपनी अन्य रुचियों के साथ-साथ, ओंटारियो क्षेत्र के नागर और ग्रामीण क्षेत्रों के मिज़ाज और सौंदर्य को कैमरे द्वारा साझा करना पसंद करते हैं। परिवहन प्रबंधक की उनकी वृत्ति उन्हें व्यस्त रखती है, तो संगीत, फोटोग्राफी और अन्य रुचियाँ उन्हें ऊर्जा देती हैं।

Keshav Sharma केशव शर्मा

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सेतु, अक्टूबर 2025 :: Setu, October 2025

Setu Special Edition: October 2025

Special Edition: The Ubiquitous Presence

Cosmic Eye by Marjorie Pezzoli

 

Special Edition Authors: September 2025

Contributing Authors

Robert Maddox-Harle Usha Kishore Kushal Poddar Satbir Chadha Snigdha Agrawal Sreelekha Chatterjee Lina Krishnan

Ritu Kamra Kumar Radha Chakravarty Hema Ravi Meghna Kaul Toolika Rani Marjorie Pezzoli Meenakshi Mohan

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Setu, October 2025

Cosmic Eye and More

Sunil Sharma

"I dream my painting, and then I paint my dream."

--- Vincent Van Gogh

"Painting is poetry that is seen rather than felt, and poetry is painting that is felt rather than seen."

--- Leonardo da Vinci

What happens when you first "see" a cosmic eye and render it on silk?

Well, a 30" x 40" hand-painted silk work mounted on the canvas.

An art form that our regular contributor Marjorie Pezzoli is quite fond of and expertly practises for more than 25 years.

Cosmic Eye by Marjorie Pezzoli

Her forte.

In fact, she loves painting, poetry the most, among other passions, and conveys different moods and emotional states through both the genre for her loyal base of fans.

Besides, she likes to experiment and explore some “tough” forms of creative communication. The different Japanese forms of poetry are her regular areas of deep engagements.

Setu's monthly prompt, this time, was one of her silk paintings.

Titled "Cosmic Eye", it is a good example of the stunning artwork by the prominent painter and poet from the USA.

In her own words, this excellent creative working with different media and modes of self-expression:

Marjorie Pezzoli is a poet, visual artist, teacher and silk painter. Her writings cover all emotions from grief to joy. During these absurd times she finds reasons to laugh. Since 2019 her writings have been curated in printed anthologies and online publications. Palabra: Open Mic, San Diego Poetry Annual, A Year in Ink, Heterodox Haiku, Dadakuku, Setu Journal, Starbeck Orion, and others. She loves the collaborative process, a renga-tanka with Christina Chin appeared in the New Verse News 2024. D.O.R Issue 6 contains a split sequence with Jerome Berglund. Marjorie’s muses include a visiting peacock and Beau, the dog with Betty Davis eyes. She looks for words worth a thousand images.

"Cosmic Eye" opens up a strange vista for the viewer invested in the painting.

A high-level threshold that leads us to some transcendental region, higher awareness.

It is hypnotic in its overall effect!

You feel the grip, the power of the eye iris over your mind and subconsciousness---it fixes you up with its energy and gaze, almost other-worldly in impact---rare thing these days of kitsch and market art.

Something deep and unsettling.

Something disorienting!

Reaching the very depths of the soul.

And you get ushered into a realm totally different than your earthly existence; mundane to exalted.

The colours are dynamic, strong and vivid---the entire picture speaks at the subliminal level of the spectator.

It is spiritual. Sil art goes back in time. In China, Japan, Vietnam, there are legacies of this painting tradition.

As Picasso rightly observes about the function of great art: "The purpose of art is washing the dust of daily life off our souls."

Naturally, the responses to the prompt were equally mesmerising.

Individual takes on the strange visual, creatively done, beautifully expressed.

You will be thrilled!

The regular features are as usual equally interesting!

Thanks to the featured creatives for their support.

Take care!

Sunil Sharma,
Managing Editor, Setu (English)

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Setu, October 2025

KRYSTYNA LENKOWSKA क्रिस्टीना लेनक्वोस्का - 3

Sangeeta Gupta

THE POEMS ORIGINALLY WERE WRITTEN IN POLISH AND TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH BY VARIOUS TRANSLATORS; ALMOST ALL OF THEM WERE PUBISHED IN POLAND IN POLISH AND SOME OF THEM WERE PUBLISHED IN ENGLISH IN US, NEW ZEALAND AND KENYA

7. SOLEC BORDER

Sudden twilight shoos the lifeout of the small health resortand you can no

longer see what’s night what’s smog or which comes in darkerthe old

bustle’s imprinted in window openings in doors without jambsand you

can't tell anymoreif these were warehousesor poor Jewish homesthere

flashes the sleepless eye of a TV from a foreign era a border draws a

borderclose byin Intensive CareEve S. goes to the other side and

backsince it all begansome Evethere and back

intensively.

Translated by Krystyna Lenkowska and Nasim Luczaj

सोलैक सीमा

अचानक का साँझ जीवन को

छोड़ देती है छोटे स्वास्थ्य रिसॉर्ट से,

और अब तुम नहीं देख सकते

क्या रात है, क्या धुंआ,

या कौन सा अधिक गहरा आता है।

पुरानी हलचल की छाप

खिड़की की खुली जगहों में,

बिना चौखटे के दरवाजों में।

और अब तुम नहीं पहचान सकते

क्या ये गोदाम थे

या गरीब यहूदी घर थे।

वहाँ एक टीवी की बिना नींद वाली आँख

झपकती है एक विदेशी युग से,

एक सीमा खींचती है सीमा

निकट ही,

गंभीर देखभाल में।

ईव एस. दूसरी तरफ जाती है

और वापस,

जब से यह सब शुरू हुआ,

कोई ईव,

वहाँ और वापस, गहनता से।

***

8. (I went out into space)

I went out into spaceas if into nightsneaking out of the houseto the

moonless yardand there nothing but darkI was surprisedit was so close to

mewrapped around in nothing that led to nothingdown a familiar path that

was not thereperfect symbiosisnothing with nothingwe who were

everything

Translated by Nasim Luczaj

(मैं अंतरिक्ष में बाहर निकला)

मैं अंतरिक्ष में बाहर निकला

जैसे रात में

घर से चोरी-चुपके बाहर

चाँदहीन आंगन में

और वहाँ कुछ नहीं, सिर्फ अंधेरा।

मुझे आश्चर्य हुआ,

यह मेरे इतना पास था,

कुछ में लिपटा हुआ

जो कुछ तक नहीं पहुँचता था,

एक परिचित रास्ते पर

जो वहाँ था ही नहीं।

संपूर्ण परस्पर संबंध

कुछ का कुछ से मिलन,

हम, जो कुछ भी थे।

***

9. POLISH NATIONAL RAILWAY

When I was youngthe trains were smellylate and crampedtoday in the

café car I eat bulgur with vegetablesand don't recognize my face in the

clean window I study the cycle of changethe law and lawlessness of fate

clean – dirtyfast – slowuncrowded - packed only handsome students

standingnear the WC haven’t changedand the pissed-on urinal.

Translated by Krystyna Lenkowska and Cecilia Woloch

पोलिश नेशनल रेलवे

जब मैं छोटा था,

ट्रेनें गंदी, लेट और भीड़ से भरी होती थीं।

आज, कैफ़े कार में

मैं बर्गर और सब्ज़ियाँ खा रहा हूँ

और साफ़ खिड़की में

अपना चेहरा पहचान नहीं पाता।

मैं बदलाव के चक्र को देखता हूँ,

क़िस्मत के नियम और बेक़ायदगी को—

साफ़ – गंदा,

तेज़ – धीमा,

खाली – भरा।

सिर्फ़ हैंडसम छात्र

जो टॉयलेट के पास खड़े हैं,

नहीं बदले—

और पेशाब से सना पेशाबघर भी नहीं।

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सेतु, अक्टूबर 2025 :: Setu, October 2025

The Schedule of Víhaan

8 Capture

 

Wherein we learn about the aesthetic eclecticism of the hall

where Víhaan, Hután and Aaron are prisoners,

the smell of food and need for water,

the use of salt and pepper shakers,

what happens at Assisi to Carina,

the copy shop showdown

Selma’s backup plan,

and the abduction of Fisha.

 

John Clark Smith

Released from chains Hután, Aaron and Víhaan sat beside

each other on the floor against a wall in what Víhaan

described as a large artistically eclectic hall

that fascinated him due to his avid interest

in and knowledge of art, so intriguing that he spent some

time clarifying to Aaron and Hután what he saw,

Hután unaware of Víhaan’s thorough knowledge of art—

unfortunate that Mustfarris could not be beside them—

but thankful Víhaan could occupy his mind with viewing

and talking about what he saw, repressing the dangers.

The hall exposed a curious aesthetic amalgam

of styles and eras beginning with the floor design

which used the square and circle pattern of the Pantheon

floor, with all walls painted with a geometric motif

that reminded Víhaan of the exterior designs

on the Great Mosque of Cordova, the hanging chandeliers,

lavish and Baroque, duplicates of those in the Royal

Palace in Madrid, while the most incongruous item

was a painted copy of “Battle of the Amazons,”

slightly modified from Rubens by inserting on the

middle of the bridge Nicholas Dvorak clothed in bright

red holding a sword up in the air, while the opposite

wall had stained glass windows depicting a Gothic story

unfamiliar to Víhaan or Hután but the style

reminded Víhaan of Munch’s “The Frieze of Life” yet peopled

with Nicholas and those he assumedly respected.

On one end of the hall, bold to the eye, was a series

of tall carved wood Gothic doors mimicking the sculptured doors

at Amiens, in front of them stood stern looking armed guards,

the other end three high-back carved wooden chairs with red pads

on a platform, and above the chairs the Roman number

two, standing, they assumed, for Benchin (II), and behind the throne

on the enormous wall from floor to ceiling were inlaid

sculptures from various traditions, including Buddhas,

Yakshis, naked young women and men in ancient Greek style,

a West African Dogon sculpture of an armed soldier

on horseback, cult wooden figures of Oceania,

and other rough copies of world sculptural traditions.

But despite or because of all the art diversity,

which both amused and fascinated Víhaan and Aaron,

its most inviting quality for three hungry captives

sitting for hours in this cold and drafty hall was the smell nearby

of cooked or someone cooking food, loud sizzling and boiling

sounds and the clang of utensils and silverware clearly

audible, accented by the occasional human

voice, all of which made Hután think that a kitchen or its

feast was nearby, tempting him to think how they could remove

the three guns at the Amiens doors. But during the time

he was thinking of art, escape, food, water, and odor,

three long metal tables were rolled in on wheels, beginning

with one that held the feast and was set down beyond their reach,

along with three plates with utensils and three wine glasses,

with two guards at each end holding automatic handguns

pointed at them. Beside them was a large jug of water,

followed by another table rolled in with a keyboard

and screen set within reach of Víhaan, who looked at Hután

suspiciously and then at the setup until a third

assemblage of equipment and devices came to fill

the room, devices without a connection to water

or food and so ominous Víhaan jerked back to Hután

with a face of intense fear and Hután patted his leg

to assure him, Hután preferring not now to explain

that these devices were a varied group of the latest

torture instruments, a prospect Hután had expected

hours ago and wondered why they had delayed them so long

—he had to assume the respite was due to the absent

Nicholas Dvorak—though thankful they did have to wait,

because the delay allowed Carina and Mustfarris

to find them and because the wait also fueled Hután’s

chances—not a good thing for the opposition—to turn

fortunes around and strike at Dvorak if he assumed

that Nicholas would preside, a logical assumption

because Nicholas would view this abduction and capture

as a victory over both Hydra and the Remnant.

For he, like leaders with whom Nicholas liked to compare

himself—such as Domitian, Yang Guang and the Zhengde

Emperor, brutal and murderous tyrants but models

of command to Nicholas—couldn’t resist grabbing up

credit when in fact Nicholas didn’t deserve credit,

all of the hard work produced by Gillian and Leonard,

who were wise enough to wait before assuming Hután

had failed and before Víhaan had relinquished the Schedule,

unless Hután was declared dead. But he wouldn’t be dead

since Hután was a man his adversaries and rivals

were hesitant to kill lest they kill possibilities

or directions. They all knew that he would always hold back

more than one plan and was always brewing up crafty schemes

and doing what in fact he was doing right now, piling

up the best options despite what appeared to be a dire

situation; and his best option involved those stained glass

windows, at which he was staring intensely when trumpets blared

and a small group of six barely clad young women and men

pranced to loud music enthusiastically like six cheerleaders—

a tribute somehow to the courts of Yang and the Zhengde

Emperor—three of whom perched on both sides of what now was

clearly a throne, and, in the middle of a corridor

so thickly surrounded on each side by guards that he could

hardly be seen, Nicholas aimed himself straight for the throne,

where he stood briefly while his entourage of guards, harem,

and fawners, clapped then departed quickly as he gestured

for his captives to be brought to him. Yet the remaining

guards failed to notice, so quick was Hután’s movement and so

fixed was the guards gaze on Nicholas and their wish to yield

to his peremptory behavior, that Hután, by now

quite assured Carina and Mustfarris would be concealed

nearby—Dvorak, surrounded by a large militia,

arrogantly had no worries about attacks in his

apparently secure headquarters and had left them all

without any blocking devices so that Carina,

or anyone else, would know Hután’s precise location,

yet worse, Dvorak hoped Hután’s compatriots would try

to enter his compound so he could capture them—snatched two

ornamental metal salt and pepper shakers, with shapes

like an elephant and a lion, shoved them into his

pocket, while Nicholas spoke with a gentlemanly tone

and refined manner, not concealing joy in the moment:

Ah well, well, here you are, the man captured

but never caught, Hután the philosopher.

First Hydra takes you and now me. Both have

a simple need, The Schedule—though we had

it first, didn’t we?—so you’ve taken

what belonged initially to us

We paid for it, and now we want it back

and are willing to take it back gently

or at the simple cost of Víhaan’ life

unless he demonstrates for us all how

The Schedule works. And I’m sure he will, since

it’s a life-and-death choice. Well, no, it’s life-

then-torture-and-then death choice. No, I take

it back, it’s really a life-and-death

choice because we want The Schedule and in

truth it’s also important for us that

no one else has it. So, yes, first, we’d like

The Schedule ourselves, but, if we can’t have

it, then I guess that means killing the man

without whom The Schedule doesn’t work. Yes,

and we’re happy then that no one has it.

So it’s your choice: tell us now how it works

and give us The Schedule or die and no

one has The Schedule, or suffer with this…

as he spoke he gestured to the guard to haul forward one

of the torture machines that seemed to have arms and a face—

…this nasty baby makes you bleed inside.

You don’t die, you bleed for a long time till

all your blood is gone. You know you’re bleeding

because soon the blood starts coming out. It

doesn’t hurt, Víhaan, but when you see your

blood come from your nose and throat, from every

opening, it’s a bit disturbing, don’t

you think? And as for Hután, well, I want

something special for Hután regardless

because he’s been one big pain in the ass

for us all for a long time, right, Hután?,

And finally, yes, the movie star, pretty boy Aaron.

What special business can we now cook up

for you? Let me wonder. Oh, we’ll inch by inch rip deep cuts…

at this point Hután pulled out the salt and pepper shakers

and hurled each, with as much force as possible, one after

the other, at the stained-glass windows, and the glass shattered

and sprayed so that the inside became visible to those

outside, including Carina and Mustfarris, who had

perpetrated the Dvorak’s grounds, had silenced the guards,

and were waiting for their opportunity—which came soon

upon noticing Hután inside the broken window—

and they became like projectiles themselves, diving through

the window in gas masks; suddenly Hután saw his chance

and grabbed Víhaan’s arm and jumped quickly through the broken glass,

assuming Aaron would follow directly behind him.

But as soon as Nicholas saw Víhaan leave, he pointed

his two guards at Aaron—at whom they hadn‘t stop gawking—

and grabbed him. He fought hard but two more appeared and the four

of them dragged him out of the hall. Hután watched them take him

and if not for Víhaan would have returned to fight for him

but he waited for Carina and Mustfarris, who tried

to support them against the new guards appearing outside,

but the inside guards were shooting, so they quickly picked up

a long table, dumped what lay upon it, and rushed backward,

used it as a defense, the bullets hitting the metal

surface, Mustfarris and Carina simultaneously

spraying a mist that knocked out for the moment whoever

was in the hall, dropped the table, and jumped out the window,

still fighting the guards, while Hután used one of Dvorak’s

guns to shield them, all hurrying quickly to the entrance,

all injured in the attempt but escaping with their lives.

After treatment, all returned to Assisi and gathered

to grapple with the crisis of an abducted patron,

an action that might have seemed too convenient and planned

but not to Hután. Like he, Selma continued to seek

options even when they were on the ship, including, it

seemed, finding, abducting, and holding a Remnant patron.

Hután thought first to check on the status of the patrons,

worried that Selma may have abducted a group of them.

Kark Pitworthy was found in his castle on the island,

Sesha Mandawauple—residing still in Africa,

human rights activist, president of an investment

company—was reached at her company; Sergio Diaz—

resident in South America, an ecologist

who inherited a family fortune and refused

to pay taxes because of government actions, a man

like Thoreau who opposed slavery and the Mexican

war—they located walking in a protest in Chile;

and Tenny Lu—in Asia, a technology wizard

with many patents—was reached at her home, to which, after

hearing, Hután walked around the room, hesitant to speak,

There is a fifth patron of ours, someone

whom we have kept secret from all members

of the Remnant except for Udaki,

Aaron, and me—Aaron because she was

his referral. Hydra abducted her,

preferring not to provide many details of how this

patron, Fisha Kotenie, joined the Remnant, not only

because an explanation would be a waste of time now

but because that day, when he looked at Aaron’s tear-filled face,

Aaron under scrutiny as a possible agent,

breaking down several times, telling Udaki and him

about what happened in an outdoor adventure when his

wife and their friend Fisha were caught in a rockslide while he,

out of danger above them, having finished the hard climb,

helplessly watched as Fisha desperately tried to save

his wife, who screamed as the earth opened up, swallowed, then crushed

her, leaving Fisha—who had already lost her husband

to cancer in the year before and was reluctant to go

on the trip—crippled and permanently in a wheelchair,

the sorrow magnified greatly because it was Aaron

who insisted that Fisha come on the trip to help her

forget the death of her husband, leading to such regrets

and guilt that he asked Udaki to accept both his own

and her application, his as an agent, and hers as

a patron, Aaron not adding that he himself needed

the Remnant’s work to mask his own lonely nights when silence

became his confidant[1] and thoughts of what-might-have-been, had

he not forced that trip, clasped his heart like a vise and crushed hope.

This troubling memory left Hután without any words,

so he looked over at Carina and gestured for her

to speak, and she said, cognizant of the problems ahead:

We will all go to meet Selma. I have

an idea how we can save Aaron,

whereupon Hután turned to Víhaan and asked—thinking how

Víhaan had thwarted Hydra on the ship when the chip Hután

was carrying wouldn’t display any information—

Suppose you give the key. Can you create

another to disable the first key?

and Víhaan smiled and nodded but also quickly added

They too can create their own key once they’re

in the system. It’s open to the key,

to which Hután, feeling stymied by technology, asked,

Could you also make a secondary

key that would activate when the first key

is used or could you make a barrier

so only you could build that second key?

to which Víhaan shook his head with conviction and stated,

Once the system is open, no wall would

be effective, and if it was, they would

know we were blocking them again, and I’m

sure they won’t let us go until they know

for certain it’s working effectively.

The Schedule also can spot amateurs.

Víhaan paused, breathed in a lot of air, and gently added,

But there is one sure way to stop all this,

as he pulled from his sweater pocket a pill visible

to all—something, Hután surmised at the time, he had kept

with him from the beginning from fear someone would torture

him in some atrocious way—but before he could place it

on his tongue Carina kicked his hand, pushing the pill up

into the air, she reached up, caught it, and placed it in her

pocket, saying, with a disappointed look toward Víhaan,

You know suicide’s not the answer. It’s

an act of bravery even to live,[2]

and now is one of those brave times. You know

it solves nothing and implies that we can’t

outwit and outmaneuver our rivals,

when in fact your future depends on us.

There’s no one else, no one to keep you safe.

So again, please ponder, what can you do

with this technology to trick or cause

mistakes in The Schedule’s information?

to which Víhaan, who had fallen into a nearby chair

after his aborted attempt, shook his head, and replied,

quite the contrary, The Schedule struggles

to be as accurate as possible.

Any effort to force a shift corrupts

and disables the system, so there is

no way to trick anyone with the key.

Even I can’t stop them from abusing

the system. And once they have it, they’ll have

no use for me, and if no use for me--

then Hután interrupted, time being quite precious,

--but if we surrender the key without

a protest, couldn’t they suspect a trap?

Regardless, we must make a choice, correct?

The Schedule or you, The Schedule or our

patron? The answer is this: the Remnant

chooses people over technology.

                    But why let them have it if there’s a way?

For one reason: you can make another.

And if you can make another, we will

have information that they have, and then

their information is not secret or

valuable, and they gain nothing else.

Doesn’t their plan obviously depend

upon them eliminating me?

to which Carina, Mustfarris and Hután nodded at once,

and that is why, Carina said, you’re more valuable

to us than The Schedule, and our patron

is more critical than The Schedule,

as she rushed out the door, Hután and Víhaan following

her quickly, though Víhaan wasn’t quite sure she convinced him

he wouldn’t die—yet her arguments weren’t the only

reason he tagged along, as events will show. They might

try to prevent him from dying, but his doubts grew

even stronger about their powers of protection and safety

when they had traveled but a few feet out of the building.

A group of four masked attackers accosted Carina,

tasered Hután, Mustfarris, and Víhaan, who helpless fell.

Hután’s eyes were watching her struggle until they tasered

and carried her away as his face lay upon the ground,

his eyes and mind alive but in great torment, wondering

what awaited Carina and what hand of fate would want

her and not Víhaan, until Hután began to recall

how an anonymous benefactor had protected

and invested in Carina for years without giving

an identity or the motivation for the gifts,

a mystery that Carina herself had never solved.

Though even before that question could be answered, he asked

again why someone would take Carina, since it would seem,

all soon learned, Hydra and Dvorak had no need for her

when they had Fisha and Aaron and expected Víhaan

at the Hydra meeting place. But, as the taser effects

began to disappear, another mystery, poignant

and recurring, surfaced again for him: How his beloved Rita,

with no health problems, died. He had often speculated

about that enigma, but a path opened up for him

when Víhaan promised to feed the puzzle to The Schedule.

But before the Rita puzzle, Carina must be found.

Víhaan consulted the Schedule, which spotted Carina

and would continue to track her. This news brought great relief,

but it didn’t reduce concern for Fisha and the key.

Hután brought Víhaan next to the train station where Hydra

had its headquarters, even if the sign on the door said

“Favolosa Stampa.”[3] True, if someone looked in the glass

they would see a room with four large institutional-sized

copiers, piles of paper on shelves, a cutter, a cash

register, and other signs of a small business, even

a couple of clerks walking around seemingly doing

copying work; but the Remnant and Dvorak agents

didn’t believe it was only a retail copying

shop. This was—like every act and rationalization

of Hydra and, most of all, of Selma—a specious front

set up for the nebulous Hydra organization

as well as a copying shop of a Hydra member,

but Hydra knew the Remnant and Dvorak watched the shop

and Hydra’s pedestrian nature made it elusive.

Though sinister plans were hatched, no sinister event

happened there, so when Mustfarris, Víhaan and Hután walked

into the copy shop—Mustfarris remaining behind

at the door to ensure that no one would block their exit—

the silver bell over the door ringing as they entered,

they weren’t surprised to see Selma a few seconds later

at the counter facing them with only one question, What

is the key, and Víhaan handed it to her on a piece

of paper. Selma transferred it to a so-called shop clerk

who entered it and soon thereafter nodded to Selma.

Then quickly Hután commanded, Fisha, bring her here now,

and Selma smiled and gestured to a clerk who departed

to fetch Fisha, Selma’s and Hután’s stares fixed upon each

other, as if each expected a much more dramatic

event, Hután thinking Selma would anticipate his

idea of Víhaan creating another Schedule.

Yet in truth Selma didn’t care about the damn Schedule

as long as everyone or no one had the damn Schedule.

She cared that no one had any advantage and that was

the reason she wanted to exchange Víhaan on the ship

for the Schedule. Her thoughts now were on why Hután hadn’t

revealed his scheme, because with him there was always a trick,

an unexpected move, and so far nothing had happened;

and after a long silence, Hután quietly stated,

It was a mistake abducting Fisha, and Selma shrugged,

as if to say, ‘that’s business,’ she not realizing how

dear, how excruciatingly precious, was Fisha

to Aaron, that even if Hydra never tried to hurt

a single cell of Fisha’s body, even if Selma

abjured an intention to harm her, the emotional

turmoil of abduction would be to him as if they had

lashed Fisha’s back a thousand times, Selma entering by

this act a forbidden land; for as Aaron himself would

tell anyone nearby, he did not love people “by halves,” [4]

nor did he hate people by halves, Selma nevertheless,

though in fear of no one, knowing from long experience

that Hután’s threats often would have subtexts, finally asked

why, and Hután said one word, Aaron, and Selma nodded

as if she understood, but she couldn’t have understood

because knowledge of such intimate information about

the Remnant’s personnel was unknown to her at this point.

The irony was that Selma and Hydra could have learned

this small fact about Aaron and Fisha from The Schedule—

which traced relationships and connections between anyone

on earth in seconds—but they would learn too late, though she could

have learned now if this was a normal conversation—talk

between rivals is not ever normal even if they

converse about the weather—normally she might have asked

immediately how Aaron was involved and Hután

might have freely told her the problem, but neither happened,

and wouldn’t have happened in any case, because at that

moment—when Hután said Aaron—Gillian and Leonard

entered the shop in the way two customers might enter,

casually, with Mustfarris close behind the front door,

Hután before the counter, Selma behind the counter,

creating a situation that shouldn’t have happened—

for it was certain none had willed it but rare it is when

will and fate meet, as Hamlet and Oedipus discovered.

But it did happen, many of the characters in this quest

for The Schedule appearing together in the same room,

the tense space of one of the combatants, none of it planned,

or wanted; and Gillian and Leonard grasping quickly

just by Selma’s reaction, that Hydra had The Schedule key,

that they arrived too late, the only recourse remaining

to take Víhaan and demand he recreate The Schedule,

a prospect that Gillian had considered an option

before she arrived—her mind worked like the minds of Selma

and Hután—and had brought with her a militia, a group

too large for Mustfarris and Hután to defeat, but not

for Hydra, who had a bevy of guns ready and aimed

at the Dvorak militia as soon as it appeared

outside the door of the print shop—Selma expecting some

sign of armed power might be necessary—and if Selma

and Gillian hadn’t had an acrimonious past

or would compromise, perhaps—and that “perhaps” is only

polite—Hydra might have discussed the matter, since, after

all, Hydra was not as desperate to have The Schedule

as the Remnant and Dvorak—how could it be

when Hydra had nothing to hide and its people had no

secrets or activities for which they feared reprisal? —

whereas by manipulating the world economy,

trying to topple governments, and driving, not in ways

always scrupulous, court, corporate and political

decisions, Dvorak didn’t want anyone knowing

or seeing its vast interference. Hydra knew the pain

Dvorak would have if the world realized Dvorak’s

many dealings to control nations and corporations.

Thus there was a stalemate outside the print shop, where three groups—

Dvorak represented by Gillian wearing white

jeans, a red blouse, and a gun belt strapped around her torso,

looking as if she had stepped on the wrong movie set since,

with carefully applied make-up and salon-prepared hair,

she appeared less like a soldier and more like an actress-

model acting like a soldier in a hair commercial,

a result of her upbringing and genteel pedigree;

and Leonard, a bald fellow in a blue suit with a coarse,

southern Mediterranean face, scruffy beard, and fit

body, both aware of what they already expected—

that Hydra would battle to keep Víhaan—heightened because

of the troubled history of Gillian and Selma—

Nicholas favoring Gillian over Selma,

not as a lover or an agent, but because she fawned

better than Selma—and Gillian enjoying taunting

Selma about Nicholas’ obvious preference

until finally Gillian made on one assignment

a couple of serious errors and Selma fixed them.

When they reported to Nicholas, and Gillian took

the credit, Selma—after explaining to Nicholas

what happened and his view of the project was mistaken—

resigned, a brazen act Nicholas could have expected

but didn’t, because none with her stature ever resigned;

whereupon Nicholas told Gillian to find Selma

and bring her back so he could punish her, which Gillian

ignored because in her heart she knew Nicholas was wrong,

Selma was right, and she also didn’t want Selma back.

Nicholas did favor Gillian and knew Selma had

saved Gillian from several embarrassing missions,

though Gillian should have found curious that Nicholas

never questioned or pursued further his demand for her

return—Nicholas in truth knew that he had pushed Selma

away, a toxic consequence of favoritism,

which Aristotle would have cautioned him,[5] though Nicholas

thought his approach to governing was overall closer

to what Machiavelli recommends—who also warned

against favoritism and flatterers.[6] Selma was

unaware, as capable as Gillian and Leonard were,

that Nicholas wished Selma would return to Dvorak,

especially now she had Víhaan and The Schedule.

Yet his wishes were of no account to Selma who would

never let Gillian capture Víhaan and then prevail

over her. To cripple Gillian was the mission here,

a mission Mustfarris guessed when Selma signaled to her

team leader and targeted Gillian, who also must

have noticed. But the dilemma is: Does Mustfarris stop

Hydra or let Hydra incapacitate Gillian?

Or will another direction arise to change his mind

due to one critical factor: the capture of Aaron?

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[1] A phrase of Søren Kierkegaard in Either/Or (1843).

[2] Stated by Seneca (ca. 4 BCE – 65 CE) in Letter to Lucilius.

[3] Fabulous Print.

[4] Said ironically by the self-serving and manipulative Isabella in Jane Austen’s Northanger Abbey, Ch. VI.

[5] Cf. The Politics, Nicomachean Ethics, and Rhetoric for the standards Aristotle demanded of political leaders.

[6] Machiavelli presents a realistic self-serving leader in The Prince./

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Setu, October 2025