The woman with cropped hair and a gentle smile…

Short Story: Remember ‘aliens’ do not necessarily mean evil forces. Years of conditioning have led us to believe that aliens who don’t live on Earth grow horns. But that is not always the case. There can also be good extra-terrestrials —compassionate beings who wish well for other beings across the universe and stand up for democratic values.

By Ajith Pillai in Chennai

There was something ‘basic’ in Hari’s existence.

Like millions of others, he was not formally employed, but Universal Basic Income (UBI) ensured that he had enough to sustain and entertain himself. He had never been to school, though the State provided him with basic education -- thanks to speed learning, which involved flooding the brain with data through a complex process beyond his comprehension.

He remembered an official from the education department visiting him at home when he had barely entered his teens. A few electrodes connected to a machine were fixed at different points on Hari’s forehead, and the device was activated for about five minutes. That was it.

A surge of electric impulses coursed through his brain. It was unnerving and jarring, but not particularly hurtful.

“Congratulations, young man, that does it for your basic schooling as a citizen of Bharat,” the official had declared as he punched some entries into his palmtop. “It will be recorded in your personal data that you have been educated — basic Vedic math, Vedic science, Vedic moral studies, Indian history, Vedic culture, two languages — the works,” he added as he packed up his equipment.

When Hari turned eighteen, he qualified for UBI, and after that, his parents politely persuaded him to fend for himself. It was not as if they wanted to get rid of him but were merely following what the State had recommended in the basic parenting manual.

From that point on, he was categorised as “a Basic Class C Adult with access to food, water, housing, medical care, sex, and the government-recommended dosage of mind-elevating drugs.”

Additionally, with a roof over his head and food on his plate, he was classified as a “basic family man,” eligible to live with a partner and required to raise two children to maintain the population at an optimal level.

Hari had no intention of marrying immediately. For now, he was content basking in his basic happiness and routine. He would get up each morning, grab a bite and then go down to the local dispensary to get his pill for the day, which instantly elevated his mood and kept him cocooned in happiness for the next 16 to 18 hours.

Consumption of the Happiness Pill was compulsory by a government diktat. Those who failed to turn up for their daily dose were visited by a robot doctor and surgically implanted with a slow-release drug effective for six months. This was not only a painful procedure, but those who had to be forcefully provided their mood elevators were penalised through a 40 per cent cut in their UBI.

Hari had never missed his daily dose. In fact, he looked forward to it because with the drug working its magic, he felt pleased with life. The sky was blue and the gardens green. In his world, there were only “shiny happy people laughing, smiling, holding hands.”

It was the lyric of a cheerful song that always played in his head.

Hari had been hearing it ever since he received his basic education. He later learnt that each teenager was allotted an upbeat theme song which buzzed in his/her head for life.

Five days a week at ten, Hari went for “work therapy”—sticking labels on cartons at the warehouse of a corporation that manufactured nutritionally fortified energy bars. All beneficiaries of the basic income scheme had to put in four hours of “free service” a day to keep themselves “gainfully occupied”.

The government had made it mandatory for all corporations and government concerns to engage UBI recipients, even if it meant compromising output.

Sometimes on the weekend, the warehouse manager took the human workforce on an outing. On such occasions, they would visit the local museum and stare in amazement at the exhibits as if seeing them for the first time, or picnic enthusiastically in the park, like children who have suddenly discovered open space.

Hari had once heard the manager tell her assistant that something was amazing about Class C humans. “Unlike us, they are not only happy, but they are never bored.

“It’s because they have been programmed thus,” the assistant said, “it’s part of their basic schooling.”

Their conversation stuck in Hari’s mind because it was the first time that he had heard someone use the word “bored”. It was an alien expression that did not appear in the dictionary he was fed during his schooling.

Whatever the mystery word meant, Hari was happy to be in the state he currently was in. Outing over, he went back home and took a nap before going to the local pleasure dome. There were virtual games and other entertainment packages designed for C-class citizens.

Hari never wavered from this routine except on Sunday evenings when an official from the social welfare ministry visited him. At first, a different person came each week. But for the last six months, Sita, a young, affable woman social welfare officer, had been assigned permanently to Hari’s zone. It was a very officious visit with only basic pleasantries exchanged.

But familiarity breeds friendship—a bond of sorts. It was during one such visit that Sita chose to be more informal than she usually was and talked about her colleagues at work, who she said were as robotic as humans could ever be. “Their work and meeting deadlines totally consume them. They do not have a moment to spare, even for a smile. I prefer you, Class C types, who at least seem happy.”

The casual nature of the conversation emboldened Hari to ask Sita if she knew what the word “bored” meant.

“Where did you come across that word?” Sita was startled by the query because Class C citizens were not supposed to be curious.

Hari recounted the office outing to the park and the remark that Class Cs can never be bored. “It struck me as strange. Why did the office assistant say, ‘We can never be bored’? What does `being bored’ mean?”

“Well, it is a situation wherein one becomes weary of the dullness of routine or doing the same things every day. It is an empty feeling that gets you.”

“But I have never felt unhappy. I also like to do whatever the authorities direct me to do,” Hari said, trying to grasp the meaning.

“That’s why you are never bored. You don’t desire change.”

“Is it good or bad to be bored?” Hari wondered aloud. “Sometimes wanting change has several positives. Change often denotes progress. But the establishment does not want citizens in your category to feel the need for change.”

“Are you suggesting I will be better off if I resist the State-imposed happiness?” Hari said, thinking aloud.

But Sita did not wish to pursue the conversation. “Perhaps I have explained more than what I should,” she said as she took her leave.

After Sita had gone, Hari went over what she had shared with him. Would life be any better if he became unhappy with the way things were? Was it worth giving up his happiness for boredom? He could not quite fathom what Sita meant when she said that wanting change may be a good sign.

Till Sita’s visit the following Sunday, Hari did not breathe a word to anyone.  “I have been thinking a lot about what we discussed the last time -- you know about being bored and all that. It has caused a lot of confusion in my mind,” he duly reported to her.

“And these thoughts came to you late at night,” Sita observed matter-of-factly.

“How did you know?” Hari was surprised.

“Well, the mind can work and think when you are farthest from the effects of the last dose of the Happiness Pill. As its effect wears off, your mind becomes capable of independent thinking. And the more you think, the sharper the brain becomes.” 

“So, would it be correct to conclude that if someone discontinues the pill, he or she will be able to think more clearly?”

“Yes, that is an obvious conclusion to draw,” Sita said with a knowing smile. “But avoiding the pill is not easy. It is considered an anti-establishment act and those violating the law are penalised.”

“So, the trick is to avoid taking the pill without the authorities noticing it,” Hari said, warming up to the subject. “But that may be difficult because at the dispensary, the pill is tracked on the scanner from the moment you pop it till it is safely inside you. It is hard to fool the system unless…”

“Unless, unless… what?” Sita urged him on, excitement writ large on her face.

“Unless you have a pill which can pass off as the one you are supposed to swallow. So, you pretend you are swallowing one while you swallow the other,” Hari said, equally animated.

“There you are--bang on target! I can see you have been thinking quite a lot,” Sita said, obviously pleased with Hari’s effort.

She immediately marked him as a potential candidate for induction into the movement. But she chose not to tell him anything, at least not yet. She would watch him for the next few weeks.

Several Sundays later, she came with a gift, a handy medicine box of capsules.

“Remember, you once mentioned dummies that could substitute for the Happiness Pill. Well, I have bought you two months' stock as a present,” Sita said as she handed him the box.

Hari was pleasantly surprised and touched by the gift. “Thanks, but what is there in these pills—is it some anti-happiness drug?”

“Just harmless vitamins in a special capsule that takes time to dissolve,” Sita elaborated. “The trick is to place the dummy pill in your mouth before you enter the dispensary and to swallow it instead of the Happiness capsule and then proceed to the scanner.”

On the morning that he executed the substitution, he felt excited. It was a natural high that came from a sense of achievement. He came back to his flat to savour that feeling before leaving for work.

Hari had prepared himself to be consumed by depression. But that did not happen. Instead, he began to see things through a new bifocal. He realised that the work he did at the warehouse was meaningless. He could also see something synthetic in the fixed smiles of his fellow workers and the condescending approach of the supervisory staff.

Suddenly, he was a changed man. Instead of going to the pleasure dome in the evening, he chose to stay home. Hari felt the urge to be alone and think. 

He wondered why the State was sustaining people like him. Why was it expending valuable resources to ensure that a non-productive population was kept alive? He would ask Sita.

Thanks to her, he became aware that the system had not eliminated the underclass because people like him played a crucial role in sustaining the illusion of democracy.

It was almost six months after Hari had discontinued the Happiness Pill that Sita put forward to him the idea of joining the Resistance –an anti-government movement she was part of. “Think about it,” she said, “it is risky business and involves taking on powerful people. But if you are seriously interested, then I can tell you about it.”

Once he expressed his willingness to join, Sita educated him about a hidden chapter of world history. Only a small group within the A+ classification, which included the ruling elite, was aware of what transpired when governments around the world received a ‘notice’" a hundred years ago from the State of Demokratia, a planet several light-years away from Earth.

The communique was initially dismissed as a prank. But it soon became evident that it had to be taken seriously when a task force from the celestial body was spotted in outer space. NASA's feedback was that the extraterrestrial fleet was equipped with menacing weaponry capable of wiping out Earth in a nanosecond.

World leaders went into a tizzy. At an emergency meeting in Brussels, they reached a consensus that mobilising a military response to the alien force would be futile. It was more prudent to buy time and consider the primary demand of the Demokratian government. 

Luckily, the high command, which “represented the civilisation and peoples of Demokrata”, did not have domination in mind. The communique stated that the fleet had been sent to Earth with the express task of restoring democracy and ensuring that free and fair elections are conducted, honouring every citizen’s right to vote. “We come in peace but won’t hesitate to act in the event of any non-compliance,” the missive concluded.  

Governments across the world hastily agreed to restore democracy. However, they pleaded that reverting to a system of governance scrapped some 200 years ago would take at least a decade to implement. The concluding paragraphs of the assurance signed by world leaders said it all:

“Democracy, we must point out, was declared defunct in 2100 when a new system of governance was introduced in which top echelons of the political, corporate, military and scientific establishments were given the prominence they deserved. This system has since prevailed and provided good governance, respecting citizens' basic needs.

“However, we are not averse to reviving the electoral process. But to re-establish a system and to hold elections will require about ten Earth years. We trust the Demokratian high command will be gracious enough to grant us that leeway.”

According to Sita, the governments of the time had yielded to a powerful force that secured commitments from them that no nation truly wanted to honour. However, a solution had to be devised that would allow the existing order to continue while seemingly demonstrating that democracy had been restored.

The first step in this direction was the division of citizens into three broad classes, which was inspired by the ancient Hindu caste system.

“The majority was obviously the Class C folks,” Hari chipped in.

 “Yes, 70 per cent —that is over two-thirds of the population,” Sita confirmed. “The `Bs’ constituted 25 per cent and the `A’ Class 5 per cent, of which the `A+’ comprising the elite made up less than one per cent.”

Given this break-up, the C Class became crucial in determining election outcomes, as it constituted the majority. A systematic process was therefore initiated to gain control over the choice this section of the population would exercise at the ballot box. This, Hari was told, was achieved through “thought reform” and “mind control.”

Drugs and advanced neuro-technology were employed to circumscribe the thinking ability of a section of the population. Obeying orders came naturally to them, so they voted as directed by the establishment.

“But how does that explain governments being replaced and parties voted out of power?” Hari wondered.

“To understand that you have to see the deviousness of the project in its entirety,” Sita elaborated. “If elections always returned the same party to power, it would have raised questions about the credibility of the electoral process.  So, the ruling oligarchy conveniently divided itself into two main political groups. Between them, they have been ruling the world. At times, to break the pattern, one group would be elected to power twice in succession before losing the mandate to their so-called rivals.”

“So, what you are suggesting is that the electoral outcome is always pre-determined!” Hari was shocked by this revelation.

“Yes, not just that, with the votes of the C Class fixed, the winning party is guaranteed a two-thirds majority. The B and A Class votes don’t matter.”

“But how is an election rigged when parties are permitted to campaign and influence voters. Are the voting machines tampered with?” Hari was curious to know.

“Oh no, the system is now too sophisticated to resort to such antiquated methods. Rigging happens when election officials, on the pretext of revising the voters' list, implant eligible voters with an updated, unique ID chip ahead of each election. This is meant to ensure so-called free and fair polls, but it is also designed to send impulses to the brain which determine the way citizens will vote.”

It took Hari time to digest what he had been told. “How have you managed to source all this information?” he asked Sita.

“Well, the Resistance has been at it for two decades,” Sita said with measured pride, “We have sharp minds in our midst with access to confidential information.”

“What do you hope to do with this information?”

“For a start, we are in the process of compiling a detailed report on the state of democracy by looking closely at every election in the last hundred years. Once that exercise is completed, we will be transmitting the findings to the authorities in Demokratia.”

“Don’t tell me you will be contacting an alien power!” Hari was incredulous.

“We are left with no choice,” Sita said, a trifle agitated. “Remember `aliens’ do not necessarily mean evil forces. Years of conditioning have led us to believe that beings that inhabit heavenly bodies other than Earth grow horns and have destruction on their minds. But that is not always the case. There can also be good extra-terrestrials —compassionate beings who wish well for other beings across the universe and stand up for democratic values.”

“And where do I-- a Class C—fit into all this?”   

 “Our assessment is that you could be an asset to the Resistance. But you will not be a mere foot soldier. There is a larger role envisaged which will be communicated to you once you formally join us.”          

With that, Sita bid Hari goodbye, promising to meet him the following Sunday.

Hari carefully went over all that Sita had told him. But who was Sita? Was she just a Class B officer in the social welfare department?

Suddenly, several pieces of the puzzle came together. Hari was convinced that the woman with thinly cropped hair and a gentle smile was an alien in an earthly avatar and a politically correct Hindu name. She was surely an activist from Demokratia… 

Editor’s Note: All characters, content and contexts in this short story are a work of fiction authored by the writer. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, is purely coincidental and fictitious. The views expressed in this story solely belongs to the author, and do not necessarily reflect the editorial opinion of this media portal – independentink.in.

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A seasoned journalist with 40 years in the profession, Ajith Pillai has reported from Delhi, Mumbai, Chennai, Andhra Pradesh and Kashmir on a broad spectrum of events related to politics, crime, conflict and social change. He has worked with leading publications, including The Sunday Observer, Indian Post, Pioneer, The Week and India Today, where he headed the Chennai bureau. He was part of the team under Editor Vinod Mehta that launched Outlook magazine and headed its current affairs section till 2012. Under his watch, Outlook broke several stories that attracted national attention and questioned the government of the day. He has written two books—'Off the Record: Untold Stories from a Reporter’s Diary’ and a novel, ‘Junkland Journeys’. He is currently working on ‘Obedient Editor’, a satirical novel on the life and times of a ‘compromised’ journalist. The short story presented here is from a collection that he is working on.