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The Tetrahedron: Concluding Part - By- Vandana Singh Vandana Singh is a former physicist, now a writer of science fact, science fiction and fantasy. She is also an editor of scientific and other works, and a member of Saheli, Austin. She is based in the greater Boston area. click here to read past articles by Vandana Singh. Click here to read Part One of The Tetrahedron. Click here to read Part Two of The Tetrahedron.

When Maya came home one evening, her sister and mother were talking about a story on the afternoon news. There was talk all over town about a mental sickness that the tabloid press had nicknamed Tetra-fever. A psychologist had been interviewed on TV.

"Isn't it terrible, Maya, there are these people who are obsessed with the Tetrahedron, they can't eat or sleep or function normally --- they dream about it all the time," her sister said, setting a plate of hot onion pakoras before Maya. "Some of them starve themselves almost to death, there is this fellow being kept alive in a hospital, fed through a tube..." Maya nearly choked over her tea, then took an extra-large helping of the pakoras. Her mother nodded.

"Yes, yes, they talked on TV about a man who stopped going to work, lost his job. He spends all his time staring at the Tetrahedron. He has three children! Poor things, such a terrible thing to happen. At least your father is a sensible man. And there's this housewife, can you imagine, goes shopping at the plaza every day, has the largest collection of plastic tetrahedrons in the city, chee chee!"

Maya nodded, mouth full, and took another pakora.

"Still," said her mother, pouring herself more tea and liberally adding sugar, "it is all in God's hands." She sighed, and Maya knew what she was going to say.

"Nothing to do with us."

Later, chopping vegetables for dinner, Maya wondered whether she was indeed going crazy. Seeing the people at Patel Chowk, the groupies, the end-of-the-world cults (whose patience must be wearing thin, it had been a month, hadn't it), the various religious fanatics and their little shrines, she hadn't thought that perhaps she was one of the crazies. Samir didn't seem to think so, and he was normal, or as much as a scientist could be normal. As for Maya herself, she'd been trying her best, hadn't she?

Her father came in at the door, stooping, tired from a long day of work and the hot, sweaty bus ride. Maya felt guilty. Maybe I am crazy, she thought to herself, thinking of all the time she spent away from class, with Samir or at the Tetrahedron. Thank goodness Kartik was out of townS She gave all her attention to helping her sister cook. Little Chanchal came into the kitchen, chewing her doll's detached arm. "Ta-la," she lisped. "Ta-la!" Her sister looked at Maya.

"What is she saying?"

"Er... star, I think. I've been teaching her some words..."

Fortunately her sister was distracted by Chanchal pulling on her sari. Maya wiped her brow. She found herself missing her brother. She had written to Anuj some time ago telling him about her experience, and he'd written back a cheerful letter saying what fun you must be having, wish I could be there, how is Kartik? It wasn't the same as seeing him face to face, telling him what she could not write on paper.

But at least she was able to talk to Samir about the Tetrahedron. Their mutual embarrassment had been short-lived; at their next meeting, they were comfortable with each other again. There was so much to talk about that she no longer paid any attention to Ramu's radio. However Samir had not been very interested in the occupants of the white van. On a visit to Patel Chowk he had looked them over, then dismissed them - they were not a fascinating astronomical phenomenon after all. He did remark on the old woman knitting away --- she was like Madam Defarge, he said, a character from some famous book she'd never heard of. She found this evidence of his class and education irritating, but at least he did not think she was crazy.

"It is quite human to wonder, to want to know things about the universe," he told her earnestly. "Most people forget that we live in a larger place than their narrow little backyards---" Maya started, remembering what she'd said to Kartik. "The appearance of the Tetrahedron has simply reminded people that there is still mystery in the universe, and the universe is part of their lives. Some people do go nuts --- it is overwhelming, especially if you are not used to thinking like this."

She didn't tell him that she had never thought "like this" until after the appearance of the Tetrahedron.

But what they talked about most these days was the latest development in the saga of the Tetrahedron. A man had been found wandering in the Thar desert several hundred miles west of New Delhi. He had been pushing a bicycle over the sand dunes, a strange sight indeed for the villagers who found him. They related that the man did not seem to know where he was going. Upon being questioned he had replied in what seemed to be gibberish, or another language. He seemed happy enough to be led to a villager's hut, where he had been fed and housed for several days. A social worker had come across him and, based on the contents of a bag strapped to his bicycle, had gathered that he was from New Delhi and contacted the police there. It had finally been established that he was one of the people missing when the Tetrahedron had first appeared.

As could be expected, this caused a sensation. Search teams were sent to comb the Thar desert, and there an astounding discovery had been made. The missing bus had been found in a sandy valley, with fifteen people in it --- eleven of the original bus passengers, and four people who had been in cars when the Tetrahedron appeared. All fifteen were alive and well, physically that is. But two of them were in the same state as the bicyclist, and the rest kept eerily silent, reacting to nothing and nobody, confounding doctors and family members alike. Meanwhile the bicyclist's family --- he was a postal clerk --- appeared on TV expressing relief that he had been found, and hope that he and the others would be cured of their strange malady. The man himself seemed more distracted than anything --- when questioned he would respond, but his words did not make any sense. How had he ended up in the Thar desert? Gibberish. The tabloid press had a field day. Headlines across the world proclaimed, "16 people kidnapped by aliens free --- but what happened to them?"

Maya and Samir could only speculate. As they sat drinking tea, a thought struck Maya.

"The world is like a cracked egg," she said. "Our world, I mean, where we live. Everything we know and see and understand is in this egg. But the cracks tell us that there are things outside --- a world outside our understanding---"

Samir gave her a startled look.

"You sound quite poetic," he said, smiling. But Maya wasn't looking at him or listening. Her hands cupped together and she looked unseeingly ahead.

"The thing is --- the baby bird knows it is going to crack the shell and come out, and know the world outside. But we... but we..."

She was conscious of his gaze suddenly, and it seemed that there was something faintly wistful about it. Embarrassed, she began to talk at once about something else that had occurred to her.

"You know, if the idea about the Tetrahedron being --- what was it --- a projection --- of a larger object in another dimension --- if that is true, then maybe this object is huge --- so huge that it extends all the way to the Thar desert..."

He raised his eyebrows.

"Hmm, that is possible. Yes, perhaps there is another door somewhere in the Thar where they let them off. But what about the rest of the people who vanished?"

"Maybe they don't want to come back, who knows. Maybe the aliens are nicer to them than humans are to each other. Wouldn't you like to go and see? I would. Maybe they have better chai!"

He laughed at that. Then he fell silent, rubbing his chin.

"I'd like to go inside the tetrahedron, of course, to study it. But I would have to be sure I could come back. You know," now he looked at her directly again, but it was a very different kind of look. "I am very attached to my family... they don't always understand me, but still..."

He was looking at her meaningfully, his brown eyes sorrowful, and still she did not understand. Then suddenly she realized what he was saying, what he must think of her and the direction their relationship might be going. Through the host of confused thoughts that rose in her mind, her pride rose like a sword unsheathed.

"So am I," she said a little too hurriedly. "In fact I am engaged to this really nice fellow, Kartik, you must meet him some day..."

He was staring at her open-mouthed. She couldn't be sure whether he was angry or upset or both. Her face burned. How dare he presume? Their friendship had been strictly in the context of the Tetrahedron --- she had expected no more from him than thatS well, yes, she liked him, the way he thought about things, his generosity, the kindness in his eyes, the fact that he didn't automatically assume she was stupid --- and yet he had assumed. How could he think her so callow, so simple, like a heroine from a third-rate movie? She wanted to tell him: Yes, my father is a clerk and my mother works in a tailoring shop, but I have a sense of dignity. She felt betrayed. She couldn't trust herself to speak. Angry tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. To hell with you and your expensively dressed-up sister and those snobbish friends you never introduce me to, she told him silently. He was getting up, looking at his watch, making some excuse. He had a class very soon. He gave her an uncertain smile and walked away through the trees and down the street.

Ramu's radio began to play "Na jao saiiyan, chura ke baiiyan..." [Don't leave, beloved, stealing my heart away]. She looked at the old man suspiciously. He winked, shrugged his shoulders and went back to scrubbing the counter, a pointless task, she thought inconsequentially, since it always seemed to be dirty.

The next day she did not go to the university. She went straight to Patel Chowk and stood watching the crowd. There was a new stall up by the souvenir stand, a signboard proclaimed that Sri Govinda Naam, formerly known as Ben Carter, rock guitarist, would attempt to seek enlightenment by tuning his sitar to Tetrahedronic wavelengths. Shuddering, unfamiliar twangings rose in the dusty air amidst the chatter of the crowds. A crow watched Maya from the roof of souvenir stall. "What do you see," she asked it in her mind. "What do you see when you look at the Tetrahedron?" The bird cocked its head and stared at her with beady eyes. It gave a caw that sounded like raucous laughter, then took to the air, flapping its wings heavily. Maya sipped her drink and sighed. She saw the old lady in the white van, watching her in a benign sort of way. On an impulse she went up to her.

"What are you knitting?" she said in Hindi. The old woman looked puzzled. Maya asked the question again in English.

"Ah! Only a sweater for my grandson." She spoke with a peculiar accent. "I'm from Mexico," she said, smiling.

"Here to see the Tetrahedron?" Maya asked, feeling stupid. What else?

"Si... yes. Three times I make the trip to your country. Much like Mexico, here. Hot desert, mountain, seaside, we have them all." She smiled enigmatically. "Also old buildings. Yesterday I see the tall Minar, many tombs."

"Are you with a tourist group?" Maya asked, wondering what Ravindra Refrigeration had to do with sightseeing.

"Ah, yes. We see many interesting places. Like to come?"

Maya shook her head, smiling distractedly. "I have to go..."

"Come see us if you like to come. We here until weekend -- Saturday. What's your name? Maya? We have that name too!" She smiled with great pleasure.

Maya waved goodbye and wondered rather miserably what she should do. Go back home? Kartik had written to say he would be back next week. It had been a cold sort of letter --- clearly he was expecting her to make amends for her behavior. She could go to class, for a change. Samir could go jump in a well. With that comforting thought she took the bus to the university. Once there she could not bear the thought of dealing with the inane chatter of her friends. It was a hot day --- she walked to Ramu's chai shack, thinking maybe she'd have some nimbu-pani instead of tea. The small open space in front of the shack was deserted. She watched the traffic on the road as she sipped her drink, trying not to think about whether Ramu ever washed the glasses. She tried to push away bitter thoughts of Samir. She would miss his friendship. She felt utterly alone. Lata Mangeshkar began singing on the radio: "aaj koi naheen apna, kise gham ye sunaayen..." [today I have no one to call my own, to whom shall I tell my sorrow]

Irritably she looked at Ramu but he had his back to her, doing something industrious with a rag. You go jump in a well too, she told him silently. Moisture beaded her glass of nimbu pani. She wiped sweat off her forehead with a handkerchief her mother had embroidered, and found a sudden lump in her throat.

The trouble was, she wasn't sure who she was any more. The old Maya, the one before the appearance of the Tetrahedron, seemed more and more remote, a stranger. Even her family, her friends, Samir, Kartik, they no longer seemed related to her in the same old ways. It's not just space and time, she thought bitterly, that are multiply connected. If she could talk to Samir now, she'd tell him: outer space, inner space, both have unknown topologies. You couldn't overlook one at the expense of the other. But he wouldn't talk to her anymore, damn him...

On Friday night she was unable to sleep. A cool breeze smelling faintly of pungent traffic fumes came in through the window, but the street itself was fairly quiet. A pale wash of streetlight lit the room --- on the other bed her sister lay sleeping, her arm about Chanchal, who stirred fitfully in a dream. Maya went up to the window and sat on the sill, leaning against the grillwork. Down on the street a watchman banged his stick on the sidewalk as he passed. There was a light on here and there among tiers of darkened windows --- she wondered what was keeping those people awake. She thought about the Tetrahedron, the man walking his bicycle in the middle of the Thar desert, the old woman knitting for her grandson, smiling, saying she'd be here till Saturday. Tomorrow. In a few days Kartik would be back in Delhi.

Abruptly, everything fell into place. She got up with sudden determination, got the flashlight from her drawer and went softly into the dark drawing room. Carefully she found a sheet of paper, sat in a chair and began to write to Kartik in the dim light of the flashlight, hoping and praying that her parents, in the next room, would not wake up. After she was done she put the letter in an envelope and put a stamp on it. She would mail it tomorrow. She felt a great relief.

Next she wrote a long, affectionate letter to Anuj. "Try to explain it to them, Bhaiya," she wrote. "I don't think I can..."

She went back to the bedroom. Chanchal was awake, crying to go to the bathroom.

"I'll take her," Maya told her sister, who lay back in sleepy gratitude. Chanchal did her duty and was amiable again. She climbed into bed with Maya. Maya talked softly to her about stars and the unfathomable distances between them, and when the child started to nod off, she sang to her the old children's song about Uncle Moon. "...udan khatola baith ke Chanchal Chanda ke ghar jayegi, taaron ke sang aankh micholi khel ke dil behelaayegi..." [on a flying ship Chanchal will go to the moon, will play hide and seek among the stars..." It was Chanchal's favorite song, and she always asked the same question at this point. "Will I come back?" Only this time she said, sleepily, "Will you come back, Mausi?" And Maya said, of course I will, and smiled through her tears.

In the morning she rose early, cooked breakfast for everyone and washed the dishes so her mother could rest a while before going to work. She saw off her father at the bus-stop and went to the postbox where she mailed the two letters. Then she took the bus to Patel Chowk, where the white van was parked.

"I will come," she told the old lady. The woman smiled as though she had always known Maya would.

***

Maya's disappearance on the day the Tetrahedron left New Delhi earn only a small item in the newspapers. What was a missing girl --- one of those crazies, to judge from what she had written to her family --- what was her absence, compared to the most significant event of the century, the appearance and disappearance of the Tetrahedron? Her family mourned, all except Chanchal, who assured the puzzled grown-ups that Maya would be back. Kartik wrote to say he had always been afraid Maya was a little unstable, and her running away (not to mention the lack of respect in the letter she had written to him) proved it --- he considered he had had a narrow escape. If she were found, he hoped the family would punish her suitably for dragging their name in mud. Although they didn't deserve it, he was sending back the little gifts her family had given him. Maya's parents wept over the small package he sent --- the final end to their dreams for their youngest daughter. Meanwhile, Anuj took leave and came home, torn between grief and hope.

One day Samir climbed the three flights of stairs to the little flat and talked to Anuj rather incoherently about his conversations with Maya. He never doubted that she was out there somewhere in the distance between the stars. He was about to finish his Ph.D, he was going to an observatory in Chile later in the year, he would keep an eye out for her. At this, Anuj laughed a little bitterly. He guessed something from the dazed look in the young man's eyes.

"I'll be watching too," he said. "I think if she comes back it will be in the Thar desert."

"The Thar... why there?"

"She told me about the white van. It said Ravindra Refrigeration, Udaipur, Rajasthan. No such company, by the way, I checked. But my guess is that was where the Tetrahedron used to appear, in the middle of the desert. This time they made a mistake --- or something. Although there was, I think, at least an exit door still over the Thar..."

Samir ran his fingers through his hair.

"But what does it all mean?" he cried.

He took his leave and returned to campus. He had an appointment with his professor in twenty minutes, and a class to attend after that. It was a hot, still, dusty sort of day, and the grit in the air burned in his throat. He stopped in front of the Physics building, then, abruptly, turned around and made his way to the tea-shack. It was deserted, except for Ramu stirring a potful of aromatic brew. Samir sat down on the bench. Ramu poured out some tea and handed him his glass wordlessly. In the background, the radio was playing...

"Chalte, chalte, mere yeh geet yaad rakhana, kabhi alvida na kehena, kabhi alvida na kehena..." [As you go through life remember my songs, never say goodbye forever, never say goodbye..."

Samir's eyes filled with tears. In the tree overhead, a crow cawed.

Credits:

Graphics by the author, Vandana Singh.

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