Moonspell

By Maran Tamilan

Moonspell is an incredible journey in time and space. Software engineer Paul meets a mysterious beautiful woman, Mathy, in a deserted temple in India. She claims to come from thousands of years in the past, somehow transported to the present when her wish to touch the moon was granted. Taken by her beauty and intelligence, Paul brings Mathy back with him and into his life though his family suspects she is delusional. Mathy and Paul together embark on a journey that takes them across the world, from California to China, from Texas to Baikonur, all to fulfill Mathy’s obsession to reach the moon. Beset by obstacles and failure at NASA she disappears in the Bermuda triangle. Fifteen years later, a woman of obscure origin Nila, takes a leading part in the Chinese effort to build the first permanent settlement on the moon. When the colony is threatened by nuclear sabotage, risking her life, she saves it but vanishes without a trace as the world speculates if these two women may be one and the same. What is the truth? What does their secret mean for the future of humanity?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Maran Tamilan
• Release date: Dec 20, 2011
• ISBN: 9781466020566

Maran Tamilan

Dr.Maran (Manny) Tamilan , PhD, a retired rocket engineer and Dr. Llewellyn Packia Raj, MD, a practicing physician, have coauthored Moonspell, a fact-filled science fiction novel. Dr. Tamilan’s dissertation at Stanford University was on human exploration of Mars.

Book preview

Moonspell

M.N. Tamilan and Llewellyn Packia Raj

Smashwords Edition

ISBN: 978-1-4660-2056-6

Published by M.N. Tamilan and Llewellyn Packia Raj

Copyright © 2011 by M. N. Tamilan and Llewellyn Packia Raj

www.moonspellnovel.com

Cover Design Copyright © Laura Shinn

License Notes and Disclaimer:

All rights are reserved. This book may not be reproduced, in whole or in part, by any means, without the written consent of the authors. Small portions may be quoted for use in promotions, reviews, and for educational purposes with proper credit to the authors. This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be resold or given away to others outside of your family. It can be easily purchased at Smashwords.com.

Moonspell is a work of fiction. Though the names of actual locations may be mentioned, they are used in a fictitious manner. The events and occurrences were invented in the minds and imaginations of the authors except where historically accurate facts are included. Similarities of characters used within, to any person past or present are entirely coincidental except where actual historical figures are named.

Dedication:

To our families, with love and gratitude.

Acknowledgements:

We are grateful to our families and friends for their love, support and patience. We express special thanks to William Yang for his help with the Chinese translations and for reviewing early chapters; to Eugen and Irina Kurjatko for reviewing, commenting, and for their constant encouragement; to Bob Burke for reviewing the first three chapters; to Geoffrey Hansen for reviewing the manuscript, queries and synopsis; to Lauren Sweet for being editor extraordinaire; to Ray Hoy for being a helpful formatter and Laura Shinn for the contagious energy, enthusiasm and guidance, in addition to creating the cover and formatting.

Nila Nila odi vaa

Nillaamal odi vaa

Malai mele eri vaa

Mallikai poo kondu vaa.

* * *

Moon, moon, come running

Come without stopping

Climb over the mountain

Bring me fragrant jasmine.

* * *

~ A Tamil Nursery Rhyme ~

(Mothers sing this and feed children showing the Moon.)

Moonspell is an incredible journey in time and space of a woman to fulfill her dream of touching the Moon. Join her travel from California to China and Bermuda to Baikonur to reach her quest. Discover her secret and what it means for the future of humanity.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1: Recalled

Chapter 2: Restored

Chapter 3: Hop to the Moon

Chapter 4: Revamped

Chapter 5: Xian Harmony Inception

Chapter 6: Rejuvenated

Chapter 7: Resurged

Chapter 8: Digging in

Chapter 9: Regressed

Chapter 10: Returned

Chapter 11: Mystery on the Moon

Chapter 12: Conspiracy on the Moon

Epilogue

About the Authors

Chapter 1: Recalled

1.1 Sculptures

Paul

In the temples of South India stand the most exquisite life-sized sculptures, carved in granite. Scorched by the blazing sun, swept by the burning winds and occasionally oiled in a tribal ceremony, the granite statues look, as dark and smooth-skinned as the native women toiling in the green paddy fields, shiny with sweat.

-----

I am alone in an abandoned wayside temple at the heart of Tamilnadu.

Walking through a corridor with pillars on both sides, adorned by intricately carved figures, I stop and admire every image, each a sculptor’s masterpiece.

At the very end, I see a life-sized statue of a perfect woman.

I hesitate. I wait. I go near.

She is so real.

I am thinking, ‘If only she were alive, my search for a bride would be over.’

Come alive, my love, I whisper in Tamil, speaking my thought.

Something prompts me: Just say it aloud. She will be with you. Or was it my imagination?

I say it aloud. Come alive, my love! Come to me. I repeat it. I look around, a little sheepishly, wondering if anybody overheard. There is no one.

I wish I had brought my camera. Surely I must come back.

I go out of the temple, thinking of returning home.

* * * * *

1.2 Morphed

Paul

I hear a voice behind me, speaking in cultured Tamil. Did you call me?

I look back. There is a beautiful girl standing there, clad in crimson, looking into my eyes. I am surprised and shocked. Nobody was there a moment ago.

My first thought is that it must be a street woman, looking for a customer. But here? At an abandoned temple? Can’t be. She is too young, too lovely, and looks innocent.

And just like the statue.

I stop. Turn around and look again.

She says, I must have been waiting here for a thousand years, just for your call.

I look at her feet—firmly planted on the ground. Her eyes close and open. I see her footprints behind her. Not a ghost.

You don’t look that old.

I am only sixteen. Time froze when I morphed into a trance.

Now I begin to wonder if I am dreaming, imagining or hallucinating. What kind of trick is this?

I am amazed that she looks just like the statue I admired but in flesh and blood and in color. Or is it an illusion, my imagination.I want to check.

I hesitate, for she stands there quiet, looking at me. Then she slightly turns her head towards the temple as if reading my thoughts.

I walk past her towards the last pillar. As I pass her, I hear her breathe and can even smell her scent—jasmine, maybe from the string of flowers on her head.

She follows. I go to the pillar where she was—I mean, where the statue I admired was.

Where there was a sculpture, there is nothing. I see a plain square pillar now. No statue.

She is standing behind me, somewhat shy.

Can I be looking at the wrong pillar? No. It is the last one. Did she really come alive? Maybe it is a mistake, an optical illusion, some sort of aberration. I am confused. I look at her again, more closely.

The most beautiful woman I have ever seen.

* * * * *

1.3 The Most Beautiful Woman

Paul

The most beautiful woman I have ever seen.

She is in a simple silk sari with a gold border, not wrapped in the customary way, but like the costume of a Tamil classical dancer.

She wears gold jewelry, intricately worked with white, green and red stones, not in contemporary style but classical, again like a dancer. I assume it is costume jewelry. In the slanting rays of the evening sun, the stones dazzle like real diamond, emerald and ruby.

She does not say anything. Just looks at me with a trace of smile.

What do you want? I ask.

Take me with you. You have rescued me. I am your slave. I have nobody else.

I feel like I’ve been hit by a sledgehammer. Surely I am dreaming. I bite my thumb so hard that it hurts and blood oozes out. It is not a dream. I begin to shiver. What an idiotic wish! What will I do now?

She looks at me and says tenderly, Don’t be scared. I am not a ghost. I cannot and will not hurt you.

She can read my thoughts. She looks real. But I am afraid to touch her and find out. I stand there and look at her.

The most beautiful woman I have ever seen.

I stare at her as if in a spell, how long I do not know. She stands completely still—not even a blink. Her lips are slightly parted, spilling a smile.

The dusk is deepening into dark. Am I delusional? Interviewing so many potential brides must have got to me. Or there might be some poisonous gas at the temple. Maybe that’s why it is abandoned. I better go home and rest.

I turn and walk towards the village. She follows.

What will I do? How can I get rid of this apparition and get away?

* * * * *

1.4 The Truth

Paul

My cousin Nick was supposed to meet me here over an hour ago. I begin to wonder if Nick and his mother, my aunty, have planted this girl here. Aunty had arranged a few interviews with potential brides. I did not fall for any. Could they have set up this trick? That would explain his tardiness also, though nobody is punctual in this part of the world. Time is flexible and fluid here. Didn’t she say that time stood still for her? She actually said time froze.

Even if they had planted her, that wouldn’t explain everything. I must find the truth.

I stop, turn and look back. She looks so fragile, helpless and vulnerable. I am cruel to think of leaving her alone out here in the dark.

I ask her softly, What is your name?

Valar Mathy—or just Mathy, for short, she says. Her voice is musical, like chimes.

That name could be most modern or very ancient.

I say, Valar Mathy may be ‘waxing moon’ or ‘growing intellect.’ Which one are you?

I prefer the moon. But can’t I be both? She smiles bewitchingly.

We both look at the gibbous moon—the waxing moon—up in the sky. I remember it is the ninth day after the new moon. It will be full moon in a few days.

As we turn away from the moon, our eyes meet and lock for a moment. I ask, Tell me how you came here? Who planted you here? Tell me the truth.

I cannot refuse anything you ask. I can never lie to you. I’ll tell you the whole truth. You will not believe it.

I turn toward the village. She comes forward and, walking next to me, begins her account.

Chapter 2: Restored

2.1 Incredible

Paul

Mathy finished her narrative and looked at me as if asking, ‘Do you believe me?’

It is incredible, like a miracle, like science fiction. I want to believe you, but....

I paused to collect my thoughts. I believed in science and miracles in the sense that events or incidents that cannot be explained by the natural laws we know can and do occur.

I continued, I do feel that what you tell me is truth as you know and believe it. I’ll take you for what you are and not for what you were, where you came from or how.

She lowered her eyes. I thought that her lashes fluttered, betraying excitement. Thank you for trusting me. To trust is more than to love, she said, her voice quivering.

How can anybody not trust after seeing and listening to you? You speak pure Tamil, a bit archaic now, as if you grew up in a different culture. I finished in English. The saying, ‘the truer the truth, the harder to believe’ seems correct.

I saw a bewildered look on her face. I was a bit surprised; it is very common in this part of the world to mix Tamil and English in daily conversations—the result of a hundred years of British rule and the recent boom in the information technology and software industry. She quickly asked, in Tamil, What did you say? Was it some other language?

Her ignorance of English was consistent with her story of being from another era, another age. I said, I apologize. It was English—a foreign language. I forgot your background for a moment. I translated what I had said.

Then I realized I had not introduced myself to her.

My name is Paul—actually, Jeya Paul. But they call me Jay or Paul in America where I work. Then I quickly added, You may not know America. It is a country across the seas.

You mean like Kadaram?

Kadaram was an old name in Tamil for the Indonesian islands. Ancient Tamils traded with them.

I said, Yes, much farther.

Can I know what you do?

Sure, I am an engineer: computers, software.

I know what an engineer is but not computers and software.

I am not surprised. I will tell you what they are in a moment.

Then I saw my cousin Nick coming towards us. We were still quite a ways from the village. I told her hurriedly, Valar Mathy, that is my cousin Manickam. We call him Nick. How are we going to explain you to him?

Tell the truth.

If we tell the truth, we will be branded a couple of lunatics. We need to tell him something believable.

* * * * *

2.2 Mystery Deepens

Paul

Nick called out, Sorry Paul, I was watching cricket and lost track of time.

When he came near he added, Looks like you have better company. Who is she?

I am trying to find out. She was alone at the temple. Her name is Valar Mathy.

I introduced them.

Nick turned to her asked, Where do you come from?

She pointed to the temple. From there.

From the convent? We could see, beyond the temple, the lights of the local Catholic convent school, hostel, and orphanage.

Mathy asked, "What is ‘convent?’ Is it temple?"

In a way, yes. Come on. You don’t know what a convent is?

"I don’t know. What is come on?"

I intervened. She does not know English. She seems to know only pure Tamil. Even her accent is different, somewhat like Tamils from Srilanka.

I can’t believe that she doesn’t know English. She must be pretending, Nick retorted.

I told you she does not know English. Can’t you speak in pure Tamil, without mixing in English words? Don’t pester her, I said harshly.

I’ll try, said Nick, subdued by my outburst.

Sorry, he said to her in English, then corrected himself, speaking in Tamil. "Forgive me. Convent means a school and hostel for girls."

Oh, I see. Thank you, she said.

Nick asked, You came out with a guardian? Where is she or he?

I am an orphan. I have nobody.

I am sorry, Nick said, with genuine concern in his voice. Then he turned to me and said, Paul, I think she is a runaway from the orphanage, maybe Srilankan.

There were lots of Srilankan Tamil refugees in Tamilnadu, driven from the northern parts of Srilanka in an ethnic conflict and civil war there.

Mathy asked, What is Srilankan?

I said, Srilankan means from Eelam or Ilankai in old Tamil.

Nick addressed me. Well, if she does not know the word Srilankan, the mystery deepens. She may just be pretending that she does not understand these words. She must be a real good actress. See, she is in a costume.

I thought, ‘Smart girl. Without telling a bit of a lie, she had created a believable story.’

* * * * *

2.3 Unique

Paul

Whoever she is, I said, She is unique, innocent and perfect. I think my search for a bride is over. I believe she is the one molded for me.

I saw Valar Mathy breathe out as if in relief.

Nick looked at Mathy intently. His eyes softened. Leave alone who she is. She looks too young, he said.

She said she is sixteen. I can wait for two years, I said, thinking of the legal age for wedding in India.

Nick told Mathy, Well, looks like you hit the gold mine. He has been looking for a bride for six weeks. Now tell us, who are your guardians? Let us contact them and see if we can arrange an engagement or a marriage. Or shall we contact the orphanage?

No. I am not a runaway. I have no one. That is the truth. I have nothing more to tell.

Nick looked at me as if to say he’d guessed right—the orphanage.

I said, If this is destiny, so be it. Anyway, we can’t leave her alone in this desolate place at night. Let us take her to Aunty and see what she says.

* * * * *

2.4 Adopting Ma

Mathy

I realized that I have found a home and a husband in the new era.

He said I am unique, innocent and perfect.

I was thinking: unique?—yes. Innocent?—not exactly, but maybe, in some sense. Perfect?—far from it. He wants to marry me. Is that the right way to the moon? Maybe. Who knows the future except God, and maybe some gifted Siththars—prophets—like my Teacher? I have no choice anyway.

Come with us to our house. Nick’s mother, my aunty, can take care of you. You can stay with us until we resolve the issues, Paul told me kindly.

They walked on either side of me, as if protecting me. We entered a built-up area, walking through alien streets paved black and hard like stone and lit like day with bright lamps on posts. I walked barefoot, but I was used to it. Strangely dressed people walked by, some casting curious glances at me. Roaring vehicles on four wheels, two wheels and three wheels passed at the middle of the street, like the chariots of kings and nobles. No horses were to be seen.

After passing many streets, we walked to a two-story house in a secluded area, surrounded by trees inside a compound wall with gates. We ascended broad steps and Nick knocked on the door. A middle-aged woman opened it. She had a long face with a square jaw, sharp features and penetrating eyes. Her hair was parted in the middle and hung in a thick long braid at the back. She had a bunch of jasmine at the back of her head, and I could smell it over the jasmine I wore. Curiously, she reminded me of my mother, though she was two shades lighter. She was surprised to see me.

Who is this girl? she asked.

We don’t know anything, except that her name is Valar Mathy. But Paul wants to marry her, Ma, said Nick.

What? she asked, shocked.

Aunty, let us go in, Paul said.

We went in and closed the door. The room was well furnished, like a king’s court. The furniture was not carved, but fitted with cushions of soft fabric. There were two small low tables near the sofas.

Aunty sat on the big sofa and made me sit next to her. Nick and Paul sat on chairs. They explained my story, and that I don’t know English.

Cool air blew on me from a vent. Aunty noticed me shivering.

Are you cold? she asked me benevolently. I nodded. And hungry? I nodded again. I have not eaten for ages.

Let her wash and change from that costume. You two ask Kuppusamy to keep the food ready. She must be starving.

Then, looking at me, she changed her mind and said, Ask him to serve food for me and her in my bedroom. You two can eat here. I realized how sensitive she was to my needs. I thanked God.

Aunty and I ascended a stair to a hallway and entered a large, well-lit room. There was an upholstered bed, a table, a couple of chairs, a sofa and a huge mirror on a low chest with a stool in front. I looked at myself in the mirror. I had never seen such a clear mirror. I had not changed a bit.

She pointed to the bathroom and said, Go and wash your hands and legs. Or do you want to take a shower? I’ll bring some clothes for you.

I looked at her and asked pathetically, "What is shower?"

She laughed softly. I forget you don’t know English. Shower is washing the whole body.

I entered the bathroom, and came out again, perplexed. I had never seen anything like it. She was rummaging in a closet, looking for a suitable outfit for me.

I said, I don’t know how to use the bathroom.

She smiled, but looked puzzled.No problem. I’ll show you how.

She dropped what she had in her hands, touched me on the shoulder gently and said, I don’t have a daughter. You are like a daughter to me. Don’t worry; we’ll take care of you.

Tears welled up in my eyes.

She added, If you were my daughter, I would have gladly given you to Paul in marriage.

Can I call you Amma?

Of course, she said, and hugged me.

Thank you, Amma, I said.

Thus I adopted my mother in this era.

* * * * *

2.5 Modern Lessons

Mathy

It did not take long for me to figure out that God has appointed Paul’s aunty to be my mother, my teacher and my everything, to raise me in the new age.

She took my jewelry off and put the pieces in a big jewelry case. "24-carat gold, big diamonds, rubies, emeralds and sapphires. They are worth lakhs of rupees."

I took my sari and chest wrap off and covered myself in a towel.

You don’t have to be shy. Didn’t you call me Amma? she chided me mildly.

She washed me from head to foot—all the accumulated dust and dirt, like the fetal blood was washed away from a newborn, examining every nook and corner in my body. She dried me with the softest towels I have ever known. She sniffed at my cowlick and forehead like kissing a baby, then dressed me in a soft knee-high gown and pajama skirt, telling me it was called a salwar-kamiz.

How did you develop such a perfect figure and poise? she asked as she daubed soft powder on my face. This is scented talcum powder we wear as a light makeup, she explained. I wore no other makeup.

"My parents sent me to the siththar school when I was five."

You did not live with your parents?

I did, until I was thirteen. Then for about three years, I lived and worked in the school.

Where is your school?

It was in Thiruparam Kunram, near Madurai.

Why did you come here?

"My family came here every year to honor Makaa Siththar (Great Prophet) at the Pongal (Harvest) festival."

That is today. Where are they staying?

You won’t understand. None of them are alive.

What do you mean, I won’t understand? Did they die in an accident or robbery, and you alone escaped—with all this jewelry?

No. Amma, please don’t ask me anymore about it. Let us hope someday I can tell and you will understand. I am an orphan. I am not a runaway. Let us say I got separated.

But I did not say separated by time and space. She would not understand. Nor did I say I have told the truth to Paul. She did not ask me any more questions. She probably did not know what to make of my words. But, like Paul, she believed that I told her the truth. Perhaps she thought I was in shock, and that I would give more details after some rest and sleep.

She said, You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t like to. Let us eat and then you can sleep. We will figure out everything in the morning.

-----

Kuppusamy had served the food on a table in the bedroom. Amma opened the dishes and familiar aromas hit my nostrils. Ghee rice with meat, white rice, curries made with eggplant, okra and drum-stick. My stomach began to stir. I had not eaten for ages.

The china had exquisite floral designs. Crystal glasses containing mango juice and water glittered in the light. They were all new to me.

Familiar food and flavors served in unfamiliar wares and surroundings. I ate slowly, whetting my digestive system, idle for so long. I drank a full glass of water at the end. Amma commented that I did not eat enough, but she did not force me.

* * * * *

2.6 Who Am I?

Mathy

After Kuppusamy cleared, Amma told me, Sit and rest for half an hour, and then you can go to sleep. She pointed to the easy chair and the bed.

Here, you can read these. She indicated a few rectangular objects on the table. I blinked, not knowing what they were.

You are staring as if you have never seen a book. What would you like? A novel, magazine or newspaper?

She realized that I had no idea what she said. I took a bound book and recognized the Tamil letters on the cover. They were similar to the round letters we scribed on palm leaves with writing nails, but had square corners with serifs. It said Puranaanooru (Four Hundred Poems), a collection of poetry I knew. I opened the book at random and my eyes lit on a poem that I had memorized in childhood. It is good to learn, rendering timely services and offering suitable assets without dwelling upon your present plight. It fitted my situation perfectly and gave me a good start to my learning. I knew it was a gift of God to me. I thanked God silently in my mind and read it aloud. Actually, since I knew the poem, I recited and recognized the words easily. Amma was impressed.

She said, Very good. You chose poetry and not a story book, so unlike teenagers today.

Well, she added, It is nine o’clock now. She pointed to the clock that showed 9:00 that I did not recognize. It changed to 9:01. She noticed I was staring at the clock.

You know how to read a clock? This is the hour on the left, nine. This side is minutes: egg (zero) and one. It will change to two shortly. When it becomes thirty you can sleep. We have touch lamps. Here is how we turn them on and off. She demonstrated. It looked like magic to me. Here is water. She showed me a jug and cup.

Is this not your room? I asked.

It is. We just had changed the sheets and all, as if preparing it for you, she said, and smiled. I will sleep in the room opposite. If you want anything, call me. Before we sleep usually we say a prayer.

She knelt down and I did the same. She prayed for Nick, Paul and me and did not pray for herself, and ended with Amen.

Then she said, We usually wish good night and sweet dreams in English. Good night and sweet dreams.

I repeated, Good night and sweet dreams. And she went out and closed the door.

I sat on the chair as Amma had bidden. In the meantime, I noticed how the clock had changed from one to two and up to four by now. I examined the book and looked at the numbers in the contents page that matched with my clock observation. I read a few other poems in the book. My favorite one said, Every land is home and everyone is kin. I realized how true it was. Soon the clock showed 9:30. I lay down and turned the light off as Amma had instructed me.

I could not sleep immediately. All I saw was the green digits of the clock changing one by one from 9:31 to 9:32 and then 9:33. I did not know if this was reality or a dream. I bit my finger to verify if I was awake. It hurt. I touched the headboard, the sheets and the pillow. Everything felt solid and real. Who am I? Where am I? What am I doing here? Was it wrong to yearn for something no one has done? My Teacher granted my deepest wish of touching the moon and I lost everything I had—my parents, my siblings, my Teacher, my friends. The clock changed from 9:59 to 10:00. Time. What is time? How far will it go? I drifted into a dreamless sleep.

* * * * *

2.7 Issues to Resolve

Paul

Aunty came down after nine.

How is she? I asked.

She is very tired. I have put her to bed. I learned a few things about her. She seems to be in good health, though she may be in shock. She is from Thiruparam Kunram—they came here on a pilgrimage for Pongal. She lost her parents and everybody—maybe in a robbery. She does not know anything modern, not even how to use the bathroom—she must be from a very remote village, though I cannot think of a place that could be so primitive. She could not read the clock, but she can read Tamil. Should we report her to the police? Her jewelry is very valuable. I don’t want the police to think that we harbor her to steal the jewelry.

I thought she was wearing costumes and costume jewelry. She said her wish is to touch the moon and that she has been waiting for me for a thousand years.

Aunty interrupted. Don’t take it literally. It is only a figurative way of saying she had been waiting long. She can’t be more than sixteen years old. She is a virgin. Her body is like a sculptured statue.

I was shocked by her description. I had not yet mentioned my adventure with the temple statue. I was not sure if that was real or a hallucination.

I added, She did say she is sixteen.

Aunty said, She is an orphan. She refused to say anything more. She calls me Amma.

Nick said, "She charms everybody—wields a magic spell. Paul wants to marry her. But we have some issues to resolve. She may be mentally disturbed. She either pretends she is from another era,