The Andromeda Connection: A Journey in Time

By Rodrick Rajive Lal

The Andromeda Connection is a collection of yarns, some true and some not so true! Though not a novel, it presents a series of stories bound together, by the voice of the narrator. He tells you about what young man did when he was attacked by a crocodile. He goes on to narrate the story about Sonia, how she disappeared remains a mystery even today. And what about the Toxic Canisters, what would happen if one of these accidentally fell into the hands of civilians? Each short story deals with a unique theme whether it is adventure involved in discovering lost kingdoms, or science fiction, fighting aliens, or even a domestic matter where he humours a wife who has no scruples in decimating his funds.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Partridge Publishing India
• Release date: Sep 2, 2014
• ISBN: 9781482837124

Rodrick Rajive Lal

Rodrick Rajive Lal is the author of ‘Dew Drops: A Collection of Poems’, ‘The Andromeda Connection’, ‘A Journey in Time’ (a collection of short stories), and the science fiction romance novel ‘The Other Side of Love: Beyond A Shadow of Doubt’. He is a vociferous reader and a keen observer who likes describing stories that draw inspiration from the myriad hues of life. Born in Addis Abeba, the capital city of Ethiopia, he now lives with his wife and two daughters in Gurgaon (Delhi NCR), India, and teaches English to high school students.

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The Andromeda Connection,

A Journey in Time

Rodrick Rajive Lal

9781482837124-4.png

Copyright © 2014 by Rodrick Rajive Lal.

ISBN:      Softcover      978-1-4828-3713-1

                eBook           978-1-4828-3712-4

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Partridge India

000 800 10062 62

www.partridgepublishing.com/india

Contents

PART One:

The African Connection, Memories of Childhood

1.   A Town called Adowa

2.   The Spitting Cobra

3.   After dinner drives to Lemat in Arbaminch and my first sighting of Lions

4.   My Father Frederick

5.   Childhood friends and games in Arbaminch

6.   Chicken Hunt

7.   My Memories of Fishing for Nile-Perch in Lake Chamo

8.   A Dusty Airport

9.   Flight to Nowhere

10.   Senor Sarti

11.   Grandfather

12.   Crocodile Attack

13.   The Story of Lucy

14.   The Curfew

15.   Dust on the Wall

16.   A Northern Uprising

17.   Peace Corps

18.   The Khat Chewers

PART Two:

The Asian and Western Connection – Present Times

1.   The Motel on the Expressway

2.   Nembutal

3.   The Lost Kingdom

4.   Looking for Sonia

5.   Irina-A short Story

6.   A Shopping Festival

7.   The Hunt-A short story

8.   The Man Eater of Aravali

9.   Raksha

10.   Nightmare

11.   Sleeping in the open

12.   The Adventure Trail

13.   Fishing for the elusive Mahsher

14.   Toxic Canisters

PART Three:

The Andromeda Connection, A Journey into the Future

1.   The End of Days-Before the Exodus

2.   An Alien Encounter

3.   The Last Stand

4.   2050- A Virtual World

Foreword

The Andromeda Connection is the culmination of an idea that the author had many years ago, of writing interesting narratives in prose. He had always wanted to write short stories and had even made a false start, one being a story written from the perspective of a deer living in the in the jungles of Africa! The scrap book is lost but the desire to narrate a story remains. Many years later, the author was able to publish his collection of poems, although he had never dreamed of writing poetry! Poetry somehow came naturally to him and he used it as a suitable vehicle for communicating his perceptions about life. His priority has always been to write short stories and novels, and this is his first offering in the prose form.

This book attempts to interweave different genres of prose including, autobiography, fantasy, mystery, adventure and finally, science fiction. All of these genres can be found in this book! Each piece is the result of careful thought, and while some of them might have parallels in real life, others have been the result of inspiration derived from varied sources, some of them being actual visions and dreams that the writer set down to write for before they disappeared from memory.

Life in an African country with its amazing mix of a rich culture a varied flora and fauna, and the pangs of a society undergoing an upheaval after a revolution that overthrew an imperialistic regime has formed a treasure trove of experience from which the author drawn freely for this book! These experiences keep appearing in various narratives although the voice remains the same.

A collection of some of the narratives is the result of the memories of a little boy growing up in a small town in Africa, where there was nothing in the form of entertainment except for a rich collection of novels in the school library, and of course, nature in all its pristine splendour. Life in India, has afforded the writer the opportunity to introspect and meditate on his past experiences, and to forge from them new experiences; an opportunity to narrate anecdotes from life that are mystical, spiritual, and somehow exotic.

The author does not claim to have written a collection of short stories, or discursive pieces, or even a novel - the book combines the stream of consciousness with linear narration. The Andromeda Connection – A Journey includes biographical elements which might suddenly move on to the more fictional style of writing. A combination of recollections of childhood memories of life in an African country in the first part titled: The African Connection-Memories of Childhood which is dominated by the autobiographical genre, the reader is introduced in this part with the voice that he will find throughout the book. The second part, Titled: The Asian and Western Connection - describes the immediate past flowing into the present. Although the reader comes across the familiar voice of the narrator, he will notice a clear shift in the writing style from that of the autobiography to that of narrative fiction based on different genres based on adventure, suspense, mystery, and fantasy. The third part titled: The Andromeda Connection the Future where the genre changes completely to that of Science Fiction. The predominant use of the third person narration might suggest a degree of maturity and the healthy detachment of a leader of a group. Readers may find the shifts in the narrative style sometimes perplexing, (The author begs them to bear with him) but here, the author would like to state that the idea is to provide a rainbow experience of reading without being bound to read each story in a chronological order, something very oriental a way of describing the complexities of life with varied themes, stories and writing styles.

A compelling reason for changing the narrative from the first person in the beginning to the third person towards the end is intentional and it serves to describe the transition from childhood to adulthood, a growth in terms of perspective and perception.

Each narrative traces the growth of the narrator from a child living in an obscure town in Africa, (more of a passive spectator of events marching past) into an adult in the later parts, who leads, makes decisions, and is more of an active participant in the events that take place. He has children of his own and discovers lost kingdoms and then goes on to fight cyborgs and aliens on strange planets. The change in narrative style, genre, and form is in keeping with an experiment to connect loosely a set of stories to form some kind of a structure, similar to an extended narrative like a novel, yet distinct from it.

Acknowledgement

This collection of short stories has been the result of the support of all those people who have directly or indirectly encouraged me to think about publishing my yarns in a written format. This is also for the grade ten students, whom I accompanied to the Byasi Camp in May 2014; they had kept coming to me for more stories after dinner, some of which can be found in this book! I would like to acknowledge especially, the support given to me by my, wife, Nidhi, who despite her busy schedule of teaching students and looking after household matters found the time to read my stories and suggest possible changes that I might make to them. My parents Frederick and Ivy have always been forthcoming in sharing their experiences and observations to add up to the treasure trove of memories that I could fall back on, and which I set to write about. A large number of the pieces written in this book are based on real life incidents that took place in real life. Last but not least, this book is also for my two daughters, Aastha and Ekta to tell them that one should not be afraid to dream, and if dreams can be converted into reality then how much more wonderful.

Also by the same Author:

Dew Drops, a Collection of Poems - Partridge Publications

To Kiss the Stars

If I could slow down time and beat the stars at their game, I’d

Be the brightest one in the sky! To hold Time by her hand

Would please me! So grab hold of the moment before it slips

Away, and plant a kiss square on her lips ere she slips away.

‘You get only one chance and ‘poof,’ it’s gone before you know,

Leaving you to live a life of regret so great, so grab hold oh,

The moment, dear, and plant a kiss, on her lips before she

Turns away,’ would be my advice to all those friends out there!

As life goes by, a never ending stream, you sit by the shore,

Attempting to arrest some of the waters that flow through your

Fingers! But life being so ever changing, so never the same,

Grab hold her hand and kiss her on the lips before she goes!

Thus do lovers sere and sad, wreck their hearts and livers;

As they lament a moment lost, with panting sighs and ears

That twitch, for a sound of beloved’s returning feet. But, Alas!

Has the moment passed, and they are left twiddling their thumbs!

The African Connection, Memories of Childhood

A Town called Adowa

My initial memories of Adowa, in the province of Tigre, in Ethiopia begin from the time when I was two, two and a half years old! A few days after my birth in the Princess Tsehai hospital in Addis Ababa in 1968, my mother and I flew to Asmara, and then proceeded by road to Adowa.

We changed two houses there and the second one was the larger one. The maid took me during evenings, to the local church and what comes strongly to mind is the heady, pungent scent of the incense wafting through, cloying, yet somehow rather cleansing!

Sometimes the helps took me on a walk to the river close by and I remember the rather deep holes in the mud banks caused by the eroding effect of the flowing water! The loud sound of the labouring engines of the Fiat trucks did frighten me a lot! Insects and strange critters I called ‘hungoogoo!’

Our social circle was formed of a very diverse mix of Ex-Patriots from Philippines, Sri Lanka, Peace Corps from the United States, and of course Indians. One particular Indian boy of around my age that I still remember was Nebu, (I don’t remember if that was his real name or perhaps his pet name). A lot of partying took place amongst the Ex-Patriots and everyone enjoyed the traditional Ethiopian dishes which included Doro Wat, Kai Wat and was accompanied by rolls of Injera, the local bread or rather pancake made of a grain called Tef was served liberally. No wonder, Injera had become my favourite food from early childhood itself!

My parents taught in the Government school in Adowa which would become significant for my parents later on when one of their students studying in the eighth grade would one day become an important figure in the Government, and his name was Meles Zenawi!

One of our Ethiopian friends was Ato Adam, (Ato is the Amharic equivalent of Mr.), a teacher who taught in the same school with my parents. I would meet him many years later in Addis over a treat of Special Pizza! A guitar enthusiast, he often came home with his guitar to sing hymns! One day some boys stole his guitar and hid it in some thick grass, planning, perhaps, to take it away later on. Now, Ato Adam had a monkey which was so mischievous that it was always getting into trouble! One day it became too adventurous and poked one of its little fingers into an electricity socket getting electrocuted. It was a moment that was etched in the mind of a little boy: to see the lifeless body of the monkey, and my parents and Ato Adam trying their level best to revive it! I guess it is the small things in life that finally add up to the bank of memories that we can fall back on in later times!

My first tricycle was of metal and it was red in colour, and the wheels were white. The second tricycle, bought from Asmara, also red in colour went to my younger brother. Although we had a lot of toys, I never missed the opportunity of playing with my uncle’s Remington Typewriter often jamming up the keys which he good naturedly set right!

Life in Adowa as seen through the eyes of a little child of two and a halt to three years had a rather fairy tale quality to it, a dream, relaxed and rather smooth where time seemed endless. There were frequent long journey trips to Massawa and Asmara, (now in Eritrea). The journey was through some of the most dangerous roads winding through hairpin curves, gravel roads, culverts which filled up during the rains, and the prospect of being confronted by the Shifta or the bandits. Massawa was a rather humid and damp sea-port with the all-pervasive smell of seawater, sea fish and brightly coloured paddle boats danced on the waves in the harbour. The feel of the sea weeds on the body while going for a dip still comes to mind, along with the bitter, salty water mistakenly swallowed. The buildings in Massawa and Asmara had a distinct Italian touch to them, what with green coloured slats fixed blinds on the windows of the buildings. During Christmas, there was a Christmas tree on one of the main roads in Asmara was decorated brightly. I remember the thrill that this tree gave to me whenever I got to see it during the Christmas season.

By the time my parents were transferred to Arbaminch in the GamoGofa province at the southernmost region in 1972, I was particularly fluent in Tigrigna and could converse like a native! Arbaminch was somehow very different from Adowa. It was like living in a rather less developed town, surrounded by a dense jungle full of wild animals! Gone was the meticulous Italian town planning evident in the North, with well-made roads, and pucka stone and cement buildings. The houses in Arbaminch were made of mud and wattle slapped on to wooden frame houses – my mother cried when she saw the house that we were going to rent. It was a new construction and you could see the tin roof, the cornice had not yet been put up! Arbaminch in those days was place that prisoners were sent to, somewhat like the prisoners in Russia were once sent to Gulags in Siberia. It was like being dumped in the heart of darkness, literal

The Spitting Cobra

This is an incident that took place in Arbaminch when I was about five years old. One evening after we had dinner, and were about to go off to sleep, my mother suddenly told my brother and me to go to the bedroom and to climb on to our beds. A little later I heard my father tell my mother that there was the snake in the living room, appeared to be a spitting Cobra. The snake had somehow gained entry into the sitting room from the main door and it was facing my parents, stretched on the floor, its hooded portion raised. It seemed as if a game of nerves was taking place. To break the stalemate, my father threw a handkerchief at it. The snake lunged at the handkerchief, batted it aside, and then turned to stare at my parents. After some time, the snake looked away from my father, as if disinterested. All the while it was puffing its hood preparing itself for what it had planned. And then, when my parents had apparently let down their guard, the snake snapped back, turned towards my father and hissed and spat at him! What came out of the snake’s mouth, according to my father, seemed to be a fine mist of aerosol similar to the type that was found in the numerous varieties of insecticide cans available. This did come as a bit of a surprise because the action was rather unexpected! My father was at first stunned, and then the pain became excruciating – he would later tell us that it felt as if his eyes and face were on fire! Immediately, without wasting any time, he rushed to the water tap outside and proceeded to rinse his face with water, ensuring that he splashed enough water on to his eyes blood red by now and stinging from the effects of the venom in the spray. It was this action that probably saved his eyes!

What happened next is etched in my mind. The snake, after spitting at my father in the ensuing confusion had crawled under the fridge. After washing his face, my father returned to the sitting room, his main concern now was the safety of his children. He, somehow had to get rid of the snake but before he did that he had to get help form out friends. So while he kept guard over the snake, my mother in due haste went to call some of our Indian friends who lived close by. I remember seeing our Indian friends, Mr. Kingston and Mr. Charles peeping through the window encouraging my father to take action – they were too scared to enter the house, although I would not blame them. Both the men kept giving instructions to