The interview

As the sword sliced through the dense undergrowth, it made a sharp, slicing sound, ‘shhhk,’ followed by the soft rustling of leaves falling to the ground. Each swing cut through the thick foliage with a satisfying ‘swish’ that echoed in the quiet forest. The foliage started growing right back as the Raja Vikramaditya passed through it. The Raja could feel the eerie sense of him being watched by every part of the forest, the trees that never blosemed, the re-generating bushes, the never ending darkness, the continuous howling and hooting of the most nocturnal of the animals. The whole forest was watching Vikramaditya’s every move as closely as a tiger would watch the baby deer it is about to pounce on without the deer realising. It observes so closely its every move and moves ever so closer. The Raja could feel the forest, the Bhetal, the stories all of them closing in on him, on his mind. All the stories he has been listening to, the suffering of all the people in the stories it is consuming him. He is just a push away from madness or suicide but he slashed the bushes one more time and moved one more step forward towards his duty, for the word he gave to the mendicant, for DHARMA.

Making his 2,56,157 th journey towards the banyan tree, abode of Bhetal, the lord of all evil, Vikramaditya recollected the ritual performed before entering the forest —

The Raja sat in the Kali temple just at the start of the enchanted forest. The forest boundary was so clear, as if the forest was afraid to grow near the temple. Within the temple, a mendicant performed a puja to Lord Kali. The idol of Lord Kali was a fearsome sight, with many hands and many heads. In one hand, she held a large, serrated scythe, its edge jagged and cruel, designed to rip through flesh with ease. Another hand gripped a mace studded with razor-sharp spikes, capable of crushing bone and splattering blood with a single swing. One hand brandished a trident, the three prongs crackling with otherworldly fire, ready to incinerate anything in its path.

Each hand held a deadly weapon, one fiercer than the next. A spear with axe head on one side and and from each head, a tongue stuck out, seemingly dripping with blood. The idol itself was terrifying, and as the mendicant performed the puja, the air grew heavy with an unearthly presence.

The heads of Lord Kali were equally terrifying, each one bearing a grotesque and fearsome expression. One head had eyes that glowed with a hellish fire, its mouth twisted into a snarl, sharp fangs glistening with fresh blood. Another head had a third eye in the middle of its forehead, radiating a piercing light that could see into the darkest corners of the soul. This head’s tongue lolled out, dripping with thick, dark blood that seemed to hiss as it hit the ground.

As the mendicant performed the puja, the Raja Vikramaditya chanted the mantra, his voice unwavering despite the oppressive dread that filled the air.

“ॐ कालातीताय नमः।

कालचक्रेण संहतं, अनन्ताय दिव्याय नमः।

प्राचीन रात्रे, भीषण सन्निधिं, त्वं प्रपद्ये।”

Om Kālātitāya Namah.

Kālachakreṇa Samhataṁ, Anantāya Divyāya Namah.

Prācīna Rātre, Bhīṣaṇa Sannidhiṁ, Tvaṁ Prapadye.

The buffalo, sensing the weight of the ritual, stood still, its wide eyes reflecting the terror of the scene. It seemed to understand its fate, resigned to its imminent death in the presence of such a formidable deity. The silence was profound, broken only by the solemn chanting and the occasional crackle of the torches.

The Raja completed his chanting, and the mendicant led him to the sacrificial buffalo. He handed the Raja a huge sickle sword, its blade curving in a near semi-circle, gleaming ominously in the dim light. With one swift slash, the Raja cut the buffalo’s head off, the blood spurting forth and splattering across the idol of Kali. The idol appeared even more terrifying, as if Kali, in all her power, had pulled the head off a demon and was now glowing with his blood.

The mendicant then took the blood from Kali’s leg and applied it to the Raja’s forehead, chanting a secret mantra. He spoke with grave seriousness, “Now, Raja, you can enter the forest and you will not age a second from the time you enter till you leave. As long as you are in the forest, you will not age. Remember, your mission is to bring Bhetal’s corpse out of the forest. If you step out without the corpse, you will live all the time you spent inside in a single second, annihilating you instantaneously. The only way you can come out of the forest is with the corpse and you will come back to the exact moment in time that you had entered the forest. I repeat the instructions: Bhetal’s corpse will be hanging upside down in a banyan tree in the middle of the forest. You need to cut it from the tree and bring it back to the Kali temple. When you have Bhetal’s corpse on you, he will try all means to make you speak, but you must not utter a word, else his corpse will go back to the banyan tree. Glory to you, my king. I will be eagerly waiting for your arrival.”

Saying so, the mendicant bid goodbye to the king, and the king entered the enchanted forest. Since then, Vikramaditya never felt hungry or thirsty. His clothes were torn, but his body remained in a state of trance that didn’t require anything to survive. His mind, however, was another thing altogether. All this time weighed heavily upon him, and his mind grew increasingly frustrated and tormented by the endless quest.

Raja finally reached the banyan tree, which stood towering in the middle of the forest like a dark sentinel. It was the eye of a whirlpool, drawing in all the dark energies of the forest but remaining eerily calm. Even on his millionth time seeing the banyan tree, Raja could not shake away the feeling of dark energy that pulsated from it. The ancient tree exuded a malevolent aura, its gnarled roots and twisted branches seeming to whisper of untold horrors.

With practiced ease, Raja made a swift climb up the tree. He had done this so many times that each motion of his was perfectly optimised to get the corpse of Bhetal on his shoulder and start his journey back to the Kali temple. Will this be the time he can finally end this ordeal? The thought flickered in his mind, a small spark of hope in the sea of despair that had become his existence.

He moved away from the banyan tree with haste and hope, each step measured and deliberate. No sooner had he crossed the tree than the corpse of Bhetal started talking. The only voice the Raja had heard in over a thousand years. Its eerie, echoing tones sent a shiver down his spine every time, but he was ready for it. Raja was ready for his next puzzle, the next story. Knowing the steps that followed, he kept his mum, his lips sealed with an iron will forged by centuries of repetition.

Bhetal’s voice took on a playful and almost teasing tone. “Hey Raja, you know the rules of the game. I will narrate a story with a question at the end. If you know the answer, you are compelled to speak it. If you do not answer, then your head will burst into a thousand pieces. If you speak, I will fly back to the banyan tree. Simple and straightforward, isn’t it?”

Raja’s expression remained stoic, his resolve unyielding as Bhetal began his tale.

“Today, I present to you the story of Navika, a harbinger of change set in the present world. A world unfamiliar to you, for you are ensnared in time, while the world has advanced remarkably. Humanity has transcended the confines of Earth, expanding its dominion across multiple worlds, and now exists in a state of unprecedented advancement.”

Bhetal’s tone grew more animated, weaving a vivid tapestry of this new era. “Humanity is united under a single banner — the ‘Global Federation of Harmony.’ On the surface, it appears to be a utopia; however, as the saying goes, the devil is in the details. Everyone has enough food to eat and clothes to wear, yet happiness remains an elusive luxury.”

He continued, “Society is stratified into four distinct classes: CRISPR-1, CRISPR-2, CRISPR-3, and CRISPR-4. A person’s class is determined by their genetic makeup, decided through a kind of pre-birth surgery. The essence of the human, the DNA, is manipulated to enhance certain traits. For instance, CRISPR-1 individuals are exceptionally attractive, charismatic, and possess a profound sense of purpose, making them natural leaders. They occupy key roles in governance, law, and military, followed by CRISPR-2, who, while slightly less desirable, excel in adherence to rules and logic, though they lack the aesthetic appeal of CRISPR-1s.”

Bhetal’s voice took on a more somber tone. “CRISPR-3 and CRISPR-4 are considered less desirable. CRISPR-4s, the lowest class, form the majority but have no representation in the upper echelons of society. The system claims to be meritocratic, allowing only the ‘deserving’ to rise to the top. But what transpires when merit itself is manipulated? To secure a better CRISPR classification for their progeny, parents must possess the requisite resources, a privilege available only to the elite. Thus, the upper class has created an insurmountable chasm for the rest.”

Bhetal paused for effect, letting the weight of his words linger. “Generations have attempted to bridge this chasm, only to fail like soldiers falling to arrows from a fortified wall. There was never a CRISPR-2, 3, or 4 who succeeded in the positions held by CRISPR-1s — the leaders, the judges, the researchers — until Navika.

Navika, a CRISPR-4 by birth, had meritocratically reached the final stage of the process to become a judge, or Josya as they were called in this society. She was the first in eons from a lower CRISPR society to reach this level. Her momentous climb through the rigorous stages over the past thirty-one years made her a beacon of hope for all CRISPR-2s, 3s, and 4s. The CRISPR-1 leaders were watching closely, their minds abuzz with questions. How could this be? Has the technology failed them? Will genetic surgery no longer be the sole determinant of a person’s worth? Is Navika an anomaly, or the harbinger of a revolution?”

These were the questions that permeated the society’s most prestigious gatherings. Everyone was keenly observing her final interview. If she passed, it would make history. It could rewrite the future.

With all this weight on her shoulders, Navika arrived at the Supreme hall of Justice, the headquarters of the Jossyas. This was where humanity’s most significant legal cases were settled. One majestic building leading the entire law of the land.

As she stood before the High Court of Justice, she couldn’t help but be awed by its marvel. The building was a towering structure of translucent crystalline glass and metal, spiraling upwards like a helix. Its walls were adorned with intricate carvings and holographic displays that narrated the history of justice and law. The facade gleamed in the sunlight, creating an aura of both majesty and intimidation. It was a symbol of fairness and an embodiment of trust, yet its sheer scale and grandeur instilled a sense of fear and respect in all who approached it.

A group of reformists, advocating for a change away from CRISPR-1 domination, had gathered at the building to welcome Navika. They cheered for her as she approached, their faces filled with hope and admiration. As she entered the building, an advanced biometric recognition system scanned her. A soft, melodious voice announced her name and credentials, confirming her identity as the first non-CRISPR-1 to enter the High Court in years.

Inside, the building was a sight to behold. The floors were bustling with CRISPR-1 administrative staff, those who had failed to pass the rigorous selection process for Jossyas. They moved efficiently, their presence a constant reminder of the society’s hierarchical structure. Navika was led by her personal bot, a sleek, hovering machine that guided her through the grand halls to the gravity elevator. As she stepped into the elevator, she felt light as a feather, the sensation contrasting sharply with the heavy burden of expectations weighing on her.

As the elevator ascended, Navika’s mind wandered to her past. She remembered her humble beginnings, her father’s words of encouragement, and his unwavering belief in her potential. Her mother, a CRISPR-3 who had married her CRISPR-4 father in one of the rarest occurrences, had always been a source of strength and inspiration. Her sister who she actively tried not to think about

The elevator came to a gentle stop, and Navika stepped out, her thoughts interrupted as she entered the interview room. The room was vast and austere, with a single chair in the centre illuminated by a soft, focused light. The walls were lined with screens displaying real-time data and historical records of the all the judgements delivered. The bot instructed her to take a seat and wait for the head Josya to arrive.

Navika sat down, her heart pounding in her chest. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for the challenge ahead. This was the moment she had worked her entire life for, the culmination of years of perseverance and determination. She knew that her success would not only change her own fate but could also alter the course of history for countless others like her.

As Navika settled into the chair, the room’s display screens flickered to life, casting a soft glow around her. Suddenly, the screens began to play a montage of her memories, vivid and detailed, as if they were unfolding before her eyes. There was her father, patiently teaching her how to create a sub-routine for a bot, his hands deftly guiding her small fingers over the complex controls. The memory shifted to her mother, whose soothing voice filled the room as she taught Navika to sing, the melody wrapping around them like a warm embrace.

More memories flashed before her — her childhood home filled with laughter and the occasional argument, the struggles and triumphs of growing up in a CRISPR-4 family, the lonely nights spent studying by dim light, dreaming of a future that seemed impossibly far away. The screen cycled through the good, the bad, and the ugly, each scene playing out with a clarity that tugged at Navika’s heart.

Inadvertently, she rose from the chair, and as she did, the screen became transparent, revealing a breathtaking view of the Tower of Justice. The tower, known as the Judgment Spire, was a towering structure of sleek, polished metal and shimmering glass. It stood as the centerpiece of the High Court, where all Jossyas connected their minds to the machine that facilitated the galaxy’s legal system.

Within the Spire, 400 Jossyas sat in neural connection chambers, each a part of the intricate web that processed cases from every corner of the galaxy. The chambers pulsed with a soft, rhythmic glow as the Jossyas’ minds linked with the machine, synthesizing vast amounts of information to deliver collective judgments. Most cases resulted in unanimous decisions or decisive majorities, but in the rare, complex cases, the Head Josya had the authority to cast the deciding vote.

The current Head Josya, Arka Veritas, hailed from a long line of CRISPR-1 Jossyas. Revered for her unparalleled wisdom and fairness, she had been the adjudicator in numerous challenging cases, her decisions respected and upheld across the galaxy. Her judicious mind and insightful rulings had earned her the title of the most esteemed Head Josya in history.

Navika watched as the Jossyas exited their chambers, gathering to congratulate Arka Veritas on yet another successful adjudication. Her heart swelled with ambition as she observed them. Navika wanted to be Arka, to surpass her achievements and break the barriers that confined her people.

As Arka Veritas walked toward her, Navika felt a surge of inspiration and determination. The Head Josya was a figure of elegance and authority, her presence commanding respect and admiration. Navika’s doubts vanished, replaced by a newfound confidence and excitement.

Arka Veritas entered the room with a graceful stride, her eyes focused on the task ahead. She moved straight to the central chair, her demeanor calm and composed. Navika sensed a subtle tension, unsure if it stemmed from the Head Josya’s disapproval or mere formality.

As soon as Arka took her seat, the room transformed. The screens, the floor, and the ceiling all turned a brilliant white, creating an atmosphere of pure clarity. Navika’s mind raced — thoughts clear and white like the room. She realized how chaotic her own thoughts had been when she first sat in the chair, the room’s transformation a testament to Arka’s extraordinary mental control.

Her confidence wavered momentarily as she compared herself to the formidable presence of Arka Veritas. But then she remembered why she was here — her journey, her dreams, her family’s sacrifices. She took a deep breath, gathering her resolve, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead. This was her moment, and she was determined to seize it.

“I do not like you,” said Arka Veritas, her voice calm and steady. “I have lived long enough to understand that a CRISPR-4 cannot serve as a Josya. A flawed appointment could lead to irreparable damage. Tell me why I should consider appointing you.” Her expression remained impassive, but the room shifted to a sickly yellow hue, a color that hinted at her distaste.

“Thank you, Arka, for the opportunity to interview,” Navika replied. Addressing the head Josya by her first name was a bold move, but Navika knew she couldn’t afford any concessions, even though Arka was the role model she had long admired. “But as you, of all people, know, just because something hasn’t happened doesn’t mean it’s impossible. This is what you exemplified in 17 of the 378 adjudications you’ve made — sorry, 379. I see there was one today. Not to deduce the future based on the past, but to use it as a guide to understand the present seems like a sound reason for you to consider my candidacy.”

“But I’m not talking about the past. I’m talking about the present,” Arka responded, her voice unwavering. “I’m talking about the crowd gathered outside the Spire today. What will happen if you’re appointed? Would that end meritocracy? And what if you’re not appointed? Wouldn’t that lead to social unrest? I’m referring to the public statements you’ve made about the faults in the meritocratic system. Were you doing it to influence the selection process?”

“I spoke my mind, which is the core philosophy of our Society of Harmony — freedom of speech. I exercised this right both in public and in private conversations. I assure you, there will be no political backlash if I’m not selected. I have a pan-galaxy appearance scheduled tomorrow, where I’ll explain the process I underwent, ensuring that no social unrest occurs. I’ve discussed this with various reform leaders to keep the crowds in check. I hope this reassures you to pursue an impartial process.”

“I was going to follow an impartial process, with or without your assurances, but thank you for that. Tell me, what do you see in this room?”

“I see white. I see you. I see a woman whose emotions are so controlled that the chair you’re sitting on — a Cognizance Seat — cannot detect any emotion from you,” Navika said, her voice steady.

“That’s true. What did you see when you were sitting on it?” questioned Arka.

Navika realized where Arka was heading with this line of questioning. “I saw an array of emotions. I saw my memories, but I don’t believe — ”

“You don’t have to believe,” Arka interrupted. “It’s common knowledge that when emotions mix with judgment, mistakes happen,” she said decisively, asserting her position.

“I also think that common knowledge came from a time when even CRISPR-1s had emotions. Since the implementation of the Sentiment Reduction Procedure, which modifies the brain’s emotional quotient, all Jossyas have experienced significantly reduced emotions. The Spire has been upgraded eighteen times since then, and we’ve come to assume that emotions are detrimental. But I navigated the process with my emotions intact, and I’ve made it this far, haven’t I?”

“So you say emotions aid in better judgment?” Arka inquired, her tone challenging.

“I do,” Navika replied. “I believe empathy can be a key part of judgment, which has been missing in many rulings in recent years,” she added with a note of rebelliousness in her voice.

“You dare question my judgments?” Arka’s anger was now evident, the room’s hue shifting to a deep, simmering red.

“I do not question them. I believe there is an opportunity for improvement. I believe — ”

“I am not here to hear your beliefs. Now, come, take a seat.” Arka gestured toward the chair.

Navika hesitated, sensing a trap as she slowly walked toward the seat. This was unusual, a deviation from the standard procedure. Before she could sit, Arka asked, “What about your sister? Do you think your impeccable emotions helped you in that situation?”

Navika realized why Arka wanted her to take the seat. As she settled into the chair, the room darkened, and a memory played vividly on the screen.

In the memory, Navika and her sister Anaya were children, growing up in the vibrant, bustling streets of Kismet City, a place filled with towering glass buildings and lush, green parks where children played under the watchful eyes of parents. The air was filled with the hum of drones and the scent of blooming flora from the vertical gardens that lined the streets. They often spent their afternoons in the city library, a sprawling, sunlit space filled with holographic screens and endless shelves of digital archives, where they reviewed Josya cases and adjudications as if they were puzzles to solve.

Both sisters were exceptionally gifted, their keen minds often unraveling complex cases with ease. They found joy in discussing each case, debating the nuances of justice and the intricacies of the legal system. One day, as they poured over a particularly challenging case, Anaya spotted a key piece of evidence that had been overlooked — a crucial pathway in the trial that could alter its outcome. Her insight was sharp and precise, and Navika knew her sister had a rare gift for discernment.

That night, the game ended as they returned home, the revelation still fresh in Navika’s mind. As she lay in bed, Navika contemplated the potential impact of Anaya’s discovery. She realized that sharing it could elevate her standing among her peers and provide an opportunity to capture the attention of influential mentors. Driven by ambition, Navika decided to act.

The following day, she published the insight, claiming it as her own. The revelation brought her instant recognition and fame, catapulting her into the spotlight. Her career trajectory soared, and she never looked back, her path illuminated by the glory of her newfound reputation.

Meanwhile, Anaya, content with a life of simplicity and integrity, accepted the role expected of a CRISPR-4. She was genuinely happy for Navika’s success and often expressed admiration for what her sister had accomplished. Yet, Navika couldn’t escape the shadow of guilt that lingered over her achievements. She knew she had robbed Anaya of her moment of brilliance, taking credit for an idea that rightfully belonged to her sister.

Sitting in the chair, the memory unfolded vividly, reminding Navika of her past actions and the complex emotions that accompanied them. She felt a pang of regret, questioning whether her ambition and greed had led her to a place that should have been Anaya’s. In her heart, she knew Anaya’s brilliance had played a crucial role in shaping her journey to this moment.

“So, do you still think your emotions helped you? Didn’t your greed leave Anaya with a mediocre life, far below what she deserved?” Arka pressed, her tone probing and accusatory.

“I, I…” Navika stuttered. The vivid memory on the screen had overwhelmed her with guilt, leaving her cornered and vulnerable, exactly where Arka wanted her to be.

“I can still prove you have similar emotions in you, and they will lead you to make the wrong decision,” Arka continued, clapping her hands sharply.

Two tiles in front of Navika slid open, revealing two boxes rising on pedestals from the floor. One box was open, containing a simple apple. The other box was closed, its contents unknown.

The open box, crafted from clear crystal, revealed the apple sitting invitingly inside. The closed box, made of opaque black metal, offered no hints of what lay within. Its mystery was both tempting and daunting.

“You have two options,” Arka explained. “Option A: Choose only the closed box. Option B: Choose both the closed box and the open box.”

Navika was still reeling from the emotional turmoil of the earlier memory, struggling to focus on the instructions.

“The closed box might contain your letter of appointment or it might not,” Arka explained. “I know exactly what choice you will make. If I believed you would choose Option A, the closed box would contain the letter. If I believed you would choose Option B, I wouldn’t have placed the letter in the closed box.”

Arka’s words hung in the air, the weight of the decision pressing down on Navika.

“So, Raja,” Bhetal interjected, “what should Navika choose? Arka can read Navika’s thoughts like a clean slate. She would know exactly what option Navika will choose, so shouldn’t she choose Option B and secure the appointment letter? Shouldn’t she avoid risking it all for just an apple? Remember, Raja, if you know the answer and don’t say it, your head will burst into a thousand pieces.”

“Navika should choose Option A. She should choose the closed box only,” Raja replied confidently. “The rational choice is to take only the closed box because Arka’s choice is already made. Whether the closed box contains the letter is predetermined. Navika must demonstrate that she can make a logical decision despite the emotional pressure she’s under, which is crucial for a Josya. Arka is testing whether Navika can remain rational even when emotionally perturbed by her guilt toward Anaya and intimidated by Arka. Navika, as I understand her, would have made the right choice.”

“Wah! Sahabash, Raja! Sahabash!” Bhetal exclaimed. “She did exactly that, choosing only the closed box, securing her position, and later becoming one of the greatest Jossyas of her time. But unfortunately for you, I must now return to my tree.”

With a playful laugh, Bhetal’s corpse flew back to the banyan tree.

Raja’s momentary hope turned to disappointment, but his determination remained steadfast. He set off once again, resolute in his journey back toward the banyan tree, ready to face Bhetal’s next challenge.