written by B. Jeyamohan
translated by Jegdeesh Kumar

            Peon Shanmugam passed by me when I stood waiting in front of the DGM’s office. “Another one again, sir? Why don’t you hit someone on the head instead of indulging in these petty things?” he said. He stopped to look around and continued, “Just hit the DGM on his head...There’s a paper weight on his table. Hit him with it.”

            “Go away!”

            “What’s the problem?”

            “None of your business.”

            “I knew you’d create some problems when you left last week. But you’re an intelligent guy, sir. Look at me! I’m given a memo just for drinking a quarter of liquor. You wander like a witless fellow, but your wife’s very particular about getting your salary.”

            “Will you go away or not?”

            “I will. I’m not planning to get married to you.”

            I heaved a sigh of relief when he left and relaxed myself. I found the comb when I touched my pants. I took it out and combed my hair.

            The bell rang. Orderly Mali came out and called, “Sudhakar!”

            I straightened my shirt and went in, carrying my laptop bag. DGM Mr. Mahalingam sat a little crouched across the table so his reddish bald head was predominantly visible. His head showed the rim lines of his skull that looked like the external surface of a bug.

            “Vanakkam sir!”

            “Look! I gave you permission only because you constantly troubled me with your requests. I don’t have time to waste. I won’t accept your complaints about anyone.”

            “Sir, I haven’t come with a complaint.”

            “Then what? You got some plan to dissolve the entire telephone network and restructure it?” he said. “Impossible. No time. You can leave.”

            “Sir, please. I’ve come here with an obligation.”

            “What is it? If it’s regarding financial matters, Renukha has to come personally.”

            “No sir. This is personal.”

            “Go on!” he said.

            “There’s a display object in our training center’s museum. It’s the nest of a weaver bird built twenty years ago in Kanyakumari district.”

            “Yes. The one that was fully made of wires.”

            “The same one. I want that.”

            “Why?”

            “I want to do research on that.”

            “Research? When did you start doing ornithological research? Did you give up on telecommunications? It must be God’s grace if you did… Yeah, just leave this field.”

            “Sir, this too is related to telecommunications. I need the bird’s nest for that.”

            “Look, it's a display material. We can’t give it to you. There are rules.”

            “I’m aware the rules won’t let you. I’m also aware that you have the authority to overrule.”

            “Man! It’s a rare artefact. Everyone here knows about it.”

            “Tell them it got damaged. Or file a police complaint that it was stolen.”

            “You got any sense? Just leave!”

            “Sir, please hear me out,” I said. “What is the single largest problem in the field of construction engineering today? How to install a roof surface with the least amount of foundation, right? People do multiple researches in order to achieve this. Aluminum, alloy, and fiber...Several people have discovered new ways to install a balcony or a portico with a single foundation. Their inspiration for all these new discoveries is the leaf of a plant.”

            He got slightly interested in me now. I continued, “The Leaves of plants are of many thousand shapes. Each has a special character. Some could withstand the heavy blow of rain. Some can withstand the speed of wind. The entire weight of a leaf is supported and sustained only by its stem. How does a huge surface stand on a small foundation? It’s because of the design of its nervous system. The weaving of it, which is different for different leaves. Right now, every advanced level construction engineer is doing research on this.”

            “Tell me in short.”

            “Sir, a leaf is a model of a roof construction found in nature. What’s our profession? Telecommunications, right? A circuit is the basis of telecommunications. We create from simple to complex global network circuits. What is the model found in nature for these circuits? What is the single most complex circuit found in nature?”

            “Are you saying it’s the bird’s nest? Come on!”

            “Yes sir! I’ve been researching this for the past eight months. Sir, please, have a look at this for at least ten minutes.”

            I took my laptop out and opened it. “Look at this, sir! I’ve taken pictures of six thousand bird nests and converted them into blueprints. I’ve designed a software just for that purpose.”

            “Look! I’ve got work to do…”

            “Sir, I agree this is not pure science. It might be a fantasy. But all science appears as fantasies at the stage of theory making. I can’t share this with the other senior officials. They’re familiar only with technology. But you studied science. You know the difference between science and technology. That’s why I came to you. Please…”

            I knew where he needed to be prodded. It’d been ten years since I started observing him. My life had been running only with his support.

            “Sir, Look at these designs! All of them are different kinds of bird nests.”

            “Are you telling me that a wire basket is a kind of circuit in itself?”

            “Sir, I know that the purpose of a bird building a nest is to lay its eggs and safeguard them in the branches of trees. The nest is built with the aim that it shouldn’t be destroyed by wind, drenched by rain, or attacked by enemies. That’s why birds build their nests at the tip of a tree’s branch, in the hollow of a tree or at the edge of a rock. Due to constant building of these nests, its engineering has developed over many thousand years. Everyone knows it’s a huge encyclopedia of data.  But is that all?”-

            “- Three years ago, I saw this weaver bird’s nest made of wire. Even then, I entertained  a wild thought to convert these nests into circuits. In the weaver bird nest, each wire is separate, unconnected. It’s only string engineering but not a complete circuit. So, I let go of my idea then. Later, the thought occurred to me again. Would we be able to see any new pattern if we convert the nest design into a circuit?”

            “It’s sheer madness. I don’t think there’ll be new patterns.”

            “Sir, there are. I’ve made them, for real. Look at this! All these are circuits I made by assuming the fibers of the bird nests as wires.”

            “You could do this in any which way.”

            “No sir. I can see some patterns in them, honestly! Not all birds, but some swallows are really advanced. They build their nest as circuits. For sure, they are circuits.”

            “Alright. Good idea. Keep developing,” he said, opening a file. “See you. I’ve got some work.”

            “Sir, just listen to what I have to say. In this, I’ve converted a hundred and twenty weaver bird nests into circuits. Each one has a unique pattern, but at the same time, they all have a common pattern as well. Which means, this nest is a …”

            “OK. Let me ask you this. The bird uses natural fibers to build its nest. How come it becomes a circuit?”

            “What we create are circuits that only conduct electricity. But that doesn’t mean they are the only kind of circuits in the world. Every material possesses some amount of static current. Apart from electricity, there may exist many waves and currents.”

            “Alright. What do you want me to do now?”

            “Give that wire-nest to me.”

            “You’ll destroy it.”

            “Sir, I’m saying the nest is a marvel. A miracle that happened accidentally. How could I destroy it?”

            “Why do you need that nest? Why don’t you create similar patterns using wires?”

            “I made twenty eight of them. Everything failed. Because those are my personal designs. There’s something about the ones made by the birds.”

            “Tell me what’s special about it? What do you expect from it?”

            “Sir, The weaver bird does not have a single mind. It’s mind is the collective mind of all weaver birds, all swallows. In fact, it’s the collective mind of all birds.”

            “OK.”

            “There must be some communication among all birds in order to build this single nest.”

            “I don’t get it.”

            “I too am not very clear about this. But this nest must be related to the network in which birds communicate among each other.”

            “OK. Go on. But I can’t give you the nest.”

            “Sir!” 

            “Look! I like lunatics. To meet them in my mundane schedule is a good relaxation. But I myself am not a lunatic.”

            “Sir, please.”

            “Your time’s over.” Peon Shanmugam came in as he pressed the bell.

            I was on the verge of tears. “This is atrocious! You don’t even appreciate a unique idea.”

            “The bird’s nest you mentioned... In the concept of the nests of the entire birdrace, it’s just a drop. It must be. Even science is like that. It has some global rules. To try to violate them is madness.”

            “Not madness sir, it’s a dream. Underneath science there’s always a huge dream.”

            “Please get out...Shanmugam!”

            I stared at him once while Shanmugam approached me. I felt like hitting him on his head with the paper weight. My limbs trembled. I struggled to control my emotions.

            I loosened my shirt buttons when I came out. Shanmugam followed me behind, laughing, and said, “Have you got some dose from him sir? Why didn’t you hit him on the head?”

            “Poda!”

            I went home, took off my pants and shirt and changed into a lungi. Opening my computer, I started looking at the bird nest patterns.

            Renuka came and asked, “Did you meet the DGM?”

            “I did...Scoundrel! I should’ve beaten him there and then.”

            “Some of your leave pay is still pending. It’d be nice if he asks for the money to be credited. Did you ask him about it?”

            “Go tell him yourself!”

            She stood there for a while and went away with a sigh. Then it struck me suddenly while I was looking into a weaver bird nest. ‘Why ask permission? Who cares about a weaver bird nest? It’s just display material to be shown whenever a big shot visits the place. He’d look at it for half a minute, throw some usual jokes and pass it by simply saying, “Nice!” A few technicians would stop to wonder, “How beautifully built!” That’s all.’

            The nest was in a glass dome in the long corridor on the way to the library. The former GM had made the corridor into a museum display section. There were a hundred items lined up in glass cases ranging from an old Edison Cover telephone to the eventually abandoned rotary model telephones. On the walls in the middle were several black and white pictures of Antonio Meuccui, Alexander Graham Bell, Thomas Edison and others.

            I went to the training center, where I worked as a senior trainer, with two books in my hand. I dropped the books in the library and took two others. On my way back, I copied the design of the lock for the dome on a piece of wax I carried with me. I returned home and made a duplicate of the key in half an hour. 

            There’d be people in the training center until seven after the classes were over. Library ran until nine. Not a single soul visited the library. The world’s greatest technical texts waited there without ever being touched. I was the only one in that area who visited the library.

            I carried with me the wire modelled weaver bird nest I made. I went near the glass dome on the way to the library. No one was there. I opened the glass dome. It was an uncomplicated lock. I took out the original weaver bird nest made of wire and replaced it with its replica. I locked the glass dome back and returned quietly. No one was going to notice the difference, even though the colors and designs of the wires of both nests were entirely non identical, nor would anyone entertain any doubts.

            I saw Renuka’s mother when I reached home. She was a retired headmistress who spoke solemnly on any subject. I feared such women. Without saying a word to her, I went and hid in my room.

            My mother-in-law stood outside my room and said, “Mappillai! I want to talk to you.”

            I said, “Yeah, I’m coming. I’ll change and come.”

            I considered for a moment when she went away, slowly got up and picked up my computer. I packed a few shirts and a few pairs of jeans in my backpack; took a few basic instruments, my identity cards and credit cards as well; went into the next room and silently sneaked out of my house.

            I walked faster so that no one would notice, and got into an auto rickshaw to reach Tambaram railway station. The Covai train started three hours later. I got into the general compartment and reached Mettupalayam in the morning. From there, I reached Ooty by bus. At Ooty, I hired an auto rickshaw and went to Manjanakore, through which I reached a microwave station located on a solitary mountain top called Othamandhu.

            The whole of Ooty was covered with smoke-like fog. The voices sounded as if heard from inside water. The headwind was severely cold. The microwave tower stood as if supporting stars from the sky. The guard was sleeping inside his deck. He saluted and let me in when I showed him my identity card. 

            Only a clerk was present inside who started to shiver and babble at the sight of my identity card. He was the only staff left. Everyone had gone to their towns, including my friend and junior, Siva Kumar.

            “Sir, this is the rainy season. It’s highly difficult to stay here,” the clerk said excitedly.

            “I’ve come for research, not for an inspection. I’ll be staying here in secret. You must send me food, tea and everything. Is the guest room clean, up there?”

            “It is, sir.”

            “Forget about my presence. Just focus on your work.”

            “OK sir.” He calmed down.

            “And bring me a nice sweatshirt.”

            Earlier, when I did research on thunder, I’d stayed in this guest house for eight months. I’d submitted a report on the electrical charge generated by thunder in microwave towers and its resulting vibrations. It was considered a very important achievement nationally.  Only on the basis of that report could I continue as a researcher for eleven years without performing any official duty. 

            I spread my tools out. Steaming tea arrived. I sat looking down as I drank my tea. Mountains in ridges lay in front of the guest house. The green forest nearby had risen into a hill. Beyond that, the ridges of mountains lay like blue waves. The sky was foggy as if rusted. Clouds stood motionless like oil stains. 

            Beyond the horizon was Kerala. It was the time when clouds rose from western seas, bumped into each other and fell as rain in Ooty. This is where I’d recorded the loudest of thunderclaps in terms of sound and electrical vibrations. 

            Occasionally, faint lightning flashed over the ridges. A feeble sound of thunder as if dragging a cupboard along the floor. It seemed that rain might start in a few days.

            I was totally involved in connecting the bird nest wires and turning it into a circuit. Birds do not see the world as we see it. Their colorsense is many times more than that of ours. But each of the colors seen by us is perceived differently by them. They have in their vision the color combinations that can only be created by an excellent optical device.

            The wonders of their vision continue to emerge as new studies come along. Since they make use of the Ultraviolet rays for their vision, the edges of objects and the very thin strings are visible to them along with sublines and a kind of purple edge. There is a school of thought that argues that they utilize Infrared rays and even heat waves for their vision. 

            I took a detailed picture of the nest and digitally converted it on my computer from the weaver bird's point of view. I’d developed a software just for this purpose. I changed the design to all possible patterns. From more than seventy patterns, I predicted twenty circuits to be useful and took their blueprints. Based on the blueprints, I connected all the wires of the nest, subtly splicing them utilizing the Nano clips used to splice hair-thin wires.

            It’s a job of subtly working with clamps, a magnifying glass fixed in one eye, like that of a watchmaker’s. I was engrossed in it the entire day. No one interrupted me.

            Through the circuits, I tried sending a little current and, with the tools I had, measured the waves and vibrations it generated. The microwave station had many of the instruments I required, the ones I’d used when I worked here earlier. I’d numbered them and saved them in the store, so they were not taken to the scrap section. I took them out and used them now.

            After exploring one pattern and recording its results in full, I carefully removed the clips and set up the circuit with another. In seventeen days, I set up twenty-six kinds of circuits and recorded the flow of current and the vibration they generated.

            It’d started to rain by the fourth day I arrived. The rain in Ooty is a disaster for its people. Their clothes would be eternally wet and would never dry out. The town would be full of sludge. The rain brought a cold shiver, shortness of breath and a variety of fungal infections. The entire Ooty would dwindle inside while the rain poured incessantly. Staying inside my room, I was listening to the rain all night.

            The sound of thunder would be muffled during heavy rain. When the rain slowed down and the mountains began to come to sight, the thunder would sound as if exploding in your ears. Ooty’s thunder is unique, sounding very close from the sky. Then the mountain ranges would begin to speak with the sound of thunder, interminably resonating the same phrase. Usually thunders start off with a huge sound and slowly fade away. But in Ooty a thunder was heard in ripples. It would seem that the mountains conversed among themselves like a herd of elephants might. 

            My solitude suited me perfectly. A boy named Bose from Periyakulam, who did errands for me, stayed downstairs. He brought food and tea. I showered once every four or five days. I didn't have to change since I did not sweat. It’d been days since I’ve met someone. Neither had anyone seen me these days.

            As the patterns ended, I began to feel a slight boredom. What was I expecting? You should never expect miracles in scientific research. You wouldn’t achieve anything if you did. Miracles might happen, but only as a coincidence. This kind of tapas never usually ends with an appearance of the deity.   

            The information I’ve gathered so far was in itself a great achievement. With the help of a software, you could make them into thousands of possibilities, and eventually thousands of patterns. By generalizing them, you could make assumptions, create policies and use the same data to provide proof to them.

            Nevertheless I’d become despondent. So I took a two day break. I sat down to watch the pouring rain. The fact that there lay mountains beyond the polythene-like cover of rain was evident only through the occasional sound of thunder. But in two days, I got bored. I started building circuits again.

            I’d connected vibration meters to the circuits I already built. I tried changing them in various patterns. What kind of electrical charge was generated inside the nest? What kind of magnetic field was generated? Were there any microwave vibrations created? I wanted to go out and gather more equipment in order to examine all kinds of rays.  

            My motivation shot up when I imagined the possibilities. I continued to work furiously. Yes, I was aware what I was doing might be nonsense, might not be science at all. What I was exploring with these equipment was only my brain. What kinds of possibilities it found; in what circuits it flowed; how it transformed itself; how it discovered itself… These were what were important to me. I did research only for the ecstasy of finding them myself. 

            Otherwise, what was the use of creating an electronic device based on this nest? That’d be just another device. Hundreds and thousands of them are already out there, each one being a new opening in our understanding of the forces of nature. A new possibility in our handling of nature. Or, every device is a word or a symbol we receive from nature.

            All words are symbols. Nature surrounds us as this sky, this rain, these mountains, and this forest… Their language is spread all over the sky. If their language is likened to an ocean, our human language is just a drop, a speck of dust.

            We continue to bump into nature's great language with our human language, like shaking a tree with its trunk. From time to time, a word would fall from nature. All the words were the ones that’d fallen in this manner. The Vedas are called Apourusheyam, not man-made. They appeared on the tongue straight from the sky - as thunder, as lightning, as storm, and as fire.

            ‘Dha!’ is a word from the sky. ‘Damya, Daththa, Daya!’ is a mantra from Brihadaranyaka upanishad that was born when thunder spoke to man. Its meaning -Submit, give away, and be compassionate. I first read about it in a T.S. Elliot poem. Mr. Manthramoorthy, who taught English at my college, explained it. He said all Vedas came from the skies. The Arabic scriptures, the Aramic scriptures, the African scriptures. Every language had its own Vedas. All languages were Apourusheyams. Language is what man acquired from nature. He did not create it.

            The rain had stopped. Bose brought tea. I picked it up and sat on the balcony. The balcony must have been built by an imaginative engineer. It’d been built at the edge of a mountain. Down below, the slope descended and reached an oasis at the foot of the hill.  Umbrella shaped green trees soaked in the rain released bubbles in the air. The mountain slope ascended in folds of clusters of evergreen trees and swirled at its peak. Above the slope, on top of one another were blue, light blue and grey colored ridges. Above them were the ridges made of clouds. I was watching the sunshine descending from the skies and spreading throughout. Rain was drizzling in thin strands of light that fluttered in the wind.

            The thunderclaps grew in intensity. Was there an order in those thunderclaps? I sat listening intently. When I was here the previous time I’d trained myself to observe the order. They seemed to be in clear phrases of an unknown universal language. If you want to listen to them, you should become one of the mountains in this range. Were these mountain ranges giant cat ears?

            Finishing my tea, I went into my room. The nest had an electrical connection with a new circuit. I cut off the electricity so I could go to the next connection. The vibration meters connected with the circuit were turned off. Lightning struck outside while I was picking up another link. When my eyes cleared, it seemed there ran a glowing redline on one of the vibration meters. It might be an illusion. Or it might be a reflection of the lightning on the vibration meter. But it was unlikely to be so accurate.

            I was waiting for the next flash. I saw a shivering line of a vibration meter before the flash of lightning started. My room went white for a moment before darkness came over. I closed all the windows and sat staring at the vibration meter in the dark. I could see it now without any doubt. An electrical current ran through the vibration meter just before lightning struck.

            My mind calmed down and I was sitting with a smile on my face. The electrical current had run through my head, through the billions of circuits made of bean shaped protein cells in my brain. Then I got an idea. I picked the sounding blower and connected it with the vibration meter. As soon as the crack appeared on the meter, it started sounding, “Dumdumdum dududum dududum dum dumdum! Dududum.Dumdumdum dududum dududum dum dumdum! Dududum.” 

            I was startled. I didn’t understand why this happened. I could hear my own heartbeat. As soon as I opened the doors the meter in my room rumbled. As the lightning trembled and calmed down, thunder rose and spread over the mountains. The mountains kept roaring. When the noise subsided, a roaring of absence remained in the ears.

            I kept looking at the vibration meter. “Dumdumdum dududum dududum dum dumdum! Dududum.Dumdumdum dududum dududum dum dumdum! Dududum.” Once again, as the lightning trembled, curled up and faded away, the sound of thunder surrounded me. I was right. The mountains were saying the same phrase that had already echoed on the vibration meter.

[The End]