The Serene Invasion

Chapter TEN





DAWN WAS LIGHTENING the skies over the Bay of Bengal when the midnight train from Delhi pulled into Howrah station.

Ana Devi, dressed in the shalwar kameez she’d stolen from Sanjeev, and a new pair of sandals bought from her savings, jumped from the last carriage, squeezed through a gap in the corrugated iron fence, and made her way quickly across the goods yard to where her friends would still be sleeping. She high stepped over the rusty tracks, lifting the leggings of her shalwar so as not to dirty the bottoms.

She was still trying to come to terms with what had happened to her over the course of the past day.

She, dalit Ana Devi, an orphan street kid with no education, little money and few prospects, had been selected by an alien race known as the Serene to act as a representative, along with thousands of other people from around the world...

She had even stood up in the vast gathering of the representatives and found herself asking a question. Later, one to one with a golden being, she had asked further questions, and found out much more.

For one or two days every month, she would be called upon to travel the world and liaise with those working for change; before then, however, the Serene had given her a specific task to accomplish.

Everything had changed now; nothing would ever be the same. She thought of the people who had made her life a misery, starting with the low-lifes like Sanjeev Varnaputtram and Kevi Nan, then the various station workers and the corrupt policemen, right up to the scheming, greedy politicians... No longer would they be able to wield their power, backed by the threat of violence, that had made her life, and those of many others, a living hell for so long. The rich had a shock coming; the poor could anticipate poverty no longer.

She wondered what her friends might have to say when she told them that she was taking them away from the station and the hazardous, hand-to-mouth existence they had become accustomed to for years?

The goods yard was quiet, the silence broken only by the distant, familiar cannonade of dull successive clankings as engines buffered wagons together on the far side of the yard. She had often been awoken at dawn by the noise; she wondered if she would miss it.

She came to the wagon that doubled as the station kids’ bedroom. She stood on the cracked wheel below the sliding door, reached up and hauled it open. A gap of six inches allowed a shaft of sunlight to fall across perhaps twenty sleepy children, squirming like piglets and calling out in feeble protest at being woken.

Someone looked up, saw her and cried out, “Ana! It’s Ana!”

She climbed into the wagon and hugged her friends, tearful at her reception.

“But where have you been?”

“We thought you were dead!”

“We heard you’d got away from fat Sanjeev...”

“You been gone for days!”

Everyone was wide awake now and crowding around her, eager to hear her story.

She stared around at the wide-eyed, expectant faces.

“Kevi Nan took me,” she began. “Jangar caught me and Prakesh, and Kevi Nan paid the bastard for me. He took me to fat Sanjeev and the bugger tried to f*ck me.” She stared around at the circle of faces, looking for Prakesh.

“Dalki told us you’d got away,” a tall boy called Gopal said. “He said you flew through the window and lost yourself on the crowds on Moulana Azad Road.”

“But that was two days ago, Ana. Where have you been all this time?”

“Why didn’t you come straight back to us?”

She raised a hand to silence the questions. “I got away from Sanjeev because of what the aliens, the Serene, have... have done to us, the human race.”

Danta, a six-year-old boy and the youngest of the group, held up a flattened, melted water bottle. “I put it on the chai-wallah’s brazier, Ana, and made my own spaceship!”

She smiled. The melted bottle did slightly resemble a Serene starship. She was always amazed at her friends’ imagination and ingenuity.

“No more can anyone harm us,” she said. “Sanjeev tried to hit me with a stick, but he couldn’t do it, so I jumped through the window and ran. After that I went to the park and slept in the bushes, and then...”

She stopped, staring around at the expectant faces. “And then I had a dream, and I was visited by a golden figure, someone who works for the aliens, and he told me to go to Delhi airport where a plane would take me to Africa.”

She had expected cries of “Liar!” or at least looks of disbelief, but all she saw on the faces of her friends were expressions of amazement.

She looked into their eyes, one by one. “The plane took me to the aliens’ starships high above the new city they have made in the African desert, and there I saw many other people from around the world who have been chosen to work for the Serene.”

They stared at her, comically open-mouthed. At last a little girl said, “You, Ana Devi...?”

She nodded, and was suddenly aware that she was weeping. “Me,” she said, “Ana Devi... They want me to help them bring peace and prosperity to everyone in the world.”

She dashed away her tears; she had to appear brave in front of her friends. She told them about the day or two every month when she would travel the world, working for the aliens. “But first,” she said, “the Serene asked me to do something very important. We are leaving the station,” she went on, raising her voice above the babble of excited chatter, “and travelling south to a new home.”

A tumult of questions greeted her words. Ana silenced them and said, “Gopal, what did you say?”

“But how will we leave Kolkata? We have no money!”

Anan reached into the pocket of her kameez and pulled out thirty silver tickets. “I have these,” she said. “We will leave on the eight o’clock train to Cochin, and get off at Andhra Pradesh in the middle of India.”

“Why there?” more than one child asked.

“Because that is where the Serene want us to live.”

“But how will we live?” someone else asked. “Will we steal and beg and sell lighters as we do here? And is there a big station there where we can make our home?”

Ana shook her head. “We will be given houses,” she said, “and we will work in proper, paid jobs.”

She saw flattened palms pressed to cheeks, wide astonished eyes, open mouths and many tearful eyes.

She looked around the group again; Prakesh was not among her friends.

She said, “Prakesh?”

Someone replied in a small voice, “When you got away from Sanjeev, he sent Kevi Nan for Prakesh, who was in Jangar’s office polishing his boots and cleaning his leather belt. Kevi Nan paid Jangar and took Prakesh to Sanjeev.”

Ana felt anger swell in her chest. “And he has been there ever since?”

Everyone nodded.

She thought about what to do, then said, “We cannot go without Prakesh, so together we will go to Sanjeev’s and free him! Do not be afraid. Remember, fat Sanjeev and his men can no longer harm us, ah-cha?”

She turned without a further word, jumped from the wagon and marched across the interlaced tracks. She paused before the iron fence, and only then looked behind her. She had expected perhaps three or four followers – but smiled when she saw that everyone, even little Danta, had crowded after her.

She led the posse through the fence, across the car park and down the warren of alleys towards fat Sanjeev’s house.

Five minutes later they came to the timber gate in the high wall. Gopal and three others had picked up a split railway tie from the goods yard, and now they used it to great effect. They battered the timber against the lock, and after three blows the gate shuddered open.

The kids surged in, led by Ana.

She ran up the overgrown path, through the open front door and into the tiled hallway.

Kevi Nan and the two big Sikhs sat crossed-legged on the floor, smoking a hookah. They looked up, surprised, when Ana appeared on the threshold, bumped forward by those behind her.

Kevi jumped to his feet, followed by the Sikhs. “What do you want?” Kevi said.

“Where is Prakesh?” Ana asked.

The Sikhs moved, stationed themselves before the door to Sanjeev’s room. Ana found Gopal and whispered, “Follow me.”

She hurried from the hallway and turned right, forcing her way through the shrubbery. They arrived at the shuttered window, and Gopal did not have to be told what to do.

He and a friend launched the battering ram at the shutters and they flew apart like kindling.

Ana climbed through the window, recalling when she’d escaped from here two days ago. Now she jumped down from the sill and stared around the glittering, candle-lit room.

Fat Sanjeev sat upright on his bed, naked and glistening with oil. Lying on his belly beside him, also naked but sound asleep, was Prakesh.

Sanjeev glared at Ana. “I thought, as violence failed to give me what I wanted with you, I would be gentle with the boy. But...” His gaze slipped to the sleeping child. “But it would seem that even peaceable pleasures are denied me. Take him!”Ana crossed to the bed, knelt and stroked Prakesh’s short hair. “Prakesh,” she whispered. “It is me, Ana. Wake up.” She shook his shoulder, gently.

His eyelids flickered and he stared up at her drowsily.

“Prakesh,” she said, “I have come to take you away from here.”

He sat up on the edge of the bed, and Ana found his shorts and t-shirt on the floor and dressed him.

Sanjeev said, “He might be a little unsteady on his feet, Ana Devi, as we shared a little Bombay rum.”

She averted her eyes from the fat man and tried to shut her ears to his words. She pulled Prakesh to his feet. He swayed against her, and Gopal took his arms and together they walked him across to the window. Outside, twenty faces peered into the room, staring at Sanjeev with fear and hatred in their eyes.

Ana helped Prakesh over the sill, then climbed out herself. She paused and turned, staring into the room illuminated like a stage.

Sanjeev was smiling at her. He even lifted a hand in farewell. “Until next time, Ana,” he said.

She shook her head. “We are leaving Kolkata,” she said, “and never coming back. I hope I will never see you again, Sanjeev Varnaputtram.”

She had the sudden urge to reach back into the room and upset a candle so that it set fire to the curtains... but something stopped her – and she did not know whether it was the charea of the Serene, or her own conscience which made her turn and hurry from the open window.

They returned to the goods yard and Ana ordered everyone to gather their scant belongings. As they were about to set off for the station, Ana cornered Rajeev and Kallif and said, “You are coming too?”

The pair of ten year-olds regarded her suspiciously. “You said...” Kallif began.

Ana interrupted, “I am not sure I want to take two little spies along with me.”

They stared at her in silence, their big brown eyes regarding their bare feet.

Ana said, “Why did you tell fat Sanjeev all about me, hm?”

On the verge of tears, Rajeev said, “He made us spy on you, Ana. Then he asked many questions. He said that if we didn’t tell him all about you... he said he would hurt us again.”

“So you told him all about me, and he gave you sweetmeats and barfi in payment for your treachery...”

Kallif began blubbering. “But we did share them, Ana.”

“Can we come with you?” Rajeev begged. “Please don’t leave us behind!”

How could she, in all fairness, leave them here to suffer at the hands of fat Sanjeev?

At last she nodded. “But from now on, no spying, ah-cha?”

They beamed at her. “Thank you, Ana! Thank you!”





THEY MADE THEIR way to platform six, where the Cochin Express was steadily filling with passengers for the long cross-country journey.

She found carriage C, the rag-tag gaggle of street kids on her heels. A liveried attendant barred her way. “The train is full!” he snapped. “Everyone is heading south to see the alien starships. Go back and watch the show on television. Chalo!”

Smiling, Ana withdrew the tickets from her pocket and waved them at the man. “I have tickets for my twenty-three friends and myself, with six to spare.”

He took the tickets, examined them with incredulity, and shook his head. “Where did you steal these from, girl?”

At the end of the platform, a whistle sounded and the guard shouted, “All aboard!”

“Allow us to board the train like all the other passengers with valid tickets,” Ana demanded.

“You are thieves and dogs–” the attendant began.

Ana squirmed past him, pulling Prakesh after her. The others followed quickly. The attendant cried out and tried to stop the snaking street kids. They evaded his grasp with practised ease, and he stepped forward and raised a hand to lash out at them.

Ana turned to see the mortified attendant spasming, and her friends filing past him with verbal taunts and their own mimicry of the man’s galvanic, puppet-like spasms.

She led the kids to their seats and eased Prakesh down beside her. The other passengers were staring at Ana and her friends, some with distaste and others with tolerant amusement. Ana smiled back at them, defiantly. Minutes later the train pulled slowly from the platform.

She stared through the window at the decrepit station sliding past. She saw the buildings and advertising hoardings that she had known for years, the familiar faces of the station workers. She looked up, at the footbridge high above, and saw a grey-furred monkey staring down at her. The odd thing was, she thought, that she felt not the slightest regret at her departure.

His head on Ana’s shoulder, Prakesh murmured, “Where are we going, Ana?”

As the train slid from the station, she told him.





GOPAL WAS THE first to see the Serene starships.

They had been travelling for hours when Ana fell asleep, tired from staring out of the window at the passing countryside, the farmers toiling in the fields, identical stretches of dun-coloured land passing by without variation.

Gopal’s cry woke her in an instant. She sat up quickly, then worked to control her panic. She no longer had to fear being awoken in the dead of night by someone’s alarmed cries, ready to run from whoever had a grievance against her and her friends.

“There!” Gopal pointed, pressing his face against the window. Ana peered and made out, high in the distance, the ellipse of the eight conjoined starships. At this distance and angle they presented a discus-shape hovering over a green blur of land on the horizon.

“What did the Serene look like?” Danta asked.

“Were they green?”

“Did they have big eyes and claws?”

“Were they monsters?”

Ana smiled and said that she had not seen the Serene aboard the starships. The golden figure had explained that they were few and far between, and were not monstrous but humanoid.

“But who are the golden figures?” Gopal wanted to know.

“They work for the Serene,” she replied.

“Like slaves?”

Ana laughed. “No, more like... like servants.”

Of course, she thought, the golden figures might not have been telling the truth: what if the Serene looked like monsters, like big hairy spiders which human beings would find horrible to look at; what if the golden figures were just human-shaped in order to set human minds at rest?

She realised that, even if this were so, it did not really matter. The Serene had brought peace to the Earth for the first time in living memory.

Two hours later the train drew to a halt at the town of Fandrabad and Ana led her little tribe out into the sweltering midday heat.

They left the station, along with a thousand other pilgrims, all chattering excitedly at what lay ahead. Ana came to a sudden halt on the steps of the station and stared in amazement at the sight that greeted her.

On the edge of the small town, a great shimmering wall of white light stretched away on either side for kilometres. If she stared hard she could see through the veil of light. She made out a stretch of green land, dotted with domes and other buildings, but faint as if seen through gauze.

It seemed as if every TV and satellite station in India, and beyond, was gathered at the foot of the shimmering light, along with crowds of curious Indians and even a few Westerners. In many places the crowd stood five deep, attempting to see what lay beyond the veil.

“What now?” Prakesh asked.

She looked around at her group. “Now we go to the light,” she said. “Follow me closely.”

She gripped Prakesh’s hand and led her band towards the noisy crowd. The hubbub of chatter increased as they drew nearer. Food vendors had set up stalls around the light’s perimeter, and big pantechnicons belonging to the satellite companies blocked the road. Ana led the way around the truck, and past reporters holding microphones and talking about the wondrous extraterrestrial visitation.

The crowd was thick before them, eager pilgrims pressing up to the white light and peering through. Ana watched as the occasional daring individual reached out and touched the light, then turned and excitedly reported that it felt solid...

Ana recalled what the golden figure aboard the starships had told her.

She looked back at her gaggle of rag-tag street kids, clad in torn shirts and shorts, most barefoot, some with flip-flops. “Now everyone hold hands so that we’re all linked together,” she instructed.

Like this they moved around the circumference of the light, Ana attempting to find an area where the crowd was not so thick. Their passage aroused much comment and the occasional insult. “What are these little animals doing here?” one fat Brahmin called out. “Cannot the police do their job for once?”

“Get back to the slums, harijans. There is nothing out here for you.”

Ana ignored the shouts, heartened that the name-callers were often shouted down by their fellows: “Show the children some respect, ah-cha? We are living in a time of peace.”

At last the crowd thinned before the wall of light, and Ana led her children towards an area where a line of citizens only three deep stood gazing through the light.

She stopped, turned and addressed her friends. “Make sure that we are all together and holding hands. Follow me, and do not stop walking as we approach the light...”

Prakesh stared at her. “We’re going through the light, Ana?”

She grinned. “Wait and see.”

“But someone said that the light was solid!”

“Just trust me, ah-cha?”

She stepped forward and tried to ease her way past the cordon of curious individuals. “Excuse me, please. Can we come through...?”

The crowd parted with reluctance, one or two people muttering at the kids.

Ana paused before the wall of light and looked up. It rose high into the sky, and to the left and right. She stared through the light and made out a rising stretch of green, like the brightest lawn she had seen on the softscreens in the restaurants along Station Road.

She turned to her children and said. “Remember, hold hands, and do not let go. Now follow me!”

People laughed. “And where do you think you’re going, slum-girl? Do you think you and your kind will be allowed into paradise?”

Hardly daring to hope that the next few seconds might make these people eat their words, she closed her eyes and stepped forward, into the light.

She heard gasps from behind her, then startled cries. She walked through the light and felt the ground beneath her feet change from sandy soil to soft, springy grass.

She opened her eyes and stared around her. The rest of the children had passed through the light with her, hand in hand, and stood about in mute startlement. Ana looked back through the light and made out faces pressed up against the barrier, staring at the street kids with envy and incredulity.

Before them, a great town spread out to the horizon, bright green grass and silver domes, tubular silver towers and other, similar-shaped buildings, but these ones laid out flat along the land.

She looked up and gasped. High above was the great conjoined disc, like a shield in the sky, of the Serene starships.

Ana led her children up the gentle incline towards the nearest dome.





THEY WERE MET by a tall Westerner who called himself Greg and led them further into the town to a building which, he said, they could call home. The low, brick-built dwelling was divided into several rooms, with a communal dining room, a lounge overlooking a vast garden, and bedrooms to the rear.

Greg introduced Ana and the children to an Indian woman called Varma, who called herself a supervisor and said that over the next few days she would instruct the children on life in the new town. First, they were to rest in their rooms, and in three hours meet in the dining room for a communal meal.

Ana selected a room, between Gopal’s and Prakesh’s, stepped over the threshold and moved to close the door behind her. She found that she was unable to complete the action, and something caught in her throat. She had lived for years with no idea of privacy, had slept every night packed tight with the other street kids – and now she could not bring herself to shut out her friends and family.

There was a narrow bed in the room, and a bedside table and a chair, and a window that looked out over the rolling green land.

She moved to the bed and sat down, bouncing a little to test its springiness.

She had shared a bed with her brother many years ago, at the age of five, when she had lived with her aunt and uncle, but she had forgotten quite how soft they were.

For the first time in sixteen years she had a room and a bed of her own.

The comfort would take some getting used to.

She lay down on the bed, rested her head on the pillow, and tried to relax. She opened her eyes and sat up. There was something wrong. She felt alone. She moved to the open door, stepped out and almost collided with Prakesh, who laughed and jumped back.

They grinned at each other.

“What do you think, Ana?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I don’t know.” She took his hand on impulse and drew him into the room.

Lying on the bed, side by side, they began giggling uncontrollably and suddenly she no longer felt alone.

They ate at a big communal table at five o’clock, a simple meal of dal and chapatis, followed by bananas.

It was the best meal Ana had eaten in years.

Later, as the sun went down, Varma took the children on a tour of the garden, and explained, “We are self sufficient here at Fandrabad, or soon will be. You will be given a plot of land on which to grow the food you will consume, and every morning you will attend school classes.”

A buzz passed around the group.

Varma said, “How many of you can read?”

Of the twenty-four children, only Ana and Gopal raised their hands.

Varma smiled. “In a year from now, all of you will be able to read and write.”

Later the children sat around a patio area before the garden, staring up at the starships directly overhead. A circle of blue light marked the centre of the eightfold arrangement where the starship’s nose-cones came together. From the centre of the light, a broad, blue beam fell to Earth, connecting the land on the horizon with the joined starships.

Ana saw Varma in the garden, picking beans, and stepped from the patio to join her.

She gestured to the starships and they both stared upwards. “The light,” Ana asked. “What is it?”

Varma smiled. “Energy,” she said. “The concentrated energy from other stars. It is being beamed to Earth to supply the planet’s needs in the years to come.”

Ana smiled, not sure that she fully understood Varma’s words.

She reached out and found herself hugging the woman. She pulled away, hesitated, then looked into Varma’s deep brown eyes. “Are you human,” she murmured at last, “or are you really a golden figure?”

The women smiled, then reached out to stroke Ana’s hair. “What makes you think that, little wise one?” she said, but would say no more.

Ana had one more surprise in store for her that evening.

There was a wall-mounted softscreen in the lounge, which the children could watch if they wished. When she stepped inside on her way to bed, she saw that Gopal and Prakesh were watching a news programme.

She stopped and stared at the bright images. The screen showed crowds in America and Europe, protesting against the arrival of the Serene. Ana listened to the voiceover in English, but did not understand much of what was said.

Then the scene changed and a reporter said, “And from New York a spokesman for Morwell Enterprises had this to say...”

A handsome Indian man with a thin face, a ponytail and trendy ear-stud faced the camera. “That is correct. I can confirm that James Morwell is in negotiations with other businessmen and heads of state around the world in an attempt to formulate a united opposition to the regime imposed upon us, without our consent I might add, by the Serene...”

The scene switched, showing a meeting of politicians in Europe. Gopal called out to her to join them, but Ana just shook her head and hurried to her bedroom, stunned.

She lay down in the semi-darkness and stared at the ceiling, unable to believe what she had seen.

She was in no doubt. Ten years might have passed, and he had changed a lot, but she recognised the young Indian man on the softscreen, the spokesman for Morwell Enterprises.

It was her brother, Bilal.