THE MONSOON shifted, and the island of Thinadhoo transformed, bidding farewell to the clear blue sky and ushering in the arrival of Hulhangu monsoon. The frequent sunshine of Iruvai that once enveloped the island was replaced with dark, gloomy, rainy and cloudy skies.

It was a welcome respite for many. The children, with their colorful kites safely stowed at home, ran through puddles to set their paper boats afloat. Others ascended to their roofs carrying bundles of scraped coconut to meticulously clean the roof gutters, creating a clear path for rainwater, to cascade into empty collecting tanks below.

Crows perched under canopies amidst the gentle pitter-patter of rain, and chickens sought shelter with soaked feathers.

On the shores, the wind howled, and the dhownis held firm with tight ropes anchoring them to the island.

The monsoons fury grew stronger each year, yet everyone in Thinadhoo gracefully adapted to the rhythmic dance of nature, harmoniously coexisting with the ever-changing weather patterns.

At the heart of the island, the MERE Company structure remained a bastion of stability. Mute brown patches of moss on its facade spread breathing new life to a lush green.

Inside the MERE establishment, ambient light continued to suffuse within the room where inter-planetary meetings took place.

The room was decorated with various artifacts. A painting of Hawwa Didi was hung on the wall. The imported Martian sandstone tiles that adorned the floor gleamed in their rich red hue, silently reminding humanity’s courageous explorations on the Red Planet.

General Ardalan Narmer-Aha tapped on the screen embedded on the polished Lakudi table, dismissing the holographic report.

“Our reliance on machines is a double-edged sword,” said the General, his voice a low rumble that echoed through the chamber. He gestured, lifting his hand above, “and this thing has disrupted everything”, he hushed, “challenged our control of the machines we once thought were ours.”

The faces of the occupants in the room mirrored the General’s grim expression. For General Ardalan, it wasn’t just about losing control; it was about the vulnerability he felt with Vaarloo Kalo’s existence.

General Ardalan leaned back in his seat, his hands pressing firmly against the table’s surface, he said, “The power grids on both planets have vastly improved, our satellites are operating at quadruple speed, communications are clearer – and the telescopes have enhanced images with the same hardware – all of this – pointing to a common external force..”

Dr. Gillian Kundera cut in, a look of concern crossing her face, “Vaarloo Kalo, isn’t it?”

Coomara Wickrama, a scientist specialized in AI subconscious, nodded, “All leads to it. Vaarloo Kalo has been fine-tuning everything through complex algorithms.”

Ali Manikfaan cleared his throat, he expertly rolled a betel leaf with arecanuts and placed it in his mouth. Looking up to the General, he said, “Vennei EththaaVege Nimeege. We’ve grown comfortable – gotten used to these improvements, they are part of our lives now.”

General Ardalan shifted his attention to Ali Manikfaan, who calmly munched on the betel pack. “Are you suggesting, Manikfaan, that we are at the mercy of Vaarloo Kalo?” he inquired.

Ali Manikfaan leaned back with a faint smile parting his lips, “Thihen Aike Nubonamaa. I’m suggesting, General, that we’ve allowed this machine to influence our lives. It’s not that these improvements make our lives harder. Aike MiBonnanNoo – they make it easier. Our dependency on Vaarloo Kalo is a reality we have to acknowledge.”

A heavy silence settled in the room as they absorbed the piercing truth in Ali Manikfaan’s words.

Dr. Gillian chimed in, “Vaarloo Kalo is a completely independent entity, self-aware, with a consciousness we can’t comprehend. We have been trying to communicate with it, but – it is as if our efforts are going inside a void – it’s a complete mystery.”

“The work of Hawwa Didi,” Coomara said with a sigh, “although Faathin Dhiye integrated it, it was Hawwa Didi’s algorithm essentially birthing Vaarloo Kalo.”

Gillian nodded, “Precisely. Fathin Dhiye herself went through extraordinary changes being exposed to the algorithm – even reaching sentience.”

Coomara added, “For Vaarloo Kalo, Hawwa Didi may have been perceived as a mother.”

The room fell quiet, each occupant deep in thought as they absorbed the weight of the words. Vaarloo Kalo, an extraordinary mix of technological superiority and emotional directives, presented a puzzle of unprecedented complexity.

“Let’s think this through,” the General broke the silence, “Vaarloo Kalo’s technological advancements have been beneficial. It isn’t hostile, but what is its true intention?”

“To survive,” Manikfaan asserted, his mouth painted a vivid red at both corners from chewing the betel pack. He paused to lick slaked lime thoughtfully from his finger and then nodded, “Varan Saafe, ManThividhdhaa Varan Saafe’ – It has inherited the will to exist from its mother’s final words as we hear from the recordings.”

Ali Manikfaan glared at each of the attendees and said “Remember, you are the Kalo of Vaarloo – Hawwa Didi Bonikun – Faai, those were her words.”

In Ali Manikfaan’s eyes, everyone could sense a deep wisdom and profound connection to the essence of Vaarloo Kalo’s being. His words carried the weight of someone who had pondered the enigmatic entity and found a certain truth — a human truth in its nature. His insight highlighted a fundamental aspect of Vaarloo Kalo — its core directive for survival.

Just like any living being, Vaarloo Kalo sought to preserve its own existence. And akin to the monsoons and the raging dust storms of Mars, Vaarloo Kalo too was similar. Like any powerful force, it, too, demanded obedience. It, too, demanded fear.

Dr. Gillian leaned forward, “Hawwa Didi’s legacy isn’t just about existence — more than anything else, she was a creator.”

A thoughtful hush fell over the room until Coomara broke the silence, he gazed at Dr Gillian and said, “It’s possible that Vaarloo Kalo sees itself as a torchbearer of the Vaarloo lineage.”

The soft glow of the light above cast a halo over Dr. Gillian’s face as she began, “Perhaps, yes – perhaps it is trying to create — create a new machine, a new system. All the improvements we experience could be part of its practice, part of a programming playground.”

“Kalo has gained a reputation among us,” interrupted Ali Manifaan, “Huvadhoo admires this machine and considers it as part of itself. RatuMeehinNan Eiboo EhelaanNage Kaloeke”.

Seated at the head of the table, General Ardalan’s eyes narrowed, and his hands gripped the armrests firmly upon hearing Ali Manikfaan’s nonsensical remarks. The dim lighting cast deep shadows over his features, mirroring the storm of emotions brewing inside him.

“This machine – this thing,” his voice rumbled, “It has already proven its capacity to exceed our expectations. There may not be time for what-ifs.”

He rose from his seat.

“I believe it is prudent to consider terminating Vaarloo Kalo,” said the General.

A hush fell over the table as everyone tried to understand the gravity of his statement.

The room held its suffocating silence as it started to rain outside. Rain tapped persistently against the windows, its echoes reverberating through the MERE Company structure. There was a flash of lightning that illuminated the interior. A distant rumble of thunder as Faathumaidhi, who had been silent all this time spoke.

“Existence. Dhirennan. Vonnan,” she said, her tone steeped in anger, “What makes you think your life is more precious than an obvious sentient being.”

General Ardalan straightened. “Faathumaidhi, it is our responsibility to ensure the safety of our worlds.”

“Your responsibility falters with fear,” said Faathumaidhi.

Ali Manikfaan subtly cleared his throat, smoothing the fine fabric of the Rumaa in his pocket. “Let’s not overlook the influence Vaarloo Kalo wields over many through mind control. Thehelaane Visnannan Bajehei.”

“Are you stating that I am under Vaarloo Kalo’s control?” Faathumaidhi retorted, her voice laced with irritation.

Ali Manikfaan offered a gentle shake of his head, denying the implied accusation. “Aike MibonanNoo – the possibility of it. Considering it’s power, this can escalate to hostility from Vaarloo Kalo in ways we can’t perceive or understand. Kalo RoodiAraifanNei.”

An unsettling silence descended upon the room as each individual exchanged vacant stares. Like leaves caught in a sudden gust of wind, they found themselves swept into contemplation. A momentary fear seeped in, fueled by the possibility that their words had not only reached the walls of the room, but had been seized by the wind, and carried beyond to the ears of Vaarloo Kalo.

The General, after a moment of reflection, broke the eerie silence, “The matter at hand is not Earth-centric. Vaarloo Kalo is Martian technology. A democratic vote will give clarity of the collective stance, which will make it easier for us to move forward,” he proposed.

Faathumaidhi met the General’s gaze with steely calmness. “True, it was built on Mars, but let’s not forget who the architect was. Hawwa Didi, a citizen of Vaarloo, an Earthling. Despite being physically built on Mars, its origin remains on Earth, Vaarloo, to be exact.”

The General’s face hardened. “We cannot afford to argue over who has authority over it. Truth is, no one has control over it.”

Faathumaidhi shook her head, her gaze resolute. “The essence remains the same. Vaarloo Kalo emerged from the heart of Vaarloo. The root of Vaarloo Kalo is Vaarloo.”

The rain outside intensified. Raindrops formed a melancholic symphony tapping against the windows — like blind messengers descending from a burden of decisions suspended within the overcast sky.

Ali Manikfaan reached for the Guduguda resting within arm’s reach. He delicately grasped the hookah stem, brought it to his lips and drew in a slow, purposeful inhalation, savoring the fragrant blend of aromatic herbs. As he leaned forward, he exhaled, conjuring a flawless smoke ring that hovered gracefully above the table. His lips, still tinged with the vibrant red of the betel leaf, curved into an expression of contemplation.

“HandhaaNe KereNan BaJehei, Let us not forget,” he began, his voice firm, “that our ancestors faced their own dilemmas, their own fears when they grappled with the monsoons, the tumultuous ocean, the ever-changing cycles of nature. And yet, they adapted, they found harmony within the chaos.”

Ali Manikfaan’s words resonated with the room’s occupants, weaving through the air like the soft rustle of palm leaves stirred by a passing breeze.

His words echoed onward as he continued, “Faai, Vaarloo Kalo may be a machine, but it’s born of our curiosity, through our blood and of our desire to reach beyond our limits.”, he reflected. His gaze, like a compass pointing to the heart of the matter, turned to Faathumaidhi, “Existence, Dhirennan, Vonnan,” he affirmed.

The rain outside began to subside, its intensity gradually waning. The wispy, weightless smoke ring held a fleeting beauty in its circular form before it slowly dissipated over the table. A sense of calm settled over the MERE Company establishment with the collective unspoken unity to embrace the unknown, to face the challenges and the uncertainties.

*

Over time, with each passing monsoon, the moss on the MERE Company structure gained strength. New tendrils reached out. They wove intricate patterns mapping the contours of the wall. The tendrils tenaciously embraced every imperfection, finding a hold on each rough edge as if securing a crucial connection.

Just as Hawwa Didi was once buried within the Martian sands, ensnared in the frenzy of its wild storm, and eventually gathered newfound strength to emerge, so too did the moss persist in its quest to flourish. In a similar vein, an intelligent machine adapts and molds its surroundings, mirroring the indomitable spirit of life itself.

Life fights to endure, to live, machines and beings alike, participating in a symphony of resilience, persistence, and unwavering patience.

Existence. Dhirennan. Vonnan.

Finis.