A Michikookan Adventure

JAUNA’S BIRTHDAY: A MICHIKOOKAN ADVENTURE

When she turned six months old, Jauna was about as big as a snail shell.
Her mother gifted her a sling bag, and she carried it with her to the school where she, and all the other Michikookans learned Spelling, Grammar and the rudiments of Arithmetic. The teacher, an old Snorkalump, was frequently absent, accompanying his wife on her regular trips to the Himalfan range to photograph destringas. As a result, the little Michikookans spent more time playing tag and snowfield angel than actually studying, a practice they had no problem with at all.
It was on her six month birthday that something astonishing happened to Jauna. For one thing, the Snorkalump teacher actually turned up, and insisted on taking classes that day. The Michikookans were none too happy, especially Jauna. She’d planned what she insisted was an ‘amazingly dorypajglain’ trip across the theysofna plains to the city of rawassati, where they would dine on breads and cheeses and lirgac sauces. After this scrumptious meal, they were to play radeshac, her favourite game. And now it was all ruined because of that stupid Snorkalump.
Jauna was so angry that she decided to do something utterly uncharacteristic. The class was seated, pert and tidy at their desks, waiting for the Snorkalump to come back from a roghting break (a peculiar ritual that only Snorkalumps indulged in, involving trouser legs and trunk caressing). Jauna seized the moment to put her plan into action, and mounted, with some difficulty, her desk.
All the Michikookans turned around in surprise, and excitement. Something was happening!
‘Fellow Michikookans!’ Jauna squeaked, her hands cupped around her mouth. ‘Let’s revolt!’
It was a new word they’d learnt the last time they had had school.
‘But why?’ The question was asked by Yeshar, a Michikookan girl who was rather slow on the uptake.
‘Because we can.’ This was from Pijarata , who usually took pride in informing others of the latest developments in the Michikookan social scene. ‘Why not?’
‘That’s like the Lediawn principle!’ Another little Michikookan girl trilled. ‘Like Rats for Rats sake. Revolt for Revolts’ sake!’
Jauna rapped the desk with her foot before the conversation could glide on to irrelevant topics. ‘The reason we should revolt is...’ here she paused dramatically, and looked around, eyes twinkling. ‘Because it’s my birthday!’ she finished.
‘Oh! Happy Birthday!’ the Michikookan class chorused and smiled and clapped. A few started singing the traditional Michikookan birthday anthem, which went something like this:
It’s a happy dappy cappy day!
It’s your semi-annual birthday!
Six months are past since the last
And now you’re older!

The days went fast, the weeks just flashed
Are your bones colder?
It’s a happy dappy cappy day!
It’s your semi annual birthday!

‘Thank you, thank you!’ Jauna smiled painfully, but looked worriedly at the door. ‘But we can’t make a noise, otherwise Snorkalump will be back!’
The Michikookans’ faces took on looks of anxiety at the mention of that name. One of them even went so far as to gulp nervously.
Jauna was amazed at the immediate effect her words produced, and was not a little proud because of it. She waved her hands magisterially and continued, ‘So we are going?’
‘We are revolting!’ the Michikookans were shouting and jumping about again. It was enough to bring the besastos roof down over their little heads, but luckily, the foundations were strong enough to take it. Also, the Snorkalump was too involved in his rituals to pay attention to a number of piping little voices screaming in joy, so all was well.
‘We are revolting, in every way.’ Jauna grinned at her own cleverness. She knew such big words! Her mother would be proud. The sling bag was certainly well merited. ‘Follow me! I know the way to Rawassati.’
The Michikookans formed a tight little line and marched after their leader. By the time the Snorkalump came back to the classroom, they were long gone.
‘Oh botheration.’ The Snorkalump fumed a bit, but then recollected that this left him more time to himself. Perhaps he would go rouse Mrs. Snorkalump and head off on another photographic adventure. The thought brought a grin to his usually immobile face and he left the classroom, flappers rubbing gleefully at the prospect of another ill deserved holiday.
Meanwhile, the Michikookans were trekking across the Theysofian plains to the city of Rawassati. More than one of them had already expressed tiredness and complained of aching pedals. Jauna didn’t let that disconcert her, or the group at large. ‘We’ll have fun when we get there, you’ll see!’ she insisted in her piping little voice. ‘I promise!’
‘But I’m so tired and bored!’ Rihac, one of her closest friends, whined. ‘Must we go all the way to Rawassati?’
‘My parents will be angry.’ Pijarata squeaked. ‘I’m not allowed to cross the plain on my own.’
‘But you’re not on your own.’ Jauna pointed out (quite logically, too). ‘We’re all with you.’
‘Hm.’ Pijarata pondered this for a bit before brightening up. ‘That’s true.’
‘Are we there yet?’ the chorus was getting more frequent with every step. ‘Are we there yet? How far is it? What’s so great about this place? I want to go home!’ Jauna rounded on her class, her fists on her hips.
‘Whoever wants to go home, go home!’ dead silence greeted her words. They were unused to seeing this little bundle of sunshine erupt in anger. ‘I want to go to Rawassati, and it’s MY birthday, so you follow me!’
The Michikookans looked at her for a while, their big eyes expressing the contriteness and shame that they felt for crossing her wishes. Then Nana finally spoke. ‘We’re sorry Jauna. We’re being petty, i.e., small.’
The Michikookans were intensely proud of the fact that they’d all just learned and understood what those mysterious, punctuated letters stood for and hence lost no opportunity to use it.
‘You ARE.’ Jauna pouted. But then she brightened immediately. ‘But it’s okay! Let’s go!’
With ‘Yayees’ the Michikookan band started off again, stirring up the sand of the Plain in their pursuit of a dorypajglain time. Unfortunately, they were stopped once again, but this time it was by external forces.
‘Hello there Michikookans.’
It was the Gahgnatan Hinderbinde, the relic of the Morancitian Empire! Jauna and her friends were brought up short, and stared, wide eyed at the heaving morass of slime and bad poetry. ‘Oh no.’ One of them whispered, but Jauna could not tell who.
‘I was looking for an audience.’ The Hinderbinde grinned, revealing its pearly white teeth. ‘You came right on cue.’
The Michikookans drew close together in one body and shivered. ‘What do we do?’ Rihac quavered. ‘He’s going to read to us!’
The Hinderbinde’s grin just widened, and it pulled a thick sheaf of paper from one of its scaly pockets. ‘Prepare to be amazed!’ it croaked, and the torture began:
Dropping pills
I wandered, lonely and so loud
Screaming across vales and hills
When all at once, there was a cloud
Above my head, dropping pills!
My mouth agape, I stared amazed
Nor moved myself from that there spot
Planted thither, I gazed and gazed
Until an aspirin fell- aha! And was caught!
I searched for water, to drink it down
Twas nowhere to be found
This lack brought on a terrible frown
I dashed the pill to the ground!
Alas, alack what could I do?
There was no quick fix for me
So I sat and cried boo-hoo, boo-hoo
And that’s my tragedy.
For a moment after it finished, no one spoke. The Michikookans were reeling from the impact of the terrible rhyme scheme and the obvious lack of ‘purpose’ behind the Hinderbinde’s poetic venture. Noting their silence, the monster grew angry.
‘You did not like it?’
Jauna looked around at her companions, desperately and silently beseeching one of them, any one of them, to reply. When no one opened their mouths, she decided to take matters into her own hands.
‘Of course we did, sir. It really was wonderful of you to share that piece with us. Did you write it yourself?’
The Hinderbinde looked slightly mollified and puffed its scaly chest out in pride. ‘You children think I’m awfully clever, don’t you?’ it chuckled in a rather avuncular fashion. ‘Terribly sorry to disappoint you, but that piece was by a very famous poet- Mr Lilimaw Droswroth. He is my favourite artiste. Once grand Prince of the Morantic empire.’ A tear trembled at the edge of his eye, and it wiped at it delicately with a claw. ‘Alas, those days of glory are past, and now I am the only one who pays any heed to those great masters.’
‘Sir, you are truly selfless to spend your days honouring the dead.’ Nana said. Jauna threw her a look of thanks. ‘Perhaps you would favour us with one other piece?’ Jauna’s look quickly changed into one of fury, but before she could throw in insinuations about the lateness of the hour and the far trek they had ahead of them, the Hinderbinde was beginning once again:
Ode on the Birthday of a Favourite Bat
Oh little bat flying fine and free
You know not you belong to me
And are my ickle pet
Today’s the day you were born so wee
And your mother went away you see
While you were still small and wet

The jackals were gathering around
And staring at you from the ground
Their teeth were very sharp
Luckily I’d heard the sound
Of those ugly snivelling hounds
And you didn’t have long to carp!

‘Um, sir, what does that word mean?’
The Hinderbinde looked up from its paper, amazed at the presumption of the Michikookan who’d dared to interrupt. ‘Which word?’
‘Carp.’ Yeshar blinked at him, oblivious to the storm she was unleashing within that slimily green exterior. ‘As far as I know, it means a kind of fish.’
‘It means two things, a fish and an action.’ The Hinderbinde barely squeaked the words out, its eyes large and ferocious on the Michikookan. ‘Moving on...’
I dispatched them with a steely glare
I cried out to them ‘Beware, beware!’
In my loudest, most dangerous voice
They slunk away, to their hideout repaired

‘That’s not a perfect rhyme.’ Yeshar pointed out.
This time, the Hinderbinde didn’t even pretend to be fine with the interruption.
‘YOU UNGRATEFUL IMBECILES!’ it screamed, drawing himself up to his full and rather terrifying height. ‘You do not appreciate good Morantic poetry! O for a dose of tinvage!’ Sobbing, he ran away, his tail flying after.
‘Thank you, Yeshar!’ The little Michikookans crowed. ‘You did it!’
Yeshar blinked at them. ‘Oh. I did.’
They continued on their journey, revitalized after the defeat of their first dangerous monster. Luckily for them, he didn’t have any siblings or angry parents to take up the cause for him, and they were unmolested by any of Hinderbindean kind for the rest of their journey.
(Now here, the Storyteller would like to remind her listeners that she is removing monsters of the Hinderbindean kind. She said nothing of any others.)
‘Hup two three four, hup two three four...’
Marching for long minutes made the Michikookans burst into songs from various Yisned films that were screened in their free hours (which were many) at the Snorkalump’s school. Jauna was thrilled at the way the Michikookans harmonized among themselves- the boy’s taking the low pitch while the girls screeched gaily in the higher. If the Snorkalump had heard them, he would have been proud.
(As a matter of fact, the Snorkalump could hear them, having ears that were finely tuned to catch sustained Michikookan misbehaviour. Luckily for them, however, he was too busy packing his jungle kit to worry about disciplining them.)
‘Are we there yet?’
One of the Michikookans broke the beautiful harmony that had built itself up with that annoying question. Jauna turned around and faced the Michikookan (a boy, this time- Ilen) down. ‘No!’
‘When are we going to be there?’
‘When we get there!’
‘Which is when?’
Ilen was a persistent little one.
‘Do you realise we’re slowing down each time someone asks that question?’ Jauna was furious.
‘Oh.’ Ilen’s face turned pink and fell. ‘I didn’t.’
‘Now you know.’ Jauna turned back around and kept marching, sure that the others would follow. She was their leader for the day after all. True to her belief, they did, Ilen meekly bringing up the rear.
After a good five minutes of marching, they came to the Drura Bridge. It was the farthest the little Michikookans had been.
‘Oooooh.’ They chorused. Some pulled out tiny catchem-contraptions and aimed them at the sight, intending to capture the moment for all eternity. On the pressing of buttons, little birds darted out and squalled, the sounds reverberating against the Canyon walls. The echoes bounced right back into the respective maker’s open beak. Cry collected, they flew back into the catchems.
(Do not ask the Storyteller how this works. She hasn’t figured it out yet.)
‘Cross the Bridge! Cross the Bridge!’ The little Michikookans began to yell to no one in particular, themselves perhaps. Runja, a rather daring Michikookan, stepped out of the mass and moved towards the Drura. ‘I’ll do it!’ he said, loudly and firmly.
‘Yay for Runja!’ The Michikookans called. Smiling, the boy stepped ahead, onto the rickety bridge, and vanished.
‘Where’s Runja?’ There was panic, the Michikookans screaming and crying fit to wake the catchem birds in their nest contraptions. ‘Where’s Runja gone? I don’t want to cross if I’m going to vanish! Where’s Runja?’
Jauna didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t tell where Runja had gone either. ‘Keep calm people,’ she said, ‘He’ll turn up.’
And sure enough, as soon as the words were out of her mouth, someone yelled- ‘There he is!’
She looked up to see Runja, all two inches of him, waving from the other side of the Canyon.
‘The Bridge makes you disappear and then takes you where you want to go!’ Nana was elated. ‘That’s totally dorypajglain!’
‘I know, right?’ Jauna grinned and stepped onto the wooden planks. ‘Follow me-‘ and whoosh! Before she knew it, she was on the other side.
‘Quite the experience, isn’t it?’ Runja smiled at her. ‘It was positively enervating.’
Runja was the only Michikookan who periodically used big words and understood what they meant.
‘Hey you guys, step on to the bridge!’ Jauna called out to her fellows. One by one, the Michikookans stepped onto the planks and appeared magically on her side.
Once they were all gathered, they took their catchem contraptions out again and collected echoes of the view from the other side.
And then they moved on.
‘Wow, the suns really have moved!’ Pijarata said, her eyes on the sky. ‘How far is Rawassati?’
‘I have to be back by dark!’ Rihac looked terrified. ‘Will we make it?’
‘I need to work out.’ Yeshar blinked. ‘Can I find the time for that?’
‘I have an appointment.’ Ilen looked mysterious. ‘I can’t do this.’
‘There’s a conference I have to attend.’ Runja postulated. None of the others knew what that word meant, but it sounded like something awfully important and unavoidable.
One by one, each of the Michikookans put forward a different excuse for needing to be home- one even went so far as to say that the Snorkalump was a frequent visitor and would penalize her if she were not in bed when he went to have his habitual snafflegurmp glass with her parents.
‘STOP IT!’ Jauna yelled. ‘STOP IT, all of you! If you have problems, just head back home! Go, do it! But then, you have braved the sun, the Hinderbinde and now the Drura Bridge for nothing!’
The Michikookans stared at her. And then, one of them asked,
‘What’s that behind you?’
Jauna’s brows contracted in confusion, but then she spun around, to see-
THE END

















A Note from the Author

Dear Reader,

I know, you want to kill me right? I left you dangling on the edge, uncertain of whether the Michikookans are about to be swallowed by the revenge of the aggrieved Hinderbinde, whether the Snorkalump has caught them after all, or if indeed they face more challenges- but finally win through to their bread and cheese and lirgac sauce. My point is though, that we writers make it too easy for you. Use your imagination- how would you like the story of Jauna’s birthday trek to end? The power, for once, is with you, reader.

I call it the creation of a new school of writing- that of the open-enders. We will be big someday, trust me. Critics will have a field day with us, for they have not only the author’s text to analyse, but the infinite number of endings that various readers will put forward, that they themselves will offer as superb closures to the book. Can’t you see the psychoanalytical reading already: ‘Upendran’s text is swallowed by the unutterable fears of the unconscious. Closure, finality, Death- these are not notions that an Ego avidly contemplates. By denying her work that artistic ‘little death’, she not only keeps readers hovering forever on the verge of orgasm, but ensures that the textual and tropological aspects of the novella are anchored firmly in the realms of the Eros.’ Whatever you say Mr. Freud.

So it is NOT laziness or lack of imagination, rather, it is an excess of the latter and the inability to curtail readers’ mindscapes that leads me to leave the novella open. Jauna and her friends have been a fine bunch to work with, providing me many a minute of hilarity while pursuing less delectable tasks. I hope to return to Michikookan lands someday. I look forward however, to seeing many of my readers there before me.

To keeping your imaginations alive,

Achala Upendran.