The National Anthem p Debashis Roy Chowdhury C

The National Anthem

Debashis Roy Chowdhury, California

The subway station was nearly empty. Takashi Nakamura adjusted his double mask and stole a glance around. Yareyare! Thank goodness! he felt relieved that no one was really looking at him. As such there was only a handful of commuters and they were rivetted to their phone screens. And even if someone took notice of him, so what? He was not a public figure of any kind or a movie star or a famous sports personality. They would see a middle-aged, ordinary man in a non-descript suit. A closer scrutiny might reveal a drooping shoulder, a look of dejection. But who had time for a second look? He was fortunate that no one knew him outside his small circle of family and friends. Chikusho! Damn it! Takashi tried hard to focus his thoughts. How would he face his family now? What would he tell Ichika? What would he tell his karaoke tomodachi (friends) or his golf buddies? Takashi Nakamura was finished. He had no where to hide. And sadly, he had no one to blame, but himself.

The day had started well, it had a good omen. Only forty-eight hours remained before the closing ceremony of the 32nd Olympiad

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games in Tokyo. Takashi was counting the hours. He felt like a marathon runner who had another forty-eight hours to reach the finish line. He was excited and exhausted at the same time. Faito (fight and overcome), the end was in sight, a victory for Japan, a personal victory for Takashi Nakamura.

Kami ni yotte! By God, he had worked very hard for the past one year. He could not believe his luck the day he was selected to join the official team managing the Tokyo Olympics. No doubt, he was a clerk in good standing at Monbu-kagaku-shō (The Ministry of Education, Culture, Sports, Science and Technology). He had a good reputation. His keen interest in karaoke was appreciated by his boss, Kudo-san (Mr. Kudo). That was why Takashi was recommended for the task force managing the medal ceremony. It was a large task force supporting forty-two different venues. The task force itself was part of one of the eight sub-committees, overseen by an apex committee chaired by the IOC. In this prestigious organization, he, Nakamura-san, had a crucial role to play. In the medal ceremony, during the afternoon sessions, at the main Olympic Stadium in Tokyo, he would be responsible to play the national anthems for the gold winning countries.

Waku waku! What an excitement it was to break the news to his daughter, on the day Takashi was chosen for this key role. Ichika, in spite of her teenage apathy, was wide-eyed with excitement.

“Suge’e, Touchan! Awesome! Is it really true? At the main stadium?”

“Hai, during the afternoon and the evening events.”

“And how many national anthems do you have to play?”

“Technically, 206 countries, though not all of them would get a gold medal!”

“Ara ara … Oh, feel sorry for those countries.”

“In fact, 72 countries have never got any medal. We keep these in lower priority, though who knows what could happen in a game.”

“Waku waku suru, what a thrill it will be to play the Kimigayo (Japanese National Anthem).”

“Mochiron, though Japan has only got a handful of gold medals in Athletics so far.”

“This time, Japan will surely do better. And in skateboarding no girl can beat a Japanese on’nanoko (girl)!”

But even before the preparations could start in earnest, they were hit by the worst calamity in Olympic history. Who knew that a new wave of Covid would strike Japan and rest of the world again? The second wave hit Tokyo hard with its deadly variants. The Olympics was almost getting canceled. Takashi nearly lost hope. Thank God, the Japanese Olympic committee and the AOC prevailed. They did not let public opinion derail the games. There would be no spectators in the stadia, but the games would still happen. They did not budge before that kuso (damn) virus! Takashi felt re-energized now that he was a crucial cog in the wheel of such where-there-is-a-will machine.

Since then, Takashi had worked tirelessly with other members of the sub-committees and the numerous task forces to work out the finer details of the medal ceremony at forty-two venues over sixteen event-packed days, especially its musical accompaniment. His interest in music and karaoke was as asset for the task. He enjoyed listening, categorizing, noting intricate details of timings of the national anthems from all the countries that were contenders for the gold medals in Athletics. These were produced

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using high-end computers with state-of-the-art programs to coordinate each and every second during the ceremony. Out of interest, he learnt by heart the national anthems of USA, Britain, Germany, France, China, Jamaica, Kenya; and of course, he already knew the best of them all, the Kimigayo.

Takashi had a nakama, a junior assistant for the job, Akira Yamamoto. No doubt, Akira was a kashikoi hito (smart fellow) but a little too smart and too helpful for his taste. Whenever their boss, Kudo-san would be present, Akira would try to show off his expertise and helpfulness. Takashi ignored him; after all Takashi was the senior-most member of his task force and he could beat Akira in karaoke any day!

The preparation went on in full steam. Every morning, he and Akira would minutely review the national anthems of all the countries that would take part in Athletics in the main stadium. Their assignment was for the events scheduled in the afternoons and the evenings. Granted, it was somewhat tiresome to listen to the national anthems of countries that had not got even a single medal in the last hundred years. But the mandate was clear. If any country would take part in an event, their anthems must be prepared, reviewed, and kept ready for the ceremony, no exceptions.

Despite all the preparations, the first glitch happened after the finals of the air pistol shooting. Vitalina Batsarashkinafrom Russia won gold. Takashi was about to play the music linked in the computer. It was the State Anthem of the Russian Federation. Akira was looking over his shoulder and pulled him back. In another split second, disaster would have struck. Akira had the presence of mind to switch the anthem to the pounding strains of Tchaikovsky’s Piano Concerto Number 1. Russia as a country was banned to participate in the Tokyo Olympics. The Russian athletes had joined under a new banner ‘ROC’ (Russsian Olympic Committee). ROC had chosen Pyotr Tchaikovsky’s master-piece as its new anthem. Takashi knew for sure that this change was made in the computer, but something obviously went wrong at the last moment.

There was a but a momentary delay in playing the anthem as Vitalina took the stand, though barely noticeable. Ahhh, tasukatta! Thank heaven! No one really could tell; except for their boss, Kudo-san, who did not look pleased. Takashi later saw Akira whispering something into the boss’s ears; he stopped abruptly when Takashi passed them by. Nakama, my foot – that wretched Akira! Did Akira play any dirty trick to discredit him? Fortunately, no other untoward incident happened after that. But an unspoken unease settled between the two of them.

Did Takashi become too complacent and let his guard down? Else why did he take such a foolish chance just two days before the game would end? The day had started with an auspicious omen. The breaking news flashed all over the world. The thirteen-year-old, Momiji Nishiya had won gold in women’s street skateboarding. She dazzled at the event; she became the youngest ever gold medalist from Japan. Ishika and her friends went gaga over her performance! It was a proud moment for Japan.

Takashi had missed watching the skateboarding finals, given his task force assignments. He could not simply wait to watch the recording. As he reviewed the national anthems for the day, he took a calculated risk and skipped reviewing a few. Notably, he did not double-check anthems of those countries that had never won a gold medal in Athletics. The anthems were all there in the computer, he simply skipped the final review. With time in hand now, he sneaked out to the cafeteria and watched the unsurpassed wizardry of Momiji.

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What a performance!

The afternoon events had started. Takashi and Akira were in full control, under the watchful eye of Kudo-san. The musical accompaniment to the medal ceremonies went on like clock-work. They were watching the finals of every event on the big screen at the back office. They were informed of the outcome of an event instantly. They knew which country’s national anthem to play. It was their daily drill by now.

The finals of the Javelin throw was in progress. It was the turn for a young athlete from India. His first throw crossed 87 meters! There was huge uproar from the Indian contingent in the stadium. Normally Takashi would not have paid close attention to an unknown athlete from India. But there was something about this young man that triggered his interest. He adjusted his mask to pay close attention to the big screen.

The thrower was preparing for the second throw. He appeared casual, as if trying not to show his intensity. His blue outfit challenged the blueness of the sky. Now he became calm, his whole body taut, like the stillness of a cheetah before the sprint. Then, javelin in hand, he bolted. As he reached the end of the course, he lurched upward in an awkward jump and fell to the ground. A split second before that the javelin left his hand to pierce the air, trying to defy gravity. This time, it reached 87.58 meters! Takashi knew, they were witnessing history in the make. The thrower was getting ready for his last and final throw.

Before Takashi had time to double check the national anthem of India, the result was announced. India won her maiden gold medal in Athletics with Neeraj Chopra’s unbelievable performance in javelin throw. Neeraj would take the stand in a matter of minutes. Takashi looked at the computer and the link to the Indian national anthem was missing! He started a search in the backup database, but time was running out!

Akira pushed forward. He gently nudged Takashi aside and took charge. Did he knowingly plant the glitch? Otherwise, how could he promptly locate the Indian national anthem? Why did he smile at Takashi?

“I know it. It is composed by the Indian Nobel laureate, Tegora-san …”, he seemed to be addressing the boss while ignoring Takashi.

India’s national anthem, composed by Asia’s first Nobel-laureate, Rabindranath Tagore, filled the Tokyo Olympic stadium for the first time. The composition was catchy, noted Takashi, even in the midst of his acute embarrassment.

The boss, Kudo-san called Takashi to the side after the ceremony ended.

“I am deeply disappointed, Nakamura-san. This is the second time it has happened. If Akira would not have intervened, what would have happened? Japan could have lost its face to the world.”

“Gomen ne! I am really sorry, Kudo-san. I promise, it will not happen again.”

“For sure. I will not let it happen again. Please go home and take rest. You are too stressed, I think. On Monday, we will discuss the matter and come to an agreement.”

Owarimashita! It was over! Takashi knew what an agreement meant in this situation. It could mean only one thing, a negotiated settlement to resign voluntarily, a Japanese way of getting fired from a job. He would be forced to quit his personal marathon before reaching the finish line. August 7, 2021 would be a perpetual black-mark in his life.

As Takashi waited for the train to arrive, the parting comment from Akira still rang in his ears, like an insult to injury.

“What a coincidence, Kudo-san! Today is Tegora-san’s death anniversary!

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The Years that Were: 2020 and 2021

(When nature’s virus challenged human existence and man’s politics challenged human values)

Asok Baral, New Jersey

It was the worst of times; it was the best of times.

It was the time of unprecedented human tragedy; it was the time of unprecedented medical achievements.

It was the time when rich and poor were equal against a virus; it was the time when rich and poor were equally armed against the virus.

It was the time of forced social distancing; it was the time of voluntary social connecting.

It was the time when racism reached its nadir; it was the time when fraternity reached its zenith.

It was the time when hatred and lies spewed from the top; it was the time when love and care flourished from the bottom.

It was the time when millions faced hunger; it was the time when millions fed the hungry.

It was the time when families without money feared for survival; it was the time when nations with money ushered in revival.

It was the time when one despot almost ruined the country, it was the time when record numbers voted to save the country.

It was the time when evils against the law were up in arms, it was the time when sworn enemies joined arms to uphold the law.

It was the time when the pillars of democracy teetered, it was the time when wisdom saved the pillars.

It was the time like no other in recent memory, and the time that will be remembered over generations.

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You Froze

Vishnupriya, New Jersey

You froze last night when the snow came down heavy and the bones started to melt The white meant to rub you the rough way and you gave in never mind how you felt All the homeschooling children are gathered now on your icy banks to whistle you to action Their parkas cover them fully and they aren’t scared of the cold Or catching the spreading sickness gone viral in this wintry hold So why are you being a spoilsport and killing their gaiety Just by being stuck and unhelpful and hard and old Will you live again tomorrow when it’s time for their little paper boats to float?

Those eyes are the calm Pacific

Ships get caught in the eye of the hurricane, the storm smacks them and the tempest tosses them, and they are airborne, dangling, almost drowning soon after They anchor in those eyes

The fire rages, lava spews out and the burnt condor chick falls to the ground That’s when Its singed feathers are bathed by those eyes, and it’s embalmed

Their feet get sucked in by the quicksand very slowly It is almost waist deep now when those eyes pull them out and they land

The head explodes with a convulsive fever breaking into little bits and pieces Suddenly blue dreams float in those deep Pacific eyes and the body is fever free, healed

Prashanti…. Pacific

Those Eyes

Vishnupriya, New Jersey

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Lunch episode

Bharati Chowdhury, England

The story dates back to five years in London I popped in a restaurant for lunch The photos reflect two European ladies Who are they can you make a hunch? They are the secretaries of my University I was very amicable and friendly with them Both were eager to enjoy palatable Indian food They quoted some items with proper name. One day I decided to treat them both Guests were Moira King and Louise Copeland I arranged a lunch time for all of us In a nearby restaurant with very good brand. Savoury foods were piled up in dishes The waiters were very alert and active Moira and Louise were relishing the menu But I was very much taste sensitive. Yes, those were Indian food indeed But the preparation lacked a special taste I am very much fond of Bengali food In food ranking Bengali cuisine comes up the best. Suddenly a waiter came to me and explained Chefs for that restaurant were not from Bengal They were from other parts of India I have come to a wrong place after all. Moira and Louise did not complain They were happy with fried food with oil Where they could get such savoury food So different from boiled food in English soil! On my next invitation to those Europeans I treated them to a Bengali restaurant in my University area Selection of food was mouth watering

Mixed with a nice odour I was gripped with nostalgia. Then my friends realised the striking difference Bengal culinary was very much special

I was very much glad to introduce them to Bengali food Bengal is my birth province in India after all. The taste of the pudding lies in the eating This proverb was lurking in my mind I long for the camaraderie with my colleagues Those golden years I have left behind.

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Youth Corner

It’s Time We Talked

Aryana Ranjanala (Age 15), New Jersey

In spite of all the progress society has made, the social stigmas around menstruation hold girls and women back in many respects. UNESCO reports that 1 in 10 girls in Africa miss school during menstruation. In many parts of India and Bangladesh, women don’t go into the kitchen or cook during these days. A majority of women and girls in the world still do not have access to safe and hygienic supplies to manage their periods.

This story was written for Ayati, a non-profit organization in NJ that supports menstrual education in India and helps procure and distribute supplies.

Isla wakes up with a wide stretch, letting her long, shimmering black hair fall down her back as she sits up in bed, yawning. She uses a hand and pushes her hair back behind her ear, taking her other hand and rubbing her eyes blearily. Without actually opening her eyes, as if she’s sleepwalking, she

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stands and walks over to her closet, pulling out what she believes to be a bright cyan dress. She loves that one, the way it fits elegantly over her form, curving around her slim figure. And of course today is the day to wear it! Ayaan is visiting! He comes every month to see her and the town, but it feels like eternities pass between his visits. Ayaan is Isla’s best friend. They met years ago, before he moved. Thankfully, though, he still visits her. Isla doesn’t know what she would do without him.

Still only half awake, Isla staggers over to the bathroom in the hallway, waving sleepily to her mother on her way in, and prepares herself for the day, combing her hair, taking a shower and getting dressed. It is not until she steps out of the bathroom, leaving the bathroom mirror covered in condensation, that she is finally awake. And now that she is awake, she finally has enough energy to be excited.

Ayaan is coming!

Briefly, she stops and checks her appearance in the mirror perched upon her dresser in her room. Her hair, however straight and manageable it seems at first glance, is totally and absolutely untamable. Despite the fact, she manages to braid it neatly and lets it hang over her right shoulder. The cyan dress is slightly tighter than it should be, but it isn’t uncomfortable, and it doesn’t look tight on her. The sleeves go down to just below her elbows and the dress itself flows down to her knees. She smiles contentedly, the soft features of her face lighting up with delight. Cyan is Ayaan’s favorite color.

“Ma!” Isla calls, flinging herself down the hall and into the kitchen where her mother is standing by the stove. She looks to be cooking lunch.

“Good morning, Isla,” her mother says sweetly. “It’s about time you’re up. It’s getting late already.”

“Ma, it’s only seven o’clock!” she exclaims. “So when is Ayaan getting here?”

“Like you said,” she chuckles softly, “it’s only seven o’clock. Give him some time. He’ll be here soon. In the meantime, why don’t you help me with lunch?”

Isla sighs, rolling her eyes. “No thanks, Ma. I think I should wait for him by the entrance.

Maybe he doesn’t remember where our house is after all this time.”

“He visits every month,” her mother says. “I really don’t think that he—” She turns around to look at her daughter after hearing a soft click behind her, but sees only an open door, a gentle zephyr blowing into the curtains on the other side of the room.

Isla grins impishly to herself as she walks up the path to the entrance of the town, smiling at the other residents as she passes by, but the smile is strained. She doesn’t really want to smile at them. She wants to smile at Ayaan, but he isn’t here yet.

She looks up as someone approaches her, smiling brightly. It’s her friend, Ina. “Isla!” she calls happily, grabbing Isla’s hand. “Come on, come play with us! Please?”

Isla hesitates in answering. “Sorry, Ina, but I don’t think I can play right now. I’m waiting for Ayaan. Maybe we can play a little later, alright?”

Ina frowns. She looks so cute, Isla thinks for a moment, being only seven years old with a pair of short black pigtails bouncing on her back as she plays with her other friends. “Fine,” she huffs. “But please come!”

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Isla watches as Ina runs off. She doesn’t like saying no to her, but if she is to be completely honest, none of them really matter to her right now. She wants Ayaan, and he is taking a long time. Or maybe she’s just really impatient. After all, it’s still pretty early, and he doesn’t usually get there until later in the day…but at the same time, he looks forward to his visits as much as Isla does, and—

“Ah!” Isla cries as a pair of arms wraps around her neck, someone jumping on her back.

She spins around in an attempt to throw her attacker off, though her efforts are in vain. At last, the arms let go and she whips around and slaps her assailant, then gasps.

“Ayaan!” she shouts, throwing her arms around him. “Oh, you’re finally here! What took you so long?”

Ayaan winces, rubbing his cheek. “Ouch,” he mutters. “That really hurt. I thought I’d get a warmer welcome.”

Isla pushes him back, frowning disapprovingly. “Then maybe you shouldn’t have jumped on me like that! You scared me half to death!”

He smiles sheepishly, shrugging innocently, pushing the pair of of glasses he wears higher up on his thin nose. She hates those glasses. It always makes it harder to see the shine in his warm, gentle brown eyes. “Isla, it’s so good to see you again. I wish I could come more often.”

She nods enthusiastically. “Me too, but…you only leave for a month at a time. You don’t have to act like it’s been years since you’ve seen me! Now come on, let’s go tell Ma that you’re here! And then you can tell me all about what you’ve been doing without me and we can play some more! Come on, come on! You only have a few days here, so let’s make the most of it!” Ayaan laughs as she drags him back to her house. He loves visiting her, however childish she is at times. Time always seems to fly during those few days. This is like a break for both of them, relief from the routine and pattern that haunts their everyday lives. This will be as fun as any other month, he thinks to himself.

And the visits continue, each one consisting of a mixture of memories and pure bliss, flying past them like lightning, leaving the gaps in between to drag by in the muddy boredom they leave behind after their brief showers of dizzy ecstasy. A year passes, leaving both Ayaan and Isla at fifteen years of age.

Again, on a weekend morning like any other, in anticipation of Ayaan’s arrival, Isla wakes up with a stretch and a yawn, making her way to the bathroom with a pastel yellow skirt and a cyan top—cyan is still his favorite color, right?—but when she comes out, she turns white as a sheet.

Her mother looks at her as she walks out, frowning. “Isla,” she asks slowly, “is something wrong?”

“It’s those days again,” Isla whispers quickly to her mother. “Aayan is coming. I...I can’t be home.” And with those few ambiguous words—though they were clear as day to her mother— she slips out the door, walking swiftly down the empty streets. Why are they empty? Is the world purposely avoiding her now? She chuckles to herself. As if. Clouds cover the sky, as if mourning for her. Today of all days, it had to happen!

She goes into a quiet alley in a quiet part of neighborhood and sits down. She sighs. She won’t be able to see Ayaan until it’s over. That is one of the evil parts of growing up. Resignedly,

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she puts her head in her hands and sits there. She looks up as a raindrop falls on her arm. Isn’t that just perfect?

She really hates it when this happens to her. She isn’t allowed to be around people. She isn’t allowed to visit the temple. She isn’t allowed to run or jump or play or really anything she likes to do. And worst of all, she isn’t allowed to talk about it.

Outside the alley, she can hear Ayaan’s voice, very faintly. He sounds like he’s looking for her. “Isla!” he calls out, but she knows she shouldn’t reply. She can hear his footsteps approaching, getting closer and closer, and then…farther away. He walks past her. She hears him talking to someone else, probably the only other one outside on a cold, damp morning like this. “Hey,” he says. “Have you seen Isla anywhere? I thought she’d be walking to the entrance to meet me, but I can’t find…” The rest of his sentence is drowned out by the rain. Isla moves closer to the opening of the alley, trying to hear what he is saying.

“I haven’t been able to find her either,” a voice replies. It’s Ina. “I even asked her mother, but she wouldn’t tell me. I’ll just ask her about it when she stops hiding.”

Isla can practically hear the frown in Ayaan’s voice. “Alright, but why do you think she’s hiding?”

“It’s anyone’s guess,” she says. “But she’s older than me, so I don’t really question a lot about what she does. I know this, though; she hides like this every month.”

There’s a pause. “Thanks,” Ayaan says. “I’ll go look for her.”

And then, once again, his footsteps race past the alley, but this time, they stop and turn around, skidding to a halt in front of it.

“Isla!” Ayaan shouts. “Isla, are you down there? Come on, it’s raining! We should go inside!”

She gasps and shuffles back in the alley, trying to act like she isn’t there, but Ayaan’s figure appears as a shadow in the alley’s entrance, running towards her.

“I’m not supposed to be around anyone!” she calls to him. He stops a few feet away from her, frowning.

“Why not?” he asks, confusion creasing his brow. “Isla, what’s going on? I can’t help unless you tell me.”

Realizing that he won’t go away until she explains herself, Isla stands briefly, cringing as she does so, and whispers in his ear. His frown deepens.

“What?”

She whispers something else in his ear.

“Isla, why are you whispering? I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I!” she cries, frustration growing in her voice. “I don’t understand any of it! All I know is that when it happens, I have to stay away from people and there’s a plethora of things I can’t do because that’s what Ma told me before and that’s what all the other girls in the town do.”

Ayaan puts a hand on her shoulder and looks into her dark, steady eyes. “Why?” he inquires.

“Because Ma said so, and she’s been saying so for the past couple years.”

“But why does she say that?” he insists. Isla frowns, struggling to figure out what he’s trying to say. “Isla, have you ever really thought about it? This is just a part of you, something that happens to every woman, right? It’s just a part of growing up. You shouldn’t be afraid of any of it. This happens where I live, too, but we never do anything like this, sending the girls away, and no one ever gets hurt or anything. Well, sometimes it makes the women feel really

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sick, but then, we shouldn’t be shunning them, we should be supporting them! Why should it be any different here? You don’t know anything about this. How will you understand what’s going on if you can’t ask about it, if you can’t learn?”

Isla doesn’t move for a second, trying to absorb what he’s just said, trying desperately to grab the words, to believe them. It… It makes sense. Why should she be afraid of this?

Suddenly the rituals all seem ridiculous, baseless superstitions that stayed with them through the ages. Why should she stay away from people? Why shouldn’t she do all these things? Why do people speak of it like they are planning to commit a crime, in whispers and mumbles? It’s a part of them.

It’s a part of me.

“Ayaan,” she breathes softly. “Oh Ayaan, I’ve been so silly! Well then, since you helped me, I…I want to tell everyone else.” She nods to herself, finalizing the thought. She doesn’t have to be afraid of it. She doesn’t want anyone else to be. “I want to fix the way the town feels about all of this. I want to learn. You’ll help me, right?”

Ayaan nods, smiling brightly. “Of course I will. Alright, why don’t we start with your mother? She’ll definitely listen to us, and then more and more people can understand. The first thing we’ll tell everyone: you don’t have to be afraid of it.”

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Until opportunity

Subhronil Mukherjee, (Age 13), New Jersey

Winter Is Coming

Ben wasn’t an ordinary wildcat.

He did not have many abilities - in fact, he was lacking in all. His hunting and tracking were poor, he had the stealth of an enraged elephant, and he did not have sharpened sight when the sun set and the day grew dark.

In addition, the pack where Ben lived in was running low on food. Winter was near, and all the rabbits and shrews and sparrows were being seen less and less often. Only the greatest hunters could go out in the wild and consistently bring back food.

Due to this, the pack elders drew a meeting at the dawn of a cold day, whether to keep him or cast him out. They were unaware, however, that Ben was outside the cosy cave, listening.

“It must be done!” demanded Red, a feisty old ginger tom. “He cannot provide anything for the pack! There is no use for him staying!”

Grant, a more respected grey coloured tom, eyed Red. “He’s still a child, he may possess many traits that we do not know of yet.”

“We have assessed him before,” drawled Alice cooly, a multicoloured tortoiseshell. “He cannot hunt, track, hide, or run, at all. I do not think there are any other traits that we need. Furthermore, we are running low on food.

The whole clan could be punished because of him.”

Eyes went on Grant, who did not speak to argue this point.

“He has a nice personality,” Maurice finally said timidly. He was the youngest of the elders, a shy character.

Red laughed. “What good can personality do to us? Besides, it’s not exactly uncommon for other packs to throw out their weakest pack

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member, especially in winter. Blaze’s clan did it a few weeks ago.”

Outside the den, Ben slowly drooped his head, aware that there was very little chance he would stay in this pack. Red had a good point. It was survival of the fittest.

Felicity, the oldest one of the elders, opened her mouth. All the cats looked at her, for she spoke wisdom through her words. “I agree with Red and Alice. Ben may have some traits, but the pack does not need him. I say we cast him away.”

“Where will he go? How will he surv”

“That’s his own matter,” Red said, cutting across the words of Maurice.

“We needn’t worry about that.”

“We need all cats to agree on this,” Felicity said. “Maurice and Grant are both for Ben, right?”

Maurice looked at Felicity, nodding his head. “Yes, I believe that he can still provide us something.”

Grant hesitated, then he took a sigh. “No. I think that you are right. It pains me to say it, but we must throw Ben out. For the good of all cats.”

Maurice opened his mouth, looking at Grant, then closed it. He shook his head. “Fine. Ben is no longer part of the pack.”

Felicity nodded slowly. “It will be made an announcement tomorrow midday. But for today, he will stay.”

As the cats started to walk out of the cave, Ben silently slipped out, filled with fear.

One of a Kind

Hugh wandered over to Ben, one of his closest friends in the pack. He seemed to be observing something.

“Hiya, Ben!” Hugh grinned. “What’cha doing?

Ben barely looked up from the plant he was investigating. “Hey Hugh,” he muttered.

Hugh stopped walking and stood right next to Ben. He looked at the plant.

He looked at it really hard. Nothing happened.

“What is that?” Hugh asked Ben.

“I don’t know,” Ben admitted. “But I think it helps reduce pain.”

Hugh stared at Ben. “How can you know that from just looking at it?”

“I didn’t,” Ben smiled. “But I took a squirrel from the food pile and injured it, then fed it some of this. Almost immediately it stopped squealing in pain the way squirrels do.”

Hugh grinned. “Jeez, why did you even think to do that?”

Ben shrugged. “I don’t like hunting all that much, so I spend a lot of time with plants.”

Hugh gave Ben a friendly nudge. “You are one of a kind.”

He left, shaking his head in disbelief.

Ben sighed. Being one of a kind was going to get him thrown out of the pack.

“Help!”

Grant walked over to his den, a warm piece of moss in his mouth. He placed it onto his bed, then patted the area, creating a soft cushion. He lied down. His body felt weak, which he dismissed as old age creeping into his bones.

However, as the minutes passed, the weaker he felt.

“I’ll feel better if I take a run,” Grant murmured to himself. But as he pushed up, he found that he could not get up.

What’s happening to me? Grant thought. His legs collapsed under him, and his vision began to fade.

“Help!” he cried out, coughing. Then he lost consciousness.

What Good Can a Cat Like You Do?

Landon raced into the den of Felicity, eyes wide with fear. “It’s Grant! I found him in his den and tried to wake him, but he didn’t move! I think

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something’s happened!”

Felicity sprang up and looked into Landon’s eyes. “Fetch the other elders. I’ll tend to Grant.”

Landon nodded and sprinted out. Felicity ran over to the den of Grant. It was in the corner of the denplace, for Grant liked it quiet. It was possible that Grant had been out for a long time since he lived in an isolated area.

Felicity skidded to a stop in front of Grant, fearing for the worst. She touched the forehead of the grey cat. It was burning hot. Felicity knew that no cat really knew how to cure illnesses, and most died when infected. As of now, Grant’s heart still beat, faintly.

Alice and Red came in, followed by Maurice. “What happened?” asked Alice.

Landon finally arrived, panting. He took a moment to catch his breath, then explained. “I don’t know much, but I was walking to the forest to hunt, and saw Grant on the floor. He was in the same position he’s in now.”

“What do we do?” Maurice asked Felicity. She paused, then sighed. “I don’t know. The best we can do is keep him warm, but Grant might not make it.”

In came Ben. From the way he took heavy breaths, it was clear that he had run to the den.

“Ben!” Maurice exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

Ben glanced at Maurice. “Can I… Can I take a look at Grant?”

“What do you want to look at?” Red spat. “There’s nothing we can do, kid.”

Ben ignored Red and padded over to Grant. For a few seconds, everyone was shocked by his sudden appearance, then Alice stepped in front of Ben.

“You’re not allowed in here. Something serious has happened, get out.”

Ben licked his lips nervously. “I think I can… help him.”

“What good can a cat like you do?” Red hissed. The question did not directly say Ben was useless, but there was a hostile tone in the message.

Ben paused, then looked at Felicity. “Please let me try to do something.”

Felicity hesitated. Then she bowed her head. “Then save him.”

Ben opened his mouth again, timid. “Well… I need you all to follow my commands.”

“The little cat wants us to obey him, like slaves!” Red spat.

Ben felt the hair on his back rise. Within a wave of sudden anger, he asked, “Do you want to save Grant?”

Red only glared at Ben.

Ben turned to Felicity. “Do you?”

Felicity smiled slightly. “Yes.”

Ben walked over to Maurice. “What about you, Maurice?”

Maurice seemed a bit taken aback. “Well… Yeah, I guess…”

Ben spun to Alice. “Are you willing to do what it takes to save Grant?”

Alice studied Ben for a long time. “I am,” she finally declared.

Ben turned back to Red. “Now, are you going to save Grant or not?”

Red felt the eyes of everyone on him. “I… am.”

Ben nodded slowly. Then he gestured to Maurice. “There’s a plant with three sharp, pointy leaves to the left of Jason’s den. Bring me that.”

Maurice nodded and raced over to Jason’s den. Ben looked at Felicity.

“Do you know what fireweed is?”

Felicity grunted a yes.

“Do you know where to find some?”

“There’s some right outside our territory.”

“Good, get a good amount of it.”

After Felicity sprinted away, Ben eyed both Red and Alice. “Alice, there are some very bright red berries near Felicity’s den. Take two or three and come back.”

Red growled. “What do I have to do now?”

“Get some moss and soak it well in the river,” Ben replied calmly. “Come back here fast to make sure it stays cold.”

Red obviously disliked the idea of fetching

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things for the young cat, but he obeyed Ben and ran off.

Meanwhile, Maurice came back to the cave, placing the plant onto the ground.

“Can you crush it up?” Ben asked. “You’re stronger than I am. I’ll open Grant’s mouth as you make sure the juices fall in.”

Maurice hesitated. “How do you know that this will heal him? It could very well just make his condition worse.”

Ben threw a glance over his shoulder. “Well, he’s going to die either way, then, isn’t he? Now, squeeze the juices into his mouth.”

Ben opened up the elderly cat’s mouth, seeing the green juice fall in. This will help fight off most of the sickness. Ben thought to himself. Now… we need the fireweed to get Grant’s blood running the plant around his system.

Felicity and Red came back at the same time. Ben grabbed the fireweed from Felicity, then gestured to Red. “Place the moss on Grant’s forehead. It’ll reduce the fever he’s going through.”

Red complied, keeping his paws on the cat’s forehead.

Ben suddenly realized that the elders weren’t the only one watching this.

Alice had to push her way through a small crowd of wildcats that had gathered.

Ben’s heart began to speed up. What if he failed? But his knowledge of the plants would pull him through - it had to.

Ben looked at Maurice. “You need to crush it up again. It would be best if Grant would actually eat the plant itself, but the juices should be good enough since he’s not conscious right now.”

Ben opened the mouth of Grant again, seeing the hand of Red on the forehead of the grey cat, seeing Maurice crush the juices, seeing Felicity, with a worried look on her face, as she wondered if Ben’s treatment would pull Grant through…

The last of the juices fell into Grant’s mouth, and Ben quickly took the berries from Alice. They were small, so Ben slightly crushed them and put them in the elder’s mouth.

“These berries have lots of sugar in them…” Ben muttered, almost to himself. “They should act as a jumpstart for Grant’s heart…”

For a devastating minute, Grant did not move. A few cats turned away.

Then, the old grey cat coughed, and opened his eyelids.

As cats rushed towards the wise wildcat, Ben barked at them. “Get back! He needs space to breathe.”

Ben was surprised that everyone listened to him, even Red, who stepped quite a few spaces back.

Ben slowly placed a hand on Grant’s chest, feeling a growing heartbeat.

He was weak. But he would survive.

Ben’s Fate

The sun had well past set, but Ben was still awake, for he had been called into the cave of the elders. Everyone there was present, except for Grant, who was still resting.

Felicity was the one that stepped forward. “Ben… You have done Grant a great service. We did not quite… expect that from you.”

Alice nodded. Even Red gave a small smile at Ben.

“Listen,” Maurice stepped in. “We kinda decided to throw you out earlier. You know we have a food shortage. Well… Now, we’re thinking that you can provide for the pack. Just not in the normal way.”

“We were wrong to think you were useless,” Red said. “No cat really is, useless. You just couldn’t show us, until opportunity…”

Felicity finished it, with her soft but powerful voice. “This world is not just in need of fighters… but healers. And you are the one to bring that into play.

You do want to stay, correct?”

Ben smiled at them, a soft purr growing from his chest. “Of course I do.”

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