Bionic Pranayama

Two little cubs played on a grassy hill while their mother dug a warm den for the long winter ahead. She dug through dirt, she dug through rock, and she dug through the trash that was long buried from an old civilization. With each swipe of her massive paw she made the den deeper and pushed out another fist full of crumbling and decaying rubble.

The little cubs pounced and tumbled with each other when a big box rolled from the bear den and stopped at their feet. They lost focus on wrestling and stared at the box. They circled the box. They sniffed the box. They pounced the box.

They bit at the box and tore it open, shook the cardboard around, and rolled around with the shreds as the sun began to set. Mamma roared at the cubs to join her, and they scampered up the hill to cuddle into her furry belly for a good winter’s sleep.

The mid-spring night was moonless, making thousands of stars work harder to light up the treelined forest edge. They twinkled and shone as two new stars blinked into life.

A sleek silver robot pushed his way up into a sitting position. He wiped dirty slush from his arm. He surveyed the remnants of his box. He wiggled his fingers in front of his face and rubbed his eyes. He opened and closed his mouth. Out of his mouth escaped a light hum.

The robot crawled to the top of the hill, past a family of sleeping bears, and through the bushes. The robot stood at the top of the hill, as tall as the lone pine sapling that declared itself king, and beheld a city of glowing lights in the distance.

The robot set off walking down the hill, through the pines and maples, and over creek and abandoned train tracks. It arrived at a sheep farm.

The shepherd’s wife sat at the kitchen table drinking a cup of coffee in her robe. Sun shone through the open top of the split backdoor. She held the cup in her hands, feeling the warmth of the cup between her palms, and blew steam away from the rim. As she took her first sip she saw two little robotic hands grip the frame of the door.

“What’s this?” she asked.

The top of the robots head crested vertically over the doorframe. It hesitated before cocking its head just enough to poke one eye into view.

“Don’t be afraid, gentle robot,” said the shepherd’s wife.

The robot, still gripping the doorframe, slid into view at the doorway and waved.

“Let me get a better look at you.” She stood and moved her way to the door.

The shepherd’s wife looked the robot in the eyes; she gripped his shoulders and checked the dirt at his fingertips.

“Let me see the back of your head,” she said, motioning with her finger for him to turn around.

“Vir-chul Human Model B,” she turned him back around to face him and pinched the air above his shiny metal cheek.

“Hmmm, well, Vir-chul, you were a blank slate. You were programmable to be anything your owner wanted.”

Vir-chul hummed in return.

“Oh, you’ve lost your voice? Or, maybe you weren’t programmed to have one until your owner chose your functions.”

Vir-chul hummed again, he pointed at the city.

“No, honey, no. We, as a society, have moved on from the needs of robots, artificial intelligence. It’s a thing of the past. Your kind was all decommissioned years ago. I haven’t seen a robot since they were discontinued. I think I was just a child. It’s been over a hundred and fifty years.”

Vir-chul hummed again, he pointed at the city harder.

“If you go to the city, you will be discontinued too. You are obsolete, dear. The city has no need for obsoletion.”

Vir-chul hummed again, he looked around the farm and back at the shepherd’s wife, he pointed at her.

“I have no need for you either. You are best to go out and find your own way in the forest,” she furrowed her brow.

Vir-chul let out a long, low, hum and he hung his head, turned, and walked back toward the treeline on the hill. He walked through the day, through the night, and another day. He climbed rocky hills and traversed flowing rivers. He came upon a large clearing filled with blue alpine snowbells and he sat in the center. He closed his eyes and hummed.

He had no idea how long he had been humming. It could have been hours or it could have been weeks. He stayed in that position through sunshine, wind, and rain. He stayed that way until one day: something hummed back.

Vir-chul opened his eyes and looked left and right, but he was alone in the field. Then he heard the hum again. He looked down to see a bee sitting on his chest.

“Hello,” hummed the bee.

“Hello,” hummed Vir-chul.

“You are hollow inside,” hummed the bee.

“I have no purpose,” hummed Vir-chul.

“You can keep my queen safe,” hummed the bee.

“Does that give me purpose?” asked Vir-chul with a short hum.

“Only you can decide what your purpose is,” hummed the bee.

“I will keep your queen safe,” hummed Vir-chul.

The bees moved into Vir-chul. He walked them to the best fields of flowers when they asked. They filled his emptiness with wax and honey. They danced for him and hummed their song.

He hummed along.

The End