Diya

Pick something. Pick something. I sat cross-legged on the stone floor of my family home, racking my brains for something, anything I was good at. It was the night of my 16th birthday, and it was the day I needed to provide the Council with the name of my craft, talent, or ability. I needed something special that would please the Creator. In exactly 45 minutes, the Guards from the Council would arrive at our colony, and they would escort me to our Nation’s chief monument, where I would Declare my Truth in front of our holy Council.

“Diya, they are here! I hope you decided on your Truth. Do not embarrass your family. Your mother and I have sacrificed a lot for you to succeed. You have been blessed by the Creator, you must prove you are worthy.”

You must prove you are worthy. I had heard those words before. Not just as they escaped from my father’s tongue, but it was what every adult Plebus had taught us in school and on the fields. It was echoed daily by the Plebus, and it was part of the opening ceremony at each of our Declarations. To please the Creator, everyone would say.

“But they are so early! The bell tower is yet to strike 12.” I began to protest, but I knew that by the disapproving glance on my father’s face that my approach was entirely futile. As I slowly rose from the floor, I felt a sharp jolt in my left arm. I knew what was happening before I ever looked up. The Guards had briskly walked right in, presumably with my father’s approval, and had injected me with the Blue. They were here to take me to the chief monument. I wished to scream in their faces that I was not ready, but I knew better. For they have no ears, and they have no tongues. I knew better. My eyes felt droopy. You must not be ungrateful, everyone would say.

“Mmmmmphh, mmmphhh.” My eyes flew open at the sound of a Guard’s guttural attempts to wake me. We had arrived at the Nation’s chief monument. We were assigned seating based on the results of our aptitude test, a rather confusing set of obstacles based on the principles of ancient mathematics and languages. My mother had once told me that the Olden languages were created during horribly violent times, and skills like mathematics and science were used for trickery, manipulation, and war. All the ancestors were bad people, she would say, very misguided. After the Great Erasure, the Council selected the fittest couples from all the Olden Con-tries, and restored peace one hundred years ago. We were all grateful for this.

“You must prove you are worthy! To please the Creator, let us begin. Joney, descendent of the Brehtish people, you may come forward.” Startled from my daydream, I looked up and saw her. Clutching the microphone was a pale female Patricie, dressed in all white, her emerald eyes piercing each and every spectator as they watched her in awe. “Your scores on the aptitude test are splendid. You have passed with flying colors, most blessed by the Creator, there is no doubt. What is your Truth?”

“I have mastered radiation therapy,” Joney proudly exclaimed, raising his fist in the air. “I possess the meticulous knowledge and skills needed to cure ourselves from this curse.”

“An important and valuable Truth indeed! Joney, the Creator will be pleased.” The Patricie pointed towards her fellow Council members. “Remember young Plebus, we the Patricie do not only exist to provide guidance on how to please the Creator, we are masters of the ancient knowledge of science, leaders of our new Nation. We exist as architects of peace. You must prove you are worthy, and you may join our cause. You may one day become Patricie. May the fittest go on to live blissfully.”

As the Patricie went on to speak about the many merits of Joney and the young Plebus that followed, I felt a deep pit in my stomach. I was not ready, but I would be called to the stage at any moment to Declare my Truth. Any minute now, she would utter my name. As I heard her clear her throat, I knew it was me. “Diya, descendent of the Indy-en people, you may come forward.”

I hastily rose from my seat and was ushered quickly by the Guards to the front of the stage. The Patricie continued, “Your scores on the aptitude test are average. You have passed with a satisfactory score, but admittedly, many young Plebus have done better. Nonetheless, what is your Truth?”

“Ahh, I can sing well, Patricie,” I muttered, as if I was talking to myself.

“You must speak louder Diya, descendent of the Indy-en people, as we do not have all day. My dear Council members, this young Plebus believes she can sing. Is anyone looking for the curative powers of song and dance?” she said mockingly. “But you have spoken your Truth, and if that is all that you can offer us, the Council cannot accept you. You are not worthy. The Creator will not be pleased.”

“PLEASE Patricie! I am worthy, give me a chance! I just need to learn!” I screamed in fear, begging for the opportunity to succeed. My parents were going to hear of their daughter’s failure soon enough, and I did not know what would become of me. I did not know anyone who failed to please the Creator. I did not know what became of those who were not worthy.

The Patricie looked down at me with sympathy. “I am sorry young Plebus, we are beholden to the Creator. The fittest must live blissfully. We must maintain our cause.”

I felt two guards grab my shoulders and inject me with the Blue. My eyes became heavy almost instantly and I knew I was being dragged off of the stage before I could cause any further disruption to the sacred Declaration.

I awoke many hours later, and found myself in orange scrubs and white sneakers in a small holding cell. Patient clothes, I remembered from my school’s ancient history classes. That’s what these are. But why?

“I wouldn’t think too much about it.” I jumped suddenly, startled by the sound of another voice. My door had been opened, and an adult Plebus was staring right at me. “I’ve seen many young Plebus like yourself here during my time. I won’t let it happen again.” She walked in hurriedly and shut the door. “Now listen to me carefully and do not react to anything I say. The Guards are watching us but they cannot hear us.”

I nodded subtly, to confirm that I understood. I was reluctant to trust a stranger, but something about her tone and demeanor gave me assurance that I could believe her. I mouthed OK.

“Long ago, the Nation as we know it did not exist. There were Con-tries and people of different Con-tries who fought against each other instead of working together for peace and harmony. You already know this, I am sure. But what the Patricie have not told us, is that there were good things about the ancient world! Vibrant cultures and love, and some people did work together to make the world better. After the Great Erasure, the original scientists became the Patricie, who vowed to create a peaceful, successful society that would never delve into chaos like the ancient world. They would always work towards the goal of perfecting society, perfecting the gene pool in order to produce only the fittest of people, who would possess the most ideal sets of abilities and talents needed to maximize human potential.” She paused to make sure the Guards were not alarmed, and continued.

“To create this ideal society, the Patricie would only allow those who scored highest on the aptitude test and had a valuable Truth to become new Patricie. Those who scored above average on the aptitude test and had a helpful but not vital Truth could become Plebus and work on simple tasks to keep society functioning properly. Those who scored only satisfactorily on the aptitude test, without a valuable or helpful Truth, would be sent to patient cells to become Guards. They were going to cut off your ears and tongue. They deemed you invaluable or perhaps even dangerous to society, and were going to give you the Purple. The Purple would render you incapable of producing young Plebus, effectively removing you from the gene pool.”

I was shocked. I could not believe what I was hearing. Barely moving my lips, I quivered at the thought of my fate. “What do I do to stop this? Why can't I remember anyone who failed the Declaration?” I realized I did not know how Guards came to be. Why was I so ignorant?

The Plebus responded with a look of deep sadness. “When I was doing research on the history of societies, I chanced upon a heart-shaped locket hidden inside The Book of the Creator. As I dug into this locket’s history, I found that if a person wears it, the locket will judge what is in that person's heart. If what the locket finds is fundamentally good, then the person becomes capable of erasing the effects of the Blue from the entire society. The Blue is what made us forget the Plebus in our lives who became Guards. This is why we do not remember what happens to the Plebus who fail. I will admit that I am too afraid to take the chance, as if a person is judged to be fundamentally bad, then that person will die upon wearing the locket. But this is the only way to remove the Blue. If we remove the Blue, then the Plebus will begin to remember. If we remember, we can overpower the Patricie, save the Guards, and bring about a revolution.”

I froze. I wanted instead, to beg the older Plebus to wear the locket. To scream and cry that I was still only a young Plebus, and that I could not be given such a dangerous task. At that moment, I heard echoes of voices inside my head. Perhaps they were the voices of my ancestors, or at least what I imagined they would sound like if they were here with me. They reminded me that my name, Diya, is ancient Sans-krett for an oil lamp, signifying light. In the Olden times, my people would light diyas to portray light vanquishing darkness. I knew then that my ancestors were brave people, and like them, I had to live courageously and not be ruled by fear. With this realization, I took the locket from the Plebus' hand and with a deep breath, I hung it around my neck.

Almost instantly, a bright red glow was emitted from within the locket. I could feel it. A revolution had begun. I was Diya, the eternal light.