The Rat Story

I am Tar 239to the power of 298. Well maybe not all that much but then I have lost count. I am not a young one anymore am I now?? Many seconds have passed since I was considered a prime specimen (not by my own kind of course.) according to our laws I will an elder only next mensem (there I go again talking in that other tongue). Sometimes I wonder whether my being the chosen one was a blessing or a curse. Too many things have happened to let me live my last days in peace here in Egabrag. It amuses me and frightens me too that I am held in such reverence and esteem by the young ones here. It’s their tails that give them away. You see they begin to whip very slowly, not back and forth, but up and down in a sort of swishwa. There, Athram is telling me to explain that word because it is too archaic. Archaic! Humph, I suppose she could consider me archaic then. What swishwa means is a kind of undulating; I think the word is, movement. That means they are excited and don’t want to or are not supposed to show it.

There she goes again, shriller than a whole mob of tars out to get fresh, mouldy, saccharine saturated, caffeinated doughnuts, and that is saying something. What is she saying now? I’ll tell you what you can listen to her yourself and then tell me what you think she is shrieking there.

“You’rewanderingagainIcanhearthewayyourtailthinkswhenyouarewanderingIamsuretheydon’twanttoknowallabouttheyoungonesTheyhavecomeallthewayforyouandgivethemsomeproperandthewaythingsactuallywentwhenyouwereupthere…”

Can’t make sense of it can you? I thought not. Anyway for once I will listen to her and tell you everything. All the way from the start.

I was born here, as anyone and everyone in the street will tell you. Seems to me that they know my story better than I do. So if you want a, what do the others call it, a. …biography, that is the word, go to any young one and it will tell you. In a terrifying monotone that reminds me of the hum of those machines (funny how words come back to you when you most need them and least expect them) that the others had in these huge white spaces that seemed to have no end. I will start from the very beginning.

It all began on the day my progenitor approached me on the can only at that time I had no idea he was my progenitor. He (or she) said, “ you are to come to the Supreme Commandura right now” in a terrifying monotone. He (or she) caught me by the point of my tail, which is what any one of us would do if we wanted the other person to come along without any delay (which is always possible in this beautiful city of ours. So much window and street shopping to do here. The lemon rind for the staircase and the yellow mould will go so well together). So I was forcibly marched all way up to the Dil*, which is our centre of power. I was ushered in to a large and well-lit eloh. There I was told by a squeaky voice with no visible source, “youareherebycommandedtowithdrawtothecommunityofotherswhoserveintheholysanctumcalledrowantechniologiesandwillhavetoreportbacktothesupremecommandurainsixmonthstimean…” To cut a long and squeaky story short I was to be sent as a (shudder to name it even now) lab rat to a place called Rowan Technologies as part of an ancient spy system that allowed us to keep tabs on the others.

I was of course thrilled, as I had no idea what I was to encounter there. I won’t deny it was fun but then it had its moments too. Some were quite bad. In fact most were downright horrible and I lost count of the number of time I came close to ascending to the paradise I was told awaited me if I was ever privileged enough to die in the line of duty. That most did apparently ascend to this most marvellous of places did not bother me much then. I in my youthful zest for life love and food, not necessarily in that order mind you, I considered myself a non-believer. I am of course a convert to our credo, which is “ whatever might happen to the rest of you guard your tail with absolute faith for it is the source of all life and all sadness.” Not that I know what it means even today but one thing I do know for certain I will never ever let my tail be insulted in the manner in which it was in the world of the others.

I know I am jumping again but then what is the point of my telling you anything if you want it all your own way.

I thought that would shut you up. Now stay quite till I finish the tale. Hehe pun intended.

The Beginning

My first encounter with the others was memorable to say the least. I had to let myself be captured by them in an elaborate chase that spanned more than half a day across the considerable floor space of the local shopping mall.

They absolutely refused to give up and in the end I had to let myself graciously surrender as per orders from the Commandura. I have to admit they were quite good though there were others in later years that would exhibit greater skill and fortitude (not to mention craftiness) than these ones. I was then transported in what was called a cage I think. You must have seen pictures of it in your textbooks. Obsolete now, what a pity. I almost miss the wires and the small squares that limit your view to one perspective rather like your TV’s.

So where was I? Right. I was taken to this laboratory. Amazing how much of there equipment was redundant and useless. They were and still are amazingly backward. They used generators to power their machines. Generators generate electricity dunderhead. Don’t you learn anything in that pathetic excuse for a school they have here. This is what comes of adopting the other education system.* Useless, absolutely useless.

Alright, alright I’m getting on with it. Women! Nag, nag, nag that is all they ever do. Especially this one.

I fascinated them. Called me a fine specimen. Specimen humph! I’ll show them specimen.

So I was put in a “controlled environment”. Just a fancy way of not calling a cage a cage. They had a wheel in it for god’s sake. I was supposed to run around on it like some kind of moron. Unfortunately I was under strict orders to give them full satisfaction and cooperate with them. That, young ones, is bureaucratese for “don’t screw up or we’ll have to dump you permanently”.

Anyway we had been studying them for quite sometime and the local skrinsh had told me all about programmed responses and behavioural patterns. I followed their instructions to the ‘m’ and of course gathered all the data I could on their responses.

The most common one seemed to come from the female of their species who had a particularly disgusting habit of bending down and shrieking (into my ear no less) “ Oh! How adorable. Isn’t he just the cutest mousie wousie you ever saw?” To add insult to injury they would the brush those two appendages that are always flapping open at the slightest notice over my (shudder) head. I would have red streaks or pink on my head for days after. Disgusting!

The first of the experiments was simple-devastatingly so. I was trained to salivate at the sound of a whistle. They made sure that every time I saw food a whistle was blown. I was supposed to salivate every time I saw the food and hence they assumed I would automatically do so every time the whistle was blown. Well that truth of the matter is that-I did. God! They dangled strips of mouldy doughnuts in front of me. What was I supposed to do about it?

Then I decided to have some fun with them. I never could resist messing around with their carefully laid plans. More than that it was an excellent chance to lead the higher ups on a wild goose chase.

The next time they blew that whistle I salivated so much my cage was half full of goo. I regurgitated the previous days dinner, lunch and a few unmentionables. (I never knew how good deodorant tasted until I was introduced to Revlon.)

Well I pretended I had drowned in my own spit. You should have seen the uproar it caused there. Hoo boy! It makes me feel twenty moons younger to think of that. They pulled me out and one nut even tried CPR-from human to rat. One of his colleagues wondered whether I would survive the onslaught of his co-worker’s halitosis. What they didn’t know and still don’t know is that we tars survive on halitosis.* I was naturally “revived” to the fullest by the smell and in order to investigate where that delicious olfactory sensation was being produced I decided to track down the source. Of course that meant having to wiggle into the other’s cavernous mouth. The fathead actually went into convulsions and in the end his overburdened heart went in to hyper drive and he.. Well he warped out straight into the next dimension. Personally, I think it was because of all those chocolates he used to stuff himself with and not the sight of himself with a pink tail hanging out of his mouth and a furry sensation inside it. It still is a lovely tale-I mean tail.

That wasn’t quite the end of it. I was (as usual) told in the strictest possible terms that if I did not behave myself my supply of fresh, mouldy, saccharine saturated, caffeinated doughnuts would stop. Now that was a warning I had to take seriously considering the fact that it was enforced by a shrill squeaky aggravating female enforcer who sounded (and looked) like she meant every word of it. That she stills threatens to do that to me today is only because it’s become a habit with her. She hasn’t even changed the wording since the time we’ve been married.

Yes, yes that’s how we met. She was my “watchdog”. At least that’s what those others would call her-if they had known of her in the first place. Believe it or not, she was the one who dragged me to the Supreme Commandura to get married. All that other talk of women’s lib really got to her in those days. She claimed it was for my “protection” and that it would be easier for her to keep tabs on me that way. Women, I tell you, have the funniest notions at times. She actually thought she would be able to keep me in check. Hah! She soon learnt that wasn’t going to be possible… “ Yes dear! Yes dear I took out the banana peels…yes I dumped the leftovers for the cat outside…yes I had my milk and cheese…”

Where was I? Ah yes…we had many adventures together Athram and I. There is so little time to tell you all about them. She insists that I get to bed now…there she goes again. Nag, nag, nag. Women …can’t live with them; fool enough to want to live with them.

Goodnight then. Maybe some other day I will tell you all the adventures I had topside. Maybe I’ll even call them “The Tail of the Tar”…has a nice ring to it. Don’t you think so?

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* The rats in an attempt to distinguish themselves from the Homo sapiens species (whom they felt they were imitating to an alarming degree) decided to adopt human words but in the reverse order to ensure that no human ever found out that the rats had such an advanced society. Rats have always been fiercely protective of their interests and their territories especially after a particularly nasty incident wherein a dyslexic rat was sent as a specimen volunteer to the laboratory. He wrote all his communications the wrong way round (for the rats that is) and in the process allowed the humans to catch a glimpse of what their intentions actually were.

* The tar’s dislike for all things human are well documented. What they particularly loathe is the human education system. They believe that this education is actually a form of brainwashing and shudder to even think of putting their young ones through such a grinder of a system. One well-known experiment with human educational systems saw an entire generation of tars throw themselves in front of a speeding 16 wheeler. Research scholars have still not found the motive behind this unusual instance of mass suicide.

* Rats are well known for their attraction towards foul smells and all kinds of rot. One of tar’s illustrious forbears categorised halitosis into 298.769 types and categories. His work is regarded as a masterpiece and is believed to outstrip any research done on the subject by human medical specialists. There is an ongoing movement to publish this seminal work topside so that adolescents can work towards that elusive dream of finding a partner for prom night.