Then the mountains spoke. Voiced it in chorus, on the ancient land of Turag. A world where trees walked, winds cried, rivers sang and the mountains talked. This place is not for humans to reside anymore but for natural lives and artificial intelligence. Turag, yes, this place, because humans have long been obliterated, like dinosaurs before them. Since then robots have replaced them. The organic world even as we speak, ceased to exist, as autumnal dirge swept through the pine forests of dead wood.

They all witnessed it, the sky, the oceans, and the mountains. But their voices couldn’t be heard. In the days of humans, everyone thought they were mute, who neither heard nor spoke. But humans were wrong. They communicated and witnessed every human history. Humans didn’t see what they saw. Just as well, they saw the end of the world. They saw it all coming. There was too much clunky background noise. Humans were really a noisy lot.

Turag, once a lush plateau. Birds frolicked in the rain. Wheat and rice grass grew and wavered under an autumn sky. Children played around, while mothers bar-b-qued corn over open fire-pits. Smoke nearly choked the neighboring mountains of the plateau. But the mountains never complained. They smiled and took it all in their stride. They waited patiently for a miracle to happen.

In the meantime, billions of years of civilization passed. Generations toppled one another. Kings died to make way for the new. Power corrupted Kings. Mighty Kings they might have been, who won battles, and killed people on the mountain steppes. The green fields turned scarlet, replacing the many resplendent shades. But wins and expansions were all that mattered to the Kings, one more despotic than the other, often sacrificed the innocent for self-aggrandizement and cared not much at all for justice, whether or not justice was meted out. Then a time came when nature revolted. Fields stopped producing bumper crops. Rains decided not to dole out the bountiful properties of the rainbow. Leaves shriveled up. Darkness blighted the sun. Blood-moon lit the world. Machines were empowered. This new age of machines initiated a different kind of rage. Annihilation of the humans underway, to take possession of the land. They didn’t need nature to feed them, and neither did they care to find beauty in it. Humans are long gone.

“Could men not have predicted this?” asked the blood moon to the mountains.

“They could very well have, because they were the ones to make these machines. But men ignored it in haste to chase success,” the mountains answered. The veiled sun conceded. The mountains said. “Enter our caves and view the paintings there; stories of life foreshadowed on the dim walls. But men paid no heed. Too much background noise; they came from war drums, drunken cheers of vacuous victories, and wonton amusements. Noise shrouded men’s judgment for everything that came to pass. Fools, they were fools! Those men, whose wisdom failed them. Only the stars knew how reckless they were. The massive destruction of innocent lives. Timeless settlements and resettlements, of nearly broken bones and spirits of men, women, and children. They looked like scattered peas to the gods above. Still, men endeavored to build communities and strange dwellings to shield themselves from showers, storms, and blustery winds. They chose to ignore the transience of life. They stopped to think that the life-giving, precious air, their lifeline, was sourced from an outer world; that they had no control over. The last breath taken, very well could be on those battlefields. Relentless battles, as if there were no tomorrows. Mortals inhaled this infinite air to harness what little strengths they could and stored them within their caged shells. A mortal existence, without any rhyme or reason. The immortals while they remained, so tied humans to timelines, and made them mortals. Ah! But humans didn’t think that far ahead. Too limited for predictions. That their passions exultant, looped them up into this paradox. That this paradox would also lead to the destruction of the human race. By far, their intelligence caused this downfall,” said Blood Moon. “Did they have a choice?

“Well, you and I seemed to have outlived humans.”

While they had this conversation, a dust storm picked up on the far side of the plateau. A russet gust of winds rolled in and darkened the mountains, clogging up their crevices and valleys. It covered the blood moon too, rendering a sad world to further gloom. This wasn’t the end surely? The mountains thought. They had difficulty breathing; the air had ceased. The trees stopped walking to regain their bearings; the rivers stopped singing. They broke out into hiccups and coughs. These tumults in the surroundings shook the peace. No human hand at play, to create this havoc. The machines ran amok, and kept losing their vital parts. There was no one to fix them. Machines could doctor one another, but they didn’t get that opportunity because even they couldn’t predict this. A human failing of flawed design, to be certain.

An impending disaster loomed. Another kind of warfare started within nature itself. The winds clashed with the rising tide. Mountains stood guard, to stop the storm from going any further. But the lightning then befell the mountain tips. A series of volcanic eruptions and melted glaciers paved the way for pandemonium. The overflowed lava wedded the falling flashes of lightning and danced in spiraled tango. Complete chaos beset the land of Turag. In the wake of a present danger, the blood- moon shot out of sight. The storms, and the lightning, left history in awe. Then a heat wave surged. Turag was hot again. Turag hotting up! The lava ran in a rivulet towards the swelling seas. The oceans submerged the mountains. The plateau of Turag, now under water, saw another breathing world beneath the oceans. Once again there was life. Mermaids swam unhindered. A clear sun ruled and gave humans a second chance.