Author: Aarav Bhatia, Class X A
In the westernmost part of the Great Isles, stood an island so obscure that even the most comprehensive map failed to include it or even admit it existed.
The Denial Farms.
They were not what we would have called farms. Nothing edible was grown here. Nothing that was harvested filled the silos. This is because the Denial Farms cultivated only one thing: denial.
And this was the first and only rule of the Denial Farms: deny, deny, deny.
Deny the existence of anything in front of you.
Deny the actions you are observing.
Deny the consequences of these actions.
Whenever it rained, the farmers said: “It didn’t rain.”
Whenever the old Famine visited this land, there were virtually no hungry people. Because hunger was denied.
The dead were reported as ‘temporarily misplaced’, because people could not come to terms with the death of their beloved ones.
The magical land of Denial Farms responded strangely to these strange practices. The rivers stopped flowing, because people denied that rivers existed. The mountains slowly sank into the Earth, because people thought that they were just illusions. Even the Sun began to dim, not because people denied that the Sun existed. Because they didn’t admit that they needed light.
You might think who in their right minds would visit the Denial Farms.
The land was visited relentlessly by kings, scholars, wizards and knights, tired of their life, seeking this land to deny their existence.
At the centre of the Denial Farms stood the Hall of Refusal. It was a mere cube of concrete with a hole that served as a door. People didn’t develop their most important monument, because development was a myth.
Only one object was kept on a battered table in the centre of the Hall of Refusal. A crystal ball made of pure glass. From the ball generated a fog so dense that sunlight struggled to find its way.
And this was the reason why the Denial Farms was incessantly covered with fog.
The foreigners claimed that the fog was the reason why the mind of the people was filled with denial. The people, of course, denied it.
Near the Hall of Refusal stood a small cottage made up of straw and mud. In that cottage lived the Chief Denier.
The Chief Denier kept his face covered at all times by a plague doctor mask, because he denied his existence. He preached the teachings of his noble ancestors.
He taught that denial was the highest form of freedom.
“If you deny the cage,” preached the Chief Denier, “you were never really imprisoned. If you deny the wound, you never bleed. If you deny war, you are always at peace. If you deny meaning, you are never wrong. If you deny your existence, you are never held accountable.”
The people just nodded. Nodding was a habit, not a belief, so it could not be denied. One night, a traveller arrived.
Or rather, a non-traveller arrived. The roads denied being travelled. The gates denied being opened. The traveller denied being a traveller.
The non-traveller wore a black hood that revealed only his nose and mouth. The hood disclosed his unshaved stubble.
“I am not here,” said the non-traveller politely.
The local peasants welcomed him with gratitude. Such humility was rare.
The non-traveller lived with peasants. He was a person already accustomed to the rules of the Denial Farms. He never affirmed anything.
However, the dangerous thing was that the non-traveller didn’t deny much, creating a void.
An old woman fell down on the ground. She screamed, “I am hurt!” But the non-traveller didn’t say anything when all the peasants screamed, “Deny that you are hurt. You will not feel the pain.”
A child was staring at the empty stars, wondering where the stars had gone. The non-traveller didn’t say anything while the peasants said, “We deny that anything has gone.”
After a few days, the peasants ceased denying, following the behaviour of the non-traveller. But they still didn’t affirm anything.
The non-traveller considered this as an improvement. However, why did they do so?
Silence which had not been denied was often more powerful than denial or affirmation. It existed without permission, strong enough to dismantle the magical fog of the Denial Farms.
The fog began to thin.
The sun began to glow brighter.
A denied field produced a single blade of grass.
Alarm spread.
The Chief Denier was, of course, worried by these developments. He called all the people to the Hall of Refusal.
“This growth is an error,” declared the Chief Denier. “Someone has affirmed.”
“Or rather, some had not denied anything,” said the non-traveller, sliding through the crowd until he reached the front.
The Hall of Refusal fell quiet.
“I believe that you are the person who has affirmed something, wounding the ancient magic of our island.”
The crowd stirred. Belief was something close to affirmation, hence never mentioned. “Belief is just a disturbance. Belief is just affirmation kept silent.”
“You,” the Chief Denier said angrily, pointing at the non-traveller, “are the cause of this decay. If you neither believe nor deny, you threaten the balance.”
“The ancient magic of the island depends on denial and belief. Denial is an action, something which a non-believer voices out. However, belief is passive and hence, harmless. Our ancient magic is only threatened when someone says aloud their belief.”
“Our magic is harmed when someone voices out their belief, or worse, withholds their belief.”
The traveller lifted his hood just a bit.
“Our magic! You just affirmed something.”
The Chief Denier, the maintainer of the magic, has just affirmed something.
The ground cracked. And the Chief Denier fell into the hot, bubbling orange lava. The fog disappeared.
The glass crystal ball exploded.
And the Denial Farms ceased to exist. The westernmost part of the Great Isles was christened a new name.
Of course, this too may be false. Some readers may deny this story.
And reader, if you deny it, the Denial Farms will welcome you home.
