Word Count: 2844 | Reading Time: 10 min
A very warm welcome to the second part of our Spotlight of the Himal Fiction Fest 2025! If you haven’t read the first one yet, you can do so here. The theme for this year’s original fiction submissions was imagined futures of Southasia. Thus, what follows is going to be a detailed—and gushing—overview of the six shortlisted speculative fiction stories. Our heartiest congratulations to the authors of these magical tales. It has been a true delight, reading the worlds and words they have conjured up.
As for you, dear reader, if you haven’t read these tales already by now, this might be your chance to do so because the review ahead is going to be rather spoiler heavy. You’ve been forewarned! So, gear up, grab a beverage and a snack, and let us dive into it.
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We Have Always Lived in the Temple by Amal Singh
The world is a temple and its stands segregated by a hierarchy of tasks. Tasks that not only carry physical excursion, but also perpetuate a social pecking order, title included. The title matters the most, of course. More than names, certainly more than wishes and justice. In fact, the latter is often morphed and meted out to obliterate the former, and, but naturally, uphold the sanctity of the title, always. For it is the title that defines the many privileges of the living: to eat well or not, be lashed or incinerated, to stand tall or bow, to bath in clean water or not, and so on and forth.
What happens then, when someone with a lesser title dares to think of a better one, a different tomorrow for himself? They are struck down, of course. Verbally, if they’re lucky, physically if not. For in this temple, where everyone serves at the pleasure of the gods and their few chosen devotees, thinking is a privilege and most heavily monitored. Imagination, too, hence, is stifled. For how does one preserve the subjugation of countless for the rewards of a chosen few? By simply ensuring that even the flight of one’s fancy is incapable of exceeding the height of the prison’s walls.
It’s a perfectly desolate system, making its most desperate captives labor along in an inescapable circle that merely gets tighter while pretending to expand. Singh’s prose shows this all in a way that allows the reader to feel the impossible odds of being trapped in these grounds, even as one yearns to break away from it, much like our protagonist. There’s a heart-wrenching earnestness to Munna’s innocent wishes for himself that hooks you immediately. It is a marker of great storytelling when the reader can urge the protagonist to go after what he wants while simultaneously wishing much much more for him. Singh manages this with an effectiveness that made me forget I was reading until that shock of a twist at the end jerked me back, forcing me to reread a few paragraphs to ensure that really happened.
There are many other poignant details to this tale. An electronic device embedded in everyone’s temple that not only monitors thoughts and actions, but its color also determines the person’s position in the ladder of social hierarchy. Moreover, the statues of gods here come to life, allowing the a few chosen privileged humans from outside the temple take their place, becoming stone in their stead. This is an annual occurrence too, a divinely ordained transfer of power and the right to be worshipped.
It takes a rare balance to craft worlds that have the panache for pointedly tender corners amidst a landscape so inherently cruel. In We Have Always… Singh manages this skill with a precision that is not only sharp and subtle but also deeply moving. Long after the words have ended, and the story finished, one is left wondering of the price we demand from others to protect the supposed legacies of our inherited devotions.
The Waters Between Us by Glen Loveland
Some sixty-two years in the near future, an archivist in New Dhaka, who largely spends her days cataloguing the remaining digital footprints of the many drowned cities of Southasia, is contacted by a water-worker. The young woman, who had dared to dive into the restricted-zone ruins of the old drowned Parliament, has brought with her some damning evidence. Evidence that the great floods that wreaked havoc across Southasia and displaced millions of people were not merely brought about by climate change, as popularly narrated by all forms of media. There’d been something sinisterly careless at play at the hands of the powers that be.
The archivist must now make a very important decision: to let the evidence out and further divide an already restless, wounded world? Or to bury it all away and let the present system carry on, no matter how inequal and unjust it may be?
At less than one thousand words, Loveland manages to pack a punch in this short that leaves one both, reeling and invigorated. The world building is futuristic yet so perfectly familiar, with subtle hints of ever amplified surveillance and the powerful hoarding resources. Class divide, thus, still very much rules across the urban fabric of the city, whereby the powerful live in their perfect spires and the water-workers who make the city run dwell across a network of floating villages.
By shifting the lens from power, business and bureaucracy, and focusing on the people of the region, Loveland subtly, and powerfully, brings to light the central ethos that we often find sidelined in the popular media stories about water, dams, energy and climate change. The end is both realistic and hopeful, leaving the reader wanting another chapter to reveal the new dawn.
Artificial Emotion by Sakina Hassan
Imagine an AI app that could customize itself to become anything—girlfriend, therapist, mom, mentor—that a customer may need it be. A one-stop solution to chat with about any and all your problems for different tiers of subscription models. Sounds simple enough, doesn’t it? There’s only one small catch: the robot voice at the other end of the chat? It’s not a robot at all. Just a large team of contract employees, tens of thousands of people, spread across parts of the world that those not living there don’t much think about.
Our protagonist is a part of this system, one of the many tired overworking employees. pretending to be an AI bot to a large slew of customers while navigating poverty, workplace politics, parental expectations, the toxic chaos that is the desi marriage mart, and dreams of a better tomorrow someday, hopefully somewhere abroad. It is such a well-knit and relatable slew of emotions and fields to navigate that one becomes instantly enamored with her.
Henceforth, it is no surprise that when the inevitable strings of her work, and rishta culture do indeed crosswire, her choice to cleverly manipulate these systems that have her trapped to, for once, work in her favor, the reader just ends up cheering her on. Which is a remarkable endeavor craft wise because the character remains nameless throughout, a rather genius choice on the author’s part. There’s almost a subtle layer of subversion to the concept of identity here, for despite the fact that we do get to emotionally understand the protagonist, she still remains invisible amid the daily drudgery that is her life within these giant business, political and social structures that treat people like commodities.
Hassan paints a world that’s starkly clear in both, its edgy tech connectivity, as well as a mix of old and new segregations. The prose embellishes a sense of morbid humor to the rather claustrophobic existence of these characters that allows them to appear both, pragmatic and likeable. The end, though devastatingly realistic, still echoes with that wit. All in all, this is a compelling tale of people trapped in unjust systems and the risks they are forced to take for a chance to get out.
Ode to Abundance by Arsalan Athar
Welcome to a post war and ecological collapse future where states and nationality are no longer a thing. People now live and thrive on multiple planets and the Earth is trapped inside a dome. Tech everywhere is incredibly advanced, though, and life largely continues uninterrupted amid the new systems and infrastructures in place. There’re just two small catches to be aware of in this new spectacular world: oxygen needs to be continuously shipped to other planets, and the Earthling and intergalactic human rivalry is a loud, ominous thing. A thing that manifests itself in many forms, be it travel restrictions and vaccination protocols to outright intellectual disdain for all things Earthling.
The inception of these new-but-familiar political and social infrastructures have a logical, scientific reason behind them, of course. For after so many years, the intergalactic humanity has gotten so acclimatized to living in space that they are now biologically intolerant of earthy germs. Hence, so many measures to keep those people in their place.
We meet our protagonist, Arif, as he tries to navigate this loud, ominous thing amid a new PR crisis surrounding his oxygen transportation and export company. Arif is convinced that the explosion was not his fault and most likely caused by the intergalactic humans’ failure to follow the careful instructions his company provides. However, given the escalation of negative fame and the possibility of business loss, he is advised by his PR agent to visit the sites of his oxygen production farms for a photo-op. And this impromptu business trip to the Punjab and the Himalayas opens up vistas for both, Arif as he reconnects with people and nature, as well as the readers as they get a hopeful glimpse of a small slice of the familiar, beloved Southasian topography thriving in a sci-fi future.
Athar packs so many rich details in this short, it is a sensory feat to read it. The world building is immensely comprehensive without diverting from the plot, the prose flows effortlessly. There’s a touch of heartwarming emotional whimsy to the tale, too, particularly in sections that describe the famers connection with the soil and plants, and a powerfully soft nudge towards standing up to power, at whichever form one may meet it, even at the cost of personal and financial loss. The ending was nothing short of invigorating, leaving the reader with a sense of cathartic determination.
The Water Diviner by Shikhandin
Imagine a water-scarce world where human settlements are structured around caste. Post nuclear war and climate catastrophes, when half of the Subcontinent was swallowed by the sea and most rivers killed, nature drastically changed shape across the planet as well and all surviving animals evolved into mutant, venomous versions of themselves.
In the aftermath, the ancient caste system merely picked up vigor and reestablished itself in more rigid, grotesque forms. There are entire settlements of marginalized minorities pushed to the outskirts; heavily surveilled, subjected to daily humiliation and violence, and forced to do free labor. Labor that is essential for the survival of the human race, too, for it is amongst these communities that the knowledge and practice of the most important skill of the era continues to survive: the art of finding water.
Ishmael Bhishti is a Water Diviner, the leader of his outcast community settlement in Kanpur. He is also training his young daughter, the little Sulu, this sacred skill that has been passed down in his family from generation to generation. Our story opens as the father daughter duo embark on a dangerous expedition to find water for themselves and their community. But Ishmael is not allowed to venture out on his own without the abject permission and guards of his masters. The water he finds does not belong to him, after all. Thus, him and Sulu must do this in the dark of the night, hidden from the prying eyes and surveillance that keeps them entrapped.
Shikhandin’s graceful prose paints this world full of heightened emotions and stakes. There’s real goosebump-inducing danger, the thrill of new adventure, intriguing science and the marvel of nature and earth as it tries to heal itself. There are sprinkled seeds of small rebellions, the resilient perseverance of a people’s history, culture, faith and, most of all, hope. Connecting it all are endearing characters that simply take your heart.
One trembles with Ishameal and Sulu as they hide in the shadows, smiles with them as they discover a renewed water resource, Ganga, and angers and cries alongside them as their hard work and happiness is cruelly, viciously soiled just for the heck of it. The end lifts up these heavy curtains, letting in the light of community and love. For hope is a strength one mustn’t lose.
The Patch by Varoon P. Anand
Climate apocalypse hit and the world has changed forever. The coastal cities don’t exist anymore, their place taken by new floating concoctions that are marvels of human ingenuity and adaptability, standing tall on flexible columns that adapt to the wave patterns of the risen ocean. Ocean that, too, has drastically changed. Large swathes of it have been taken over by plastic and pollutants that are decades old and have now slowly enmeshed, solidifying into deceptive reef-like structures, compact masses firm enough in places to hold weight and walk. This is known as the Patch, the floating, shifting and silently evolving mass nearly size of the Subcontinent itself.
Navigating this strange new landscape and its narrow water passages on his hybrid craft is the Ferryman. He harvests artifacts from these new offerings the ocean has to offer: metals and good plastics to be reused, collectibles from the drowned world priced by collectors in the floating world and so on and forth.
However, as he goes about his job, the Ferryman has also picked up on the fact that the ocean, too, has embarked on new journey. It is becoming, doing something more with this excess consumption waste that humans have left it. He feels it’s almost as though the ocean is preparing a response of its own to the refuse that it has been made to accept.
At its core, this appears as an an adventurous expedition story, the Ferryman eventually teaming up with Leela, a biotechnical researcher, to investigate what is known as the Reflection Zone. It’s a far end, and rather treacherous, part of the Patch that seems to be changing in ways that defy scientific principles, sprouting rumors of other fisherman witnessing strange new creatures that have never been seen before. However, as they travel there, collecting samples of the new, still-becoming things, witnessing the complex patterns and colors, the language of the ocean, the heart of this tale shines through.
Anand weaves this new dystopian sci-fi world with a layer of mysticism that’s enthralling. The concept of nature, ocean as a conscious entity on this planet, one inseparable from human life. The prose and dialogue flows seamlessly between the scientific history and understanding of the Patch and the Ferryman’s age-old wisdom of its presence and evolution. The world building is so immaculate, one all but sees the silhouettes of the floating cities, the connected ports and the Bay of Bengal as they must appear in this time. Subtle but telling hints of the powers that be manipulating events, silencing news, burying research and ignoring activists for their own greed and status quo. But the shadows of dismay hanging over this world, the still continued relentless drive of consumption, are pierced through with the hope of nature taking matters in its own hands. And that, too, in ways that are balanced and sustainable for all life forms.
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With that, dear readers, we mark the end of our spotlight of Himal Fiction Fest 2025! A big thank you the incredible team at Himal for giving us the opportunity to follow along their remarkable journey this year. And once again, many congratulations and a big thank you to all the writers who conjured up such fantastical worlds. Worlds that are not only thought-provoking but also being to light a myriad of political, social and climactic issues facing our world today, thereby initiating/enhancing diverse conversations within the landscape of speculative fiction and beyond.
Stories are the making of us; they allow us to understand the world we used to inhabit, dissect the world we dwell in and dream up better ones. We hope our little endeavor to examine these particular six ones has been as fruitful for you as it has been for us, if not more.
Please do consider letting the authors know if you loved their stories. And let us know, too, what you think of our readings of these tales. Drop us an email or a comment to share your thoughts, or just to say hi.
With that, I’ll bid you adieu until next time.
Warmly,
Ayesha Channa