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Quetzal - Maya Khankhoje Maya Khankhoje is one of the talented new voices in the evolving literature of science fiction and fantasy. Long dominated by Western-centric technological positivists, speculative fiction has become more complex today --- it asks more difficult questions, takes less for granted and includes more diverse voices than ever before. However the so-called Third World is still under-represented in speculative fiction, not only in terms of setting and subject matter, but also in terms of writers and points of view that are unique to its many cultures. Maya Khankhoje's writings help fill a great void. Click here to read Maya Khankhoje's profile by Vandana Singh and two short fiction pieces.

Once upon a time there was a small but cozy nest perched on a solid tree on top of a mountain. It sheltered a bright-plumed quetzal, her loving mate and their two fledglings. Grubs were abundant and the warm breeze swayed gently through the leaves.

One day a huge silver bird picked up the birds and flew them across many mountains and many seas and dropped them into a wondrous jungle. There, the birds thrived amidst fragrant flowers, luscious fruits, wild beasts, starry nights, sunny days and kind humans.

But all dreams must run their course, even quetzal dreams. So one night, the silver bird returned for them and dropped them back on their tree on top of a mountain. But their nest had shrunk and the tree had withered and the wind now whistled through the naked branches in a plaintive song.

The seasons turned and the wondrous jungle across many mountains and many seas beckoned them once more. So they floated back in the belly of a huge whale that bobbed up and down the seas.

When they got there, the littlest quetzal ventured into the jungle but found it blighted. The wild beasts had been hunted down and the fragrant flowers and luscious fruits had been sold in the marketplace. So she cried and cried and pined for her nest back home. The seasons turned and the jungle recovered its foliage and with it, hope returned.

One moon-lit night, a crow dropped a plum at her feet and cawed: Come fly with me. I shall take you back to your nest. So she flew with the crow, across many seas and many mountains, leaving her parents and sibling behind .

Back home, she discovered strange birds had taken over her nest. So she went out and found herself a mate, built a new nest and had a brood of two. Grubs were abundant and life was sweet and sunny.

One night a dense cloud stole into their little nest and settled on the brow of her mate and woke him up. Come, we must leave, he squawked, and off they went, flying over dale and hill until they reached the North.

But the dark clouds never lifted. Instead, they condensed and froze in the heart of her mate. I have to return, he squawked again, and so he flew off alone. Her brood followed afterwards, leaving her all forlorn.

She stayed behind and the seasons turned and no one came for her. And one day she sighted her brood, their feathers moulted, flying side by side with mates of their own. Come join us, they squawked. This way! said one. That way! said the other. So she flew hither and thither, until she got tired and one of her wings broke.

So she now perches on a bare tree looking at the dark clouds gathering on the horizon. She has forgotten whence she came and knows not whither she is going. Squawk! she cries out. The wind howls back.

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