This is not really a story, but my contribution to the Underground Library Society:
Underground Library Society – Silappadikaram by Ilango Adigal
I read Fahrenheit 451 as a naive middle schooler, suddenly startled by the possibility of a world where my cherished books might disappear. It astonished me that this could be the future, a dull, aching void of a life where only moving entertainment was available and humans gravitated towards bite-sized numbing videos rather than read things written on paper.
As that dreaded future has slowly become present, I find that book prophetic. Brief Tiktok videos are the popular thing, along with clips taken from longer movies. The scene cuts in shows are ever shorter (as my children noticed, an old episode of Mister Rogers meanders like a river unlike the newer incarnations of even PBS shows). In a recent book, the author actually thanked the reader for making it halfway through.
It pains me that the Underground Library Society needs to exist, but it is more pertinent than ever. In the book (and later the two movies) of Fahrenheit 451, individuals “become” books, having memorized them, in a world where the tomes are frequently burned and soon disappear. As digital overtakes paper, the physical books need to disappear. Millions of new books are published each year, and the older ones must make room for them.
I wonder what will happen in a future where paper books are not stored but we run out of fossil fuels to keep the lights on in digital libraries. Will the online books disappear too, but in a digital glitch rather than a raging bonfire?
This makes it all the more compelling for the ULS to exist, and for us all to carry the weight of knowledge within us, but shared as a human community. As Tyson Yunkaporta says, our bodies become the repositories of our collective knowledge.
This brings me to what book I would choose. As a person with (as far as I know) native Indian ancestry, I looked back to various books of Hindu culture, of mythology and legend as possible books. In the process, I came across this amazing list of books banned in India – many of which are books which would incite violence or are critical of the government, a surprising find in the world’s largest democracy.
However, I also identify as a woman, and a native Tamil speaker. There are 80 million Tamil speakers in the world, so it’s not exactly dying (there are many other endangered languages in India), but I do see it being slowly replaced by English, while evolving into what we sometimes called “Tanglish.”
All this to say that I found just the book that I would like to become. It is called Silappadikaaram, or The Story of an Anklet. It was written in 5th or 6th century in Tamil as a poem, and includes the themes of three coexisting religions of the time, Hinduism, Buddhism and Jainism (its purported sequel Manimeghalai also includes these, and both relate various stories from these three traditions) during the time of the ancient Chola and Pandyan kingdoms.
The story tells of a woman, Kannagi, and her husband Kovalan, a merchant. He is unfaithful to her, loses his money, but returns contrite as she tells him her pain. Eventually she takes him back, and gives him her silver anklet to sell. He sells it, but is reported to the King of Madurai as having stolen the anklet from the queen (who happened also to be missing an anklet). Kovalan is arrested and executed without trial. Kannagi visits Madurai in search of him, and finds out what has happened. She throws down her remaining donut-shaped anklet and it breaks open, showing that it is filled not with diamonds as the queen’s anklet would be, but instead holds only a few simple pearls. In her rage at the injustice, Kannagi curses the king and the city, burns down Madurai, and earns a place as goddess. Today, a statue of Kannagi stands looking at the ocean in Chennai.
I love this story because it demonstrates so many beautiful things: the power of women, the strength of love despite pain, the conflict over class, and the ancient settings that are still partly visible in rural Tamil Nadu in India. I’ve been to Poompuhar, where Kovalan and Kannagi lived, and it is idyllic even today. As a partly historical document, it also yields clues to other aspects of Indian culture during and before this time (see https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Silappatikaram).
If I were to memorize it, I’d go first for the English translation, but the original Tamil (found on palm-leaf manuscripts) would be a step further, preserving the rhyme and meter of the language. If only we knew the tune in which it was once sung!
Okachiko - Sit There 
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