The Time-Traveling Character Witness
Prasanna Vighne and Prasanna Vighne appear at the prosecution of Prasanna Vighne
Windowpane showcases the writing of the Clear Writing Community. Click here to learn more.
This story was written by Prasanna Vighne in response to the following prompt:
Message in a Bottle: Write a letter to your younger or older self.
Stenographer Diaries #394
Case: Prasanna v. Prasanna
Date: July 8th, 2040
"Please state your name and age for the record."
"Prasanna Vighne," said a wheezy voice, "and I am eighty-two, at least where I came from."
"What year would that be?"
"2072."
"Thank you for coming back to 2040 to help us out. So, you do admit that you wrote a letter, addressed to your younger, 30-year old self?"
"Yes."
"When did you write that letter?"
"When I was about 50."
"Thank you," repeated the prosecuting attorney. "What year was that?"
"I wrote the letter," he said, looking around, settling his gaze on his own 50-year old version sitting in the defendant's chair, "earlier this year, in fact, in 2040."
"When did you address the letter to?"
"I wrote it to myself of 2020."
"For an 82-year old man, your memory and speed are… "
"Objection," said a third voice, that of the defense lawyer. "Attempts to make unfounded judgments based on age, quite condescending ones too, I might add."
"Overruled," the judge said as he looked at the wall clock. "And the court will reconvene after lunch. Recess." He banged the gavel.
It was 1:28 P.M. on July 8th, 2040. I had been typing up the strangest case I had ever seen as a Court Stenographer-TT. The defendant was a 50-year-old man named Prasanna Vighne. With an average build, almost bald head, and a considerable middle-aged paunch, there were no obvious signs to the fact that this man had broken any International Time-Travel Laws. He looked like the typical Project Engineer that he claimed he was, working at a cheese manufacturing facility in Denver, Colorado. His shoulders drooped, like how any sedentary worker's would after two decades of computer work, and his eyes kept darting to look at his older self (82) sitting across the aisle. Every time the elder Mr. Vighne talked, the current 50-year-old one gazed at him with a proud, almost admiring look, as if congratulating himself in advance on having lived till 82.
The 82-year old Mr. Vighne got up with the help of a couple of Time-Cops who took him to a black cubicle set up at the end of the room. They needed to ensure that there was no other interaction between him and his two younger selves. The Time-Cops took the 30-year-old Prasanna, a relatively fitter version with a full head of hair, to another similar black cubicle in the other corner.
The current version, the 50-year-old balding man, could go out in the courtyard. He was now talking with his wife and some reporter about what had happened thus far.
The case was strange because, for the first time, the plaintiff, the defendant, and a character witness were the same person from different times. It was thrilling to see how it ended, as this was supposed to be the last hearing of the final appeal. The decision would be out by the end of the day, in two more hours.
After lunch, the prosecution continued with the questioning.
"First of all, we already have a confession from the 82-year-old Mr. Vighne himself that the 50-year-old Prasanna wrote a letter to his younger self! I wonder what other defense can be mounted, and why? Perhaps," he said, looking at the Prasanna (50) in the defendant's chair, "your attorney made a mistake calling the old man in the hopes that he would speak in your favor. And evidently, age is catching up fast with the respected gentleman, and he cannot lie as you do."
He paused for effect and carried on. "So why is there a need now to prove the peripherals? I do not understand! It is a waste of time. Your character witness seems to have honestly betrayed you guys," he chuckled.
Dhawal Kulkarni, the defense attorney, jumped in. "Your honor, it is far from established that the letter was actually sent, that it got delivered, that it was read by the intended recipient in 2020 – the young Prasanna there –", he said pointing at the 30-year old version, "and whether he acted on it? Not only is the assumption of guilt a hasty and unfounded one, the assumption that we are today refuting any of those claims is also baseless. We made this final appeal not to deny any of those statements at all. In fact, and I must get it here before we derail further, we agree to all four of those charges. Yes, a letter was written, sent, delivered, read, and acted upon! We plead guilty of all those charges, and yet appeal that the case be dismissed entirely if it isn't possible for the court to reward my client."
The prosecution, the press, and even the judge looked stunned. Kedar Phadke, the prosecution lawyer, gathered himself. "Hah! It seems like it is not only the elderly Mr. Vighne who is delusional! I was prepping for nothing then, after all. Questions like ‘is it not dubious though that we get a character witness in the form of an elderly version of the defendant?’ are useless. Although, I do maintain and request the court that anything said by their character witness must be taken with buckets of salt. The integrity of the proceedings is laughable at this point if we allow defendants to simply claim their innocence, or in this case, guilt, and take their word as gospel, don't we all think?
“I mean, at what point does this," he said, looking around at the three Prasannas, "become a farce and mockery of the International Time Court or even the justice system in general? You cannot be your own character witness!"
Dhawal Kulkarni answered. "Your honor, at the risk of wasting the court's time with the obvious, I feel it is imperative to remind my colleague here there is no rule that says a future-human cannot testify for or against its younger self. The statute of limitations under clause IV of section 13-B of the Time Travel Act A-2035 assumes that any person can completely change in 10 years and may be in a position to objectively see his younger self. As for judging older people, the limit is only five years only – because an older you is most likely a stranger to the present you anyway."
"That was a waste of time, indeed. Please proceed and get to the point." Mr. Phadke seemed impatient.
"Your honor," Dhawal continued, "we want the letter to be read as it will affect the ruling and the perception of the case. May we present the letter?"
"Please proceed, and please be quick," the judge said.
Dhawal opened a folder and pulled out a laminated copy of a looking paper. It was a single sheet, one-sided. That short letter had caused the most fascinating case yet in the International Time Court's Mumbai branch. He read the letter out loud:
"Dear Young Prasanna in 2020,
Yes, trust me, you are still young at 30 howsoever tired you feel sometimes. I must write to you, whether in jest or sincerely I am not sure. Heck, I do not even know if I will have the courage to attempt sending this to you. But these are some thoughts that came to me as I celebrated my 50th birthday yesterday. The reason for a big celebration was not just the golden jubilee of being on the planet during the most exciting times for humanity. With my fiftieth, I also celebrated the 10th anniversary of our first published collection of short stories!
It took us a long time to get here and hundreds of hours of practice and routines. You had told yourself that you would be a published author by the time you turn twenty-five, and that has come and gone. You work at a regular job, with changing managers, weird hours and shifts, and untrustworthy colleagues. You feel frustrated with your growing indolence and the constant dissatisfaction you have with your life. You know what is missing – you do not read, write, or exercise enough, or at all! That fact is eating you up, and you cannot seem to let go of your laziness and other distractions! You are turning thirty this year and have started to feel the train of time catching speed. You read somewhere that even if you read four books a month, it will take you 15 years to read the 800 books on your Kindle.
The big 3-0 is coming up, and I need to tell you not to worry. You have been the most hopeless you will ever be. You do have a long way to go, but you will not be looking downwards anymore; your trajectory will slowly correct its pitch and get back on track. You must be feeling proud reading that you do become a published writer, but mind you, it takes a decade full of non-stop writing for you to become a readable author. You will publish your collection at forty, life will get better, and you will start feeling like you have improved with each day. No night will be without a journal entry and no month without at least a couple of articles. You will get fans too, although not a number you can boast about.
If you are wondering how all this will happen, here's the tip, the secret, the coal that your frozen engines need, and the oil that your rusty brain craves: Take up the upcoming writing course that is being offered by Amit Varma. Yes, the same podcast guy. It is a paid course, but it will turn your life over. That course is where you will start building habits and gradually grow a discipline that will stick. Take that course, and you will no longer feel unfulfilled while going to bed every night.
That is it. Happy 30th Birthday to you! Cheers, and Congratulations in advance!
Yours truly,
-You (2040)"
The courtroom was quiet. But it was not the silence of comprehension or revelation. It was silent because it was confused.
"What is the big deal?" Kedar asked Dhawal and the courtroom in general. "How does this prove anything? It is a letter from a small-time published writer to his younger self about some course… And in any case, if we all know this letter was sent, received, we already know it violates the Time Travel Laws regarding Dispatching and Acquiring Objects. You cannot send items back to 2020 – that was fifteen years before the Machine was invented."
Before 2035, in science-fiction, they used to say there is no way to go back before Time Travel itself was invented. They were only partially right. You can physically only travel back to 2035 unless you were originally summoned forward from any time before then. But objects and smaller items with simpler molecular compositions can be smuggled through to any time in history. They could possibly change it too. Hence, they made laws to prohibit any such smuggling. According to the Butterfly Effect Clauses, Sub-section II, "any such changes before the invention of time travel may affect or even prevent the creation of the Time Machine itself, and thereby risk the complete collapse of the space-time continuum." To me, it was pretty evident that Prasanna Vighne (50) from 2040 had risked the universe by sending such a dull letter to his 30-year-old self of 2020.
Dhawal rose. He ignored the exclamations of his opponent, Kedar. "May I request permission to question Prasanna from 2020."
"Granted."
The 30-year-old man walked to the chair in the center. He had by now absorbed the shock of it all, it seemed. Yet, he did look confused. He must have been. After all, everyone was unclear about his role as the plaintiff charging his own older self of the gravest possible Time-Crime. I had started to guess that it was not intentional.
"Mr. Vighne, sorry to have called you to the future. Can you explain to the court how you came to own this letter?"
"Yes, it came in my mailbox right before my 30th birthday."
"When you read it, did you not find it unusual?"
"Of course, I did. I called all my friends if they were playing a prank on me and did not get any volunteers. They all found it funny, though."
"May I ask the names of some of your closest friends whom you asked this question?"
“Yes, all my friends from C.S.U, Kunal, Hanisha, Srijeet, Jatin, Chaitanya…”
"Are they your closest friends?"
"Well, yes, they have been, at times."
Dhawal sighed. "Who are the timeless ones then?"
"Oh," Prasanna seemed confused, "how do you know? I suppose I must stop asking these questions… Shridhar, Vikrant, Aathira – I asked them all."
"What does this Shridhar do, back in your time, in 2020?"
"He studies Astrophysics in Amsterdam, doing his Ph.D."
"Is he dating anyone?"
"Yes, he is dating a girl named Amruta."
"Thank you. Did you take the writing class, by the way?"
"Yes, I took the course."
"Would you have taken it without the letter?"
"Probably not. I mean, I was a fan of the instructor already. But I thought the prank was a good motivator for taking the plunge and doing the course."
"Was it good? Worth the money?"
"Of course, it went beyond the price. I had just finished the last assignment when they brought me here."
"Anything strange about the assignment?"
"Yes, I was thinking about it since I was summoned. For the last assignment, I wrote a stupid little story about Time Travel. It was of course, inspired by what I thought was a prank letter."
"How was it received?"
"The story? Well, I knew it was not very well written, but it was praised! So, after the course, I sent it to a couple of friends to get some feedback on readability and stuff."
"Did you send it to your friend Shridhar, the one in Amsterdam?"
"Yes, I did, but he is currently interning in Berne, by the way."
"Thank you. Last question: Do you know how you became a plaintiff against your own 50-year-old future self in this case?"
"Yes, Mr. Kedar here explained it to me. Apparently, after the invention of the Time-Machine sometime in 2035, Time-Cops were stationed near all the seventy Time-Machines. And they caught, um, me from 2040 posting a letter to my address in 2020. So, I was summoned to testify that I actually got an object from the future."
"Thank you, you may get back to your seat."
Prasanna walked back to his seat in the otherwise empty second row which was guarded by uniformed cops on both sides.
Dhawal continued, "Your honor, I will now want to question the elderly Mr. Vighne, the 82-year old gentleman from 2072."
The old man shuffled to the chair, with the help of the same Time-Cops who had taken him to the black cubicle in the break.
"Mr. Vighne, thank you so much for coming to the past. It does take a toll, and we promise we will not keep you here for long."
Mr. Vighne smiled and mumbled, "It is okay."
"Are you still in touch with your friend Shridhar, Mr. Vighne?"
"Oh yes, most definitely, although not as much as I would like to..."
"Can you explain why you decided to help your younger 50-year-old self by coming to the past?"
"Yes, there was a magazine article about two years ago in my time, in 2070. It carried a profile piece of Dr. Badame; you know, the celebrated inventor of the Machine itself. It was 35 years to the invention."
"Did you personally know Dr. Badame?"
"A slight bit in the past, but not a lot really..."
"Can you explain what you saw in the profile that you read?"
"Yes. When asked about the beginnings and inspirations of the Time-Machine, Dr. Badame said that after facing several rejections early in her research at CERN, there came a day when she was on the verge of giving up her work and calling it quits. It was on the very day that she had quit that she read an amateurish little story. She was visiting her then-boyfriend who, in order to cheer her up, shared a short story his friend had written. The boyfriend was my friend Shridhar. And the story he shared was the one written by" Mr. Vighne (82) pointed at his younger 30-year-old self, "me, back in 2020."
There were audible gasps in the room. Dhawal persisted. "Why did it strike you as special?"
"For whatever little reason a human conscience attributes to itself and to natural phenomena, she had taken the time-travel story as a sign from the universe and dedicated the next fifteen years of her life working on her model, working multiple jobs and applying to several institutions for funding. Finally, sometime in 2035 she successfully patented the MR-324X, what we now know as the world's first Time-Machine."
He continued. "We always talk of the Butterfly Effect in a negative way. We never consider the possibility that something positive can come out of a little change in the timelines. Dr. Amruta Badame did say in that article that had it not been for that short story, she would not have invented the time machine when she did. It may have come later, or never at all."
"Thank you. You can leave, and both our Time-Traveling witnesses can be sent back unless my colleague Mr. Kedar Phadke has any questions for them."
Kedar knew he had nothing else to ask. What he probably was thinking is that he had simultaneously won and lost the case.
The two time-travelers were led to their cubicles by the Time-Cops, and after a soft whirring noise, the Time-Cops came out of the room. The visitors had been sent back.
Dhawal concluded the day. "Your honor, since the invention of time-travel back in 2035, there has been a successful closure of old pending cases. People today have been sent back to either pronounce their own guilt or clear them off charges. This is the first time ever where we have three instances of the same person. They are working against each other and yet, helping their own case. They also, by accident, have helped invent the very reason you and I have jobs, and the world has the technology that it does. It is a simple time-loop!
Were it not for the letter my 50-year-old client had written to his 30-year-old self with a nudge to take up a course, he would not have taken up the writing course or writing in general. He would not have written that short story about time travel for an exercise, and it would not have reached Shridhar or Dr. Amruta Badame at the precise time and day that it did. Or it would not have inspired her in the way it needed to, to create these Time-Machines. Yes, given her caliber, she may have eventually invented it, but that would not be this reality. We owe this particular one to each of those little dominoes that fell in the order they did, starting with that letter that was sent back.
There is no question of any punishments or sentencing at all, your honor. The fact that we can call the 82-year-old man back to 2040 is proof that the Machine did not break and we did not cease to exist. In fact, if anything, Mr. Vighne here must be rewarded for triggering the loop that we exist in."
"But that does not change the fact that time was tampered with and a significant risk was taken, against the rules of not just the court but also of the space-time continuum itself," the judge said.
"Yes," said Prasanna, the defendant speaking for the first time. "I broke the rules. But as we saw, I am alive, well and free in 2072. So, what's the decision?"
The judge smiled. "Well, for the first time in this court, the guilty is proven completely guilty but not charged. But, seeing the letter you wrote, it seems like all writers, writing is your punishment to yourself – it sounds like an agony, a struggle, a vice that you don't get enough of and yet go back every time for decades to just get a rewarding high of completing a short story, one word at a time. Therefore, I would simply condemn you to at least thirty-two more years of grueling, regular, hard-to-come, and rewarding writing. Thank you for your service."
***
Prasanna Vighne is one of those engineers who harbor a not-so-secret love for writing. As a Controls Engineer, he works for a cheese manufacturing company (Leprino Foods) that supplies pizza cheese to all the major chains in North America. So, to make up for making the world an unhealthier place, he hopes to write engaging stories that dwell in his readers' minds for at least as long as Leprino’s cheese lines their gut.
Subscribe to Windowpane — it’s free!
And do check out Amit Varma’s online course, The Art of Clear Writing. Registrations for the November batches are now open.