Auroville 2050 by Gijs

“It’s the latest in Oracle technology” says Aurelia, while she presses a button on a transparent panel, revealing a hologram in the form of Sri Aurobindo hovering in mid air. “Together with the Augmented Collective Intelligence team at Auronya University we worked hard to have it ready in time for deployment during the Auroville 80th anniversary celebrations. Who wants to give it a spin and ask a question?” She looks around as silence envelopes the select group of residents who have been invited to this pre-launch event in the penthouse office of Aurelia’s research unit, situated at the highest end of the Line of Goodwill building, overlooking the township.

Then one of the delegates, a middle aged man in an official looking uniform asks, “How do we address him – I mean it? Does the Oracle Protocol apply here?” Aurelia smiles a little mischievously, and replies “I like to call him Satchi, but it doesn’t matter – the neural network synchroniser responds to your intentions, rather than the words you speak.”

Again, silence. Some delegates exchange glances full of apprehension, as if they are hoping to escape the all-seeing eyes of Aurelia’s invention. One lady in the outer circle carefully makes her way to the exit, when suddenly the hologram speaks. “Don’t worry Auromina!” it says with a deep, compelling voice and a strong Bengali accent, “I can’t actually read your mind. All I do is accelerate your group’s collective thought process.”

“Thanks Satchi”, Aurelia interrupts, and pressing another button she makes the hologram dissolve. “The system will be moved to the Control Room and handed over to the Auracle Council shortly.” With a sigh of relief the delegates leave the room and gather at the Viewing Point outside of Aurelia’s office, where they are served drinks and snacks by vintage waiterbots.

The Auracle Council that Aurelia was referring to is a group of elders who convene daily in the Control Room, a radiation-free glass dome at the bottom of the Matrimandir Lake. Through a strictly guarded airlock, seekers access the Atlantis-like space where the elders meditate in a circle and respond to questions about everything from marriage and building permissions to strategic investments and government relations.

Leaving her guests behind, Aurelia descends to the Ground Level Auditorium where she is invited as keynote speaker to this year’s Newcomer Conference. She addresses the crowd of two hundred fresh applicants aged between 20 and 40 from a hovering platform in front of an air screen that displays illustrations supporting her presentation. “We all know China is a world leader in Artificial Intelligence and data tech, and as such the China Pavilion has become a major partner for the Government of India’s ‘predictive progress’ programme which replaced the Planning Commission as the main source of advice and guidance on public policy.” She sees the audience is mesmerised and confidently continues, “After two decades of tourism as the main source of income generation, Auroville now depends for its funding on royalties paid for the use of its indigenous information and communication technology, licensed to governments and corporations worldwide under the brand Supramental-IT. Our colleges are famous for their weeklong hackathons, attracting the best and brightest programmers and engineers, eagerly followed by wealthy investors and influential politicians.” The room responds with yells of appreciation. A group of North Indians shouts “Supramental-IT ki jai ho!”

Aurelia poses for a group photo, taken by one of the newcomer’s pet dragonfly drones and as the audience files out into the Central City Plaza she notices a scruffy looking young man lingering behind. “What’s the matter?” she asks, “not a believer yet?” The man looks around him and points at the security camera in the ceiling above them. “Do you mind?” Aurelia takes a piece of paper from her bag, scribbles something on it and passes it to him. He pulls his hoodie over his head and walks off...

That evening they meet at the beach, away from all the sensors and devices that have been installed throughout the township. “I could tell by the way you looked at me during the presentation that you’re not a normal devotee. I guess you want to know the other side of the story?” The man nods. “Well, I guess you know that after the revolution in 2036, when India became a Spiritual Republic, control over Auroville shifted to the Ministry of Religious Affairs. This has led to special treatment and funding in the form of the large ashrams we have, each housing 5,000 to 10,000 members, complete with community kitchens, hostels, schools, medical centres and dispensaries. The price we paid for all this is the loss of pluriformity. Long gone are the days when artists were allowed to perform spoof plays, and make fun of the establishment. Since the Governing Board installed the Quality Control Cell at the Town Hall, with powers to cancel people’s visas, the renegade fringe elements have left one by one. Some to alternative settlements in Africa and South America, but most simply got absorbed by their children’s extended families, spread across Europe, Australia and the USA: what we now call the Old World.”

The man nods again, picks up a handful of sand and lets it slowly slip through his fingers. “I know” he says, “my grandfather was a greenbelter. He was exiled and moved in with my parents when I was six. I had to hack my own UID to pass the Entry Board test.” Aurelia stares at him with wide eyes, in which he can’t help but notice the reflection of the moon. “Do you think they realised?” he asks.

“Why?!” Aurelia exclaims as she jumps up. “Why would you risk everything to get back in? Why now?! Can’t you see there is no space for free thinkers anymore?” Now it’s the man’s turn to smile mischievously. “Perhaps.” He pulls a crumpled up piece of paper from his pocket. On one side it says “meet me at the beach at sunset”, on the other side, in fading print letters, “The Auroville Charter”.