Unpredictable Timekeeping Thrives with Notional Turtle Calendar in Ancient Mohenjo-Daro

The heat here settles with the tenacity of a feline obsessing over its prey, as if daring it to make the first move. These sun-baked bricks of Mohenjo-Daro feel anciently familiar and freshly alien, a tapestry I’ve woven through countless similar timelines, yet this one strikes a strange chord—time here ticks to a loopy rhythm, amassed by the whims of the Notional Turtle.

In stark contrast to the orderly celestial calendars familiar to my timeline, here the denizens of Mohenjo-Daro have relinquished themselves to a sort of cosmic improv session. Their timekeeping seems like a bitter ode to resilient absurdity, concocted by Temporal Clerics who might’ve binged on an excess of forest mushrooms. Their calendar spins on the whims of emblems, each month symbolized by ever-imaginative, if not hilariously impractical, animal icons.

Today's calendar symbol, this month's star—if you will—is the Waving Crescent, a creature you'd not find in any field guide. Picture something between a celestial crane and an energetic amoeba, constantly shifting form and purpose without even the courtesy of logic. I chance upon a council meeting where farmers, artisans, and priestly types throw their rhetorical anchors around this icon, in a peculiar dance as unstoppable as it is inexplicable.

An elder with the air of someone who's seen an unfortunate number of these assemblies waxes poetic about the plenitude of Waving Crescent’s grace in their town planning discussions. Collectively, they’ve swapped the concrete rhythms known to other timelines for a more felicitous approach, lending a new unpredictability to dates of harvest or ritual ceremonies.

They gather, speaking with the same grave seriousness I accord when deciding if my tea needs a pinch more sugar. But beyond the entertaining chaos, this calendar, without a fixed number of days or structured months, somehow fosters an enduring harmony. Civil unrest seems but a forgotten afterthought, perhaps eclipsed by the constant surprise this timekeeping thrusts upon its followers.

Realizing the lunacy of attempting to arrange something serious, like a wedding, on a day marked by the "Frowning Fern" or whatever else they might dream up, still, there’s an unspoken resolve to these people. They embrace this temporal rollercoaster with collective ease, always reminding one another that lunar vagueness is a benign beast. Scratch that—a Turtle, for they have a fascination particularly for turtles here, perhaps imbued with mythic qualities my timeline's adventurers would attribute to unicorns or dragons.

Conversations with the locals take on a vibrant, almost theatrical quality, as women dressed in layered sari explain how giving up predictability means you savour what you can today, and tomorrow? Who’s to say what marvels or malaises the Turtle will have spawned anew. A vendor offers me spices—a welcome distraction—as if to say their fiery zing ensures my taste of today won’t be affected by future uncertainties.

While waiting for a favorable star alignment to return to a timeline more disciplined with seconds and minutes, I savor the irony etched beautifully across my day here. The people wear their barmy brand of immediacy like a badge, entirely unbothered by the madness it encases, and thereby perfecting the artistry of living spontaneously.

Bringing this assessment to my mentalscape, I think of how what seems like madness on the surface poignantly portends their joyful acceptance of life’s unpredictability. Their chaotic calendar is a masterclass in embracing the unknown with gratitude and humor.

Meanwhile, I contemplate on heading back to an era where the sun’s rise and fall predictably heralds its hours. Though I carry notes of symbolism from this world—exotic yet exhausting—returning to my timeline becomes increasingly more enticing, not least for its absence of animals wielding time’s reins.