Editor’s Note: Drawing the Atlas
Let me tell you what this is about and how it all happened.
Last summer, Tejaswinee, out of nowhere, sent me a character background and asked if The Hooghly Review could do a short fiction special issue where the main character or a supporting character in every story would be one Atlas A?
Here’s the character prompt she wrote:
A man of few words and the oldest of three siblings, by age twenty-two, he dropped out of college twice, first in mechanical engineering, then in law. This led to a falling out with his father and he was left off the will. After disappearing for years, he resurfaced as “Atlas A.” He now has a team running logistics for businesses including his parents’ diner. His father offered to restore the will, but Atlas insisted the inheritance was best left to his siblings. To his mother, Atlas seemed a man between worlds—he had her over for dinner once every month, they engaged in candid conversation while he cooked family recipes, yet she didn’t know him at all.
Intriguing indeed.
We floated the call for submissions with full creative liberty to writers to choose for Atlas A any identity marker, including ethnicity (the second “A” in “Atlas A” could tie into Atlas’ ethnicity); giving Atlas any gender (“he” and “man” in the prompt being illustrative examples only); and even killing Atlas. In addition, writers were free to create their Atlas in any genre, or a mix of genres.
Despite our fears as to the reception to our maddest pursuit yet, the stories we received were many and varied, planting Atlas A in numerous cultures and ethnicities—our final picks include stories and Atlases from Kenya, Canada, UAE, Guyana, Hong Kong, Trinidad and Tobago, Scotland, England, Bangladesh, Türkiye, USA, and India.
Here’s how the writers of these stories describe their genres: literary fiction, speculative fiction, parallel worlds, noir, social fiction, slice-of-life fiction, gender fiction, posthumanism, romance, magic realism, horror, bildungsroman, family drama, realism, humour, cyberpunk, satire, and performance art.
As for the gender and other identities of the many Atlases we present here, they are multiple possibilities of human, post-human, and non-human.
So, in more ways than one, the globe comes together to hold Atlas A in this collection of short stories that, although written in response to a prompt, could very well be consumed as standalone literary works.
I welcome you to witness The Many Lives of Atlas A, as recorded by twenty-two scribes.
Ankit Raj Ojha
January 2026
Karnal, India
The One Life of Atlas Ambu by Kiran Gandhi
The entropy of the classroom fell sharply like the stock exchange Sensex on a bear day. The air became dense with a collective sense of betrayal.
I’m Not Who You Think I Am by Amelia Weissman
For a moment, double vision filled his mind. Layered over the quiet little kitchen preparing pumpkin chili with his mother was an image of the pumpkin swamp field in his other backyard.
The Architect of Silent Tides by Martin Willis
From her usual corner booth, Atlas Adhiambo took it all in, her gaze sharp and focused like a hawk on the hunt. But she wasn’t hunting, not exactly; she was piecing things together.
A Tree in Time by Asiem Sanyal
“I think that I shall never see a poem lovely as a tree,” Atlas hummed softly, as xe did the dishes, glancing over xir shoulder to where xir mother, Mrs Adhikari, sat nursing an after-dinner drink and eyeing her child with an appraising eye.
Atlas Alonso by Nigel Paton
Atlas A, fourteen years old, is sitting alone in his bedroom reading a comic. Beside him is a box labelled Easy Hobby-Games for Little Engineers, unopened.
The Double by Nileena Sunil
Father wanted a son in his image, one who would carry on his legacy. He insisted that we—I mean, you—follow his footsteps and study mechanical engineering.
Bright Sun by Imelda Wei Ding Lo
We meet at a diner near Dundas, the type that calls itself Southeast Asian-inspired without being specific or authentic. White Singaporean coffee, roti john, laksa, fishball noodle soup, egg tarts, and pineapple buns share the menu with chilli fries and sambar.
Afterlife of Atlas Aturkar by Sarang Bhand
The front-page image of the cover story on the CEO was a shock to them—it was Aditya, their estranged son. The parents gawked at each other without uttering a word.
Condemned by Pavittra Kalyaan
Some responsibilities come with the blueprint of life, whether you like it or not. Like being the firstborn. Whenever his parents were away, Atul was expected to watch his siblings.
Fish Pickle by Aritra Raj
Atlas’ mother pushed the jar towards him and said, “I made fish pickle for you. You used to love them when you were younger. Taste it and tell me if it still tastes the same.”
Crimson on the Hudson by Amit Prabhakar
The blood pools in my palm like spilled wine, warm and thick, dripping between my fingers onto the subway floor where it mingles with twenty years of New York grime.
The Weight of His World by August Edevane
Before I met him, I figured that anyone with the audacity to name himself “Atlas” must be terribly pretentious, terribly tortured, or both.
The Invisible Atlas by Simon Mohsin
The scent of cumin and coriander filled the small apartment as Shahriar Aman stirred the bhuna khichuri, the wooden spoon moving in practiced circles against the bottom of the heavy-bottomed pot.
Dark Cherry by Taslin Pollock
Ping. Atlas Abdulla was rudely awakened, his vitals flashing on his retina. His head pounded as he wiped the sweat off his brow.
The Reveal by Meera Rajagopalan
In the hands of a lesser writer, this might have been the big reveal, you know? But me, I don’t prefer gimmicks. I want my work to speak for itself, the typewritten words oozing meaning, the way my tongue seems incapable of doing.
Atlas Invincible by Vishaal
“Who is John Galt?” someone hooted from among the seated crowd. Atlas shrugged. “Cheeky,” he said, nodding his head and smiling to himself as the joke dawned on him.
Neon Tetras by Pritika Rao
“If I could get my hands on that bloody umbilical cord, I would wrap my fingers around it and drag him back to me, just like that.”
Stars by Ratul Ghosh
He smiles at Sandhya and looks away. It’s another new, mysterious habit of his. He coughs discreetly into his elbow. There’s a curtain of acrid smoke suspended in the room, drifting in from his open kitchen where the parathas were fried.
Instructions for Vanishing by Sharon Aruparayil
Maa would tell you an entirely-too-long story about the night of my birth, shuddering as she narrated the way my wriggling, wet body shot out of her and landed on the floor with a wet thwack.
The Compass(es) to the Atlas by Sudha Subramanian
Why this Amma is acting like this and all only I don’t understand. She is making her eyes go round round like one fan. But who will tell her to relax little? Ha?
The Bend at No. 5 Village by Martian Nella
The salt breeze reached the cane fields before the sun did. By the time Atlas Ambrose stepped off the minibus at the stelling, the light had turned the river a copper green.
Just Like That by Joy Dillon
For the past three nights, Atlas Adeyemi noticed that the moon had been transforming and shifting uneasily in the sky. Ordinarily, a change in the colour and appearance of the moon wouldn’t bother people in his part of the world.