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The Perfect God |
| Written by Nishant | |
| Tuesday, 15 April 2008 | |
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Share it:      I feel confused about the title; please recommend some new title.
STORY:
Chitragupta, the god who keeps an account of every human’s good and bad deeds, was leaning over his table. His day’s work was already over; only the accounts of one human being were left.
“Are you done with your work? Do I need to take more lives today?” asked Yamraj, the god of Death.
“Yes, yes. I’m done. You need to take one more life today”
“How many bad deeds?”
“Um—Seventy-thousand-and-nine”
“If I am not wrong, he’s the seventh person to cross the seventy-thousand mark, right?”
“Absolutely. He’s a grand sinner”
“Name?”
“Raj”
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Raj was in his house, busy with his work. He was sitting on his wooden chair, bent over the pages that exhibited his writing, above which, was kept a type-written copy of the same content. He turned his eyes to his left, in order to give them a moment of relaxation, and saw a thick bundle of blank paper lying there – waiting to be imprinted upon by his hands. He sunk back in his chair—his chair squealed when he did so—with dissatisfaction. He knew (1) it was impossible to copy all that in one night (2) he would lose his job the next day.
He looked towards his right and saw his wife, who was sewing clothes for their next baby. Doctors had declared that she cannot become a mother again, but her will was like the northern star. Owing to her endless sewing and many other symptoms, Raj found himself confused about her sanity. The day before, his doubt took the shape of conviction when he opened her drawer and saw more than a hundred tiny sweaters sewn by her, in all these two years. He did not bother to take her to a physiatrist – mainly because he knew that her final destination would be mental asylum, and partially because of his deflated pocket.
He stood up and went out of the house. The blue day-light was present only in small patches, the black night was all over; it seemed to him like the reminiscent of a lost battle, where a blue saint was losing the sky to a black demon. He limped with his head facing the black street, not knowing where he was heading. He looked up and saw a tree and a bench at some distance. His paralyzed feet struck a mass of thick slimy material that lay on the road. He bent down and examined it; he saw remains of the face of a cat in them. He stood up and ran towards the bench, panic-stricken. At a distance of two meters from the bench was a cliff.
“What kind of life is this, huh? God! Are you listening?” he said looking upwards, at the black demon that had completely consumed the blue saint. He stood up agitated. He picked up a stone and threw it vertically upwards; while doing so, he fell backwards. His defeat could be measured by the circumference of the patch of mud that his tears had formed mixing with the dust on the ground beneath. Then, he threw his crippled body down the cliff. Mother-earth opened her arms and welcomed her deserted child with all her love.
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“I’m done. Anything more?” asked Yamraj.
“Nope, nothing. Wait here, I’ll get my cap”
Chitragupta went to the table and took his cap. For a second he gazed at the accounts of Raj. Then he turned back and looked at Yamraj with terror, and said:
“I did a mistake. I entered those seventy-thousand deeds—in the wrong register. Those were not bad-deeds; those were good-deeds.”
Copyright 2008 Nishant |
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| Last Updated ( Tuesday, 15 April 2008 ) |
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