Ready to Leave

Hareendran Kallinkeel

January 2006

"You sure you’re prepared to go?"

The question made Rishi smirk. Maybe even gods were confounded by what went inside a human mind. "Yes, I am."

"You must realize there’s no coming back. It’s not like on a whim you beckon death, and when you begin to confront the truth you want your way back."

Rishi looked at the imposing figure of Yama, the God of Death. The deity’s large, muscular arms didn’t carry the legendary mace and the looped rope with which he was supposed to pull the soul from the corpses of those he came to execute. Contrary to mythological beliefs that he arrived astride a Water Buffalo, his Divine Carrier, he stood on bare feet.

"I decided to invoke you after reasonable thought," Rishi said. "And while meditating for your presence, my mind was fully focused on my need to die."

"What makes you think you’re ready yet?"

"I have everything in life. Enjoyed all that a man has to. I’ve no more wishes to fulfill, no goals to chase." Rishi ran a hand along his broad forehead, smoothing back errant strands of curly locks that had fallen on his thick eyebrows. "A life without wants is no life at all."

Yama’s blackish-green skin glowed from the brightness of raging flames in a sacrificial pit between them where sandalwood, herbs and ghee burned. The God took in a deep breath as if pleased by the aroma that hung in the air. "That doesn’t sound like a good enough reason. A man might still want to explore fresher meadows. That’s human nature."

"But I haven’t left out anything – anything at all." Rishi brought his palms together in ardent supplication, and his bulging biceps swelled against the soft material of his half-sleeved Polo Shirt.

Yama’s large, blood-shot eyes drilled into Rishi’s. "There are an infinite number of things out there to know and enjoy. An ephemeral human life is just not enough to do that."

"I’ve had my fill of all sorts of food. Tasted each brand of wine." Rishi’s eyes darted away from the God and his chin almost touched his chest as he stooped. "Slept with every type of women."

"Any food cooked by a different hand has a distinct taste. Every other day someone brews a new wine." Yama walked around the sacrificial pit, came nearer to Rishi, and raised his chin with a finger.

Rishi stared at Yama’s face.

"Every new girl has something unique to offer," Yama said. "Don’t tell me you aren’t interested in exploring."

"I am fed up." Rishi knelt and touched the God’s feet with both palms. "I’ve had enough of all the things out there. I beg you take me with you."

Inside, the air filled with a mixture of scents as sandalwood and the herbs burned more vigorously in the sacrificial pit. Outside, the rain drummed against the glass panes of the closed windows. Muted sounds of croaking frogs played a synchronous melody with the beats.

"You see? You could always go out into the rain, try something different," Yama said. "Nature offers a variety of sights, sounds, fragrances and tastes. Find new things… savour them."

"Nothing is different when you already had your fill." Rishi raised his head and gazed at the God. "Is there anything worse than a life one doesn’t want to live?"

"Of course not." Yama smiled. "But one must have adequate reasons for feeling so. And one must be truthful about his conviction."

"I’m convinced. That’s why I invoked your presence."

"I’ll know when you lie." Yama held Rishi by his shoulders, lifting him up to a standing position, and looked into his eyes. "And I’ll know when you speak the truth."

Rishi saw kindness in Yama’s eyes. The God’s appearance and actions contradicted his notions about Him. "Lord, I should’ve known you’d see through."

"That’s fine. Don’t worry." Yama patted Rishi’s cheeks. "Simple human follies are matters of routine."

"The truth is," Rishi’s voice cracked as he spoke. "Death haunts me. Whatever I do, it stares right into my eyes. I see it in my soup bowl, in the crystal glass I pour whiskey."

"Death is inevitable. Unique to each, universal to all."

"Its cruel eyes bore into mine, even while I’m atop a girl. Tell me how can I enjoy life when each living moment death stalks me? So, in order to escape death, I found no other way than embracing it."

"One shouldn’t dwell too much on the simpler facts of life. Death is just that. A simple fact; simpler than love or hate. It doesn’t carry the burden of prejudice. Learn to know it, and you’ll perhaps start loving it."

"I do love it, don’t I? Otherwise why did I seek you?"

"Your quest comes from dread, not affection. You failed to understand that death, like love, needs time to blossom to full maturity."

"Is that why I get to see you in an contra-traditional manner?"

"Do you get to know Death, now?" Yama asked, combing through long strands of his curly hair cascading down his shoulders.

"That’s why you came unprepared, sans the loop?"

"I come prepared only when one’s time is up." Yama reverted to His position on the other side of the sacrificial pit.

"What about those who commit suicide?"

"One’s fate rather than my decision makes me take a life. You were about to do something akin to that, weren’t you?" Yama asked.

Rishi nodded.

"Do you still want to come with me?"

Rishi shook his head. "I’d like to explore greener pastures."

Hareendran Kallinkeel's story, A Few Ugly Humans, was nominated for the Pushcart Prize 2005.