Paragon

After what seemed like forever the escalator began to slow down.

There was a pair of wrought iron gates somewhere in the distance above me. I gripped the rubber rails tighter. The sound of screaming had all but receded; the proverbial tunnel of light had turned into a wall and then a blanket, covering everything with a layer of whiteness that hurt the eyes to look at.

An old man stood between the last tread and the gates. He was dressed in a rough-looking bathrobe that almost reached his ankles. His beard cascaded over his chest like molten steel at some foundry. His eyes twinkled with the sort of blue warmth I'd only read about in stories.

-Vaibhav, right? he scratched his beard. He was probably speaking in a human voice-I saw his lips move and his throat work up and down in time to his words-but every syllable echoed in my head with the sound of a vast celestial choir. I found myself kneeling almost involuntarily before him.

-Excuse my attire, he said. We don't often get new arrivals here.

I blushed slightly but managed to hold his gaze. Why am I here? I asked.

-Because your actions ring true, Vaibhav. Because-

No, I get that. I mean why am I here? I am a Hindu. This isn't my idea of-

-Ah, yes. The Pearly Gates are a Western construct, right? Well, Vaibhav, you see... Virtue is rightly perceived as its own reward. The Hindu concept of the hereafter is slightly different from this, but we'll get you transferred as soon as they're done with the paperwork.

But-

-The important thing for you to remember is that the afterlife does not try to distinguish between denominations.

But-

He stepped aside, and the iron gates hardly protested as they swung apart. I had a lot of questions left unanswered but he fixedly let out a big yawn and excused himself.

I stepped forward through the Pearly Gates.

Silence bounded out of the blinding light and welcomed me as an old friend.

The ground beyond the gate was pale, cold and featureless. I briefly wondered why my feet felt benumbed before realizing I was dressed in nothing but a monogrammed bathrobe like St Peter had been. I tried to recall what I'd been wearing before but couldn't.

Is there anybody out there? I called out, but to no avail. Worse, after I walked a few hundred yards and turned around, I found both the gate and my footprints vanished. Looking too closely disoriented me so I gave up.

So what is one supposed to do in heaven? I wondered aloud. The answer came into my head, unbidden.

Meditate, said a slightly dissonant voice. Take stock of thy virtues.

That seems like a good enough plan, I said to nobody in particular. There had better be more people in the Hindu version, I added under my breath.

The ground wasn't as uncomfortable as it looked. I sat cross-legged, arms arranged in the lotus position.

I took a deep breath.

I closed my eyes.

"You're the best," Trishna was saying, "The best thing that ever happened to me."

That's not true, I replied, although I didn't really mean it. I took her hand again as we left the metro station

Now pull the switch.

"Are you sure that is how it is supposed to work?" Girish asked.

Yes, I did this when I was in tenth grade.

"Here goes nothing." Girish pulled the switch. The entire room was lit up by a network of LEDs on a cardboard base, spelling his name in letters that kept changing colour.

See?

"You're the best, bhai," he said as the lights skipped from red to blue

and I'm not going to make any more promises. Because you don't deserve promises. You deserve change. You deserve something better. And I will be better.

Steady round of applause. "Friends, as the incumbent student body president I have to defend my post. But if I were being very honest I wouldn't be able to. And that is because my friend, Vaibhav, is a paragon of virtue. He is the most tireless unselfish level-headed individual I know, and no matter how we disagree on matters of polity, I feel-"

applause rising to a crescendo

drowning him out

"You're the best," Jigyasa was saying. "The nicest person I have ever met. I love you."

I love you too, I replied, although I didn't really mean it. I took her hand again as we left the cinema hall

I stumbled to my feet. The landscape flickered a little. Meditate, the other voice repeated. It kept repeating itself.

I picked a random direction and started walking. Five minutes later I came to the man in the bathrobe making tea on a tiny stove.

-Do you want some tea?

Where are they?

-I might have a few biscuits here somewhere.

Where are they? I had set out to scream but my voice came out in the same even tone.

-What are you talking about?

My memories. The rest of my memories. All I have is good deeds.

-Haven't you led a good life?

Yes! I mean I thought so. But this doesn't make any sense! None of it is coherent!

-I wonder why. He finished making tea. He poured it into two cups. He started rummaging for sugar in the kitchenette.

Where are the rest of my memories? What happened with those girls? After the elections? How did I die?

-The one with Trishna is slightly clichéd. The old man took a sip of his tea. He made a slight face. He went back to rummaging for sugar.

Meditate.

-The one with Jigyasa, on the other hand, had a lot of juicy bits to offer. The old man grinned. It was an ugly grin.

Take stock of thy virtues.

-That has a direct correlation with how you die, you know.

I raised my cup to take a sip but found it empty.

You're not going to tell, are you?

-I don't think so.

You're not really St Peter, are you?

-Far from it, kid. Far from it.

I put my cup down on the ground. The old man, the stove and the kitchenette had all vanished again.

Meditate, repeated the other voice.

I sat down on the ground and closed my eyes.

Pridesbane

In the midst of the valley a forest.

At the heart of the forest a clearing.

He'd been living in the clearing for fifty years, now. Men and women came from the farthest reaches of the province just to hear him speak, or to offer their sorrows for his perusal. He seldom provided them with solutions, but it lessened their burdens to share with him.

"I bet you're a goddamn fraud."

He didn't bother to look up. The young man who'd spoken had been peremptorily loud as he made his way across the clearing, and the air had long been curdled by the dirty looks being cast his way.

"Are you listening to me, you phony freak?"

He finally looked up at the young man. His jaw continued to work up and down on its relentless journey of mastication.

"Look at you wallowing about in the filth." The young man seemed to be warming to his subject. "I bet you love living caked under a layer of dirt, don't you?"

The crowd in the clearing had turned into a giant circle of spectators. He was as aware of their unease as he was of the young man's discomfort. He continued to say nothing.

A couple of hours passed. The young man followed a regular pattern, like clockwork: a couple of laps of the darkening enclosure, a few insults spat at him, and then waiting around for a response that never came.

After the evening gave way to night the young man finally stopped. The clearing was completely empty - most of the spectators had given up in disgust, carving their ways out of the forest and back into their lives.

The young man was in the middle of a sentence when he lost steam. His hands fell limply to his sides, and he stood staring blankly at the older man.

"What ails you?" The ascetic finally asked him. To give him due credit the young man didn't really need to think before answering.

"Jealousy," he said. "It eats me up on the inside. It corrodes me. I see the world going about its business, uncaring of my existence, and I feel jealous."

"The whole world or just some bits in particular?"

The young man looked at him, startled. There was a wry smile beneath the hermit's beard. His jaw never stopped working.

"Your jealousy comes from a sense of being wronged," said the older man. "And that feeling of injustice, in turn, arises from false pride."

"What do you mean, false pride? I'm-"

"All pride is false pride. Why should your existence make a difference to anybody else's? You are meant to live and breathe free of obligation."

"Easy for you to say."

The hermit's smile widened slightly. "Nobody owns anyone else. It is not possible. We'd be fools to try. What we can do instead is destroy this false pride."

"And how can one do that?"

"Here." The hermit opened a knobbly fist. A bunch of spindly leaves unfolded in the moonlight. They seemed to have a purple tinge to them.

"What is this?"

"Pridesbane," said the hermit. "Help yourself."

The young man took a couple of leaves and put them in his mouth. He chewed for a moment or two. He spat them out in disgust.

"Yuck! These are bitter!"

"Yes. That is because they are meant to be."

The young man stared at the older man for a bit.

The knobbly palm never wavered.

The young man helped himself again.

This time he concentrated on the chewing.

"How long do I have to do this?" he asked with his mouth full.

"As long as it takes."

"And when can I stop?"

"When you have conquered your pride," said the hermit. "Or when the leaves stop tasting bitter. Whichever comes first."

The young man looked around for a moment.

The older man pulled a spare rug from under his own and spread it next to himself.

The young man sat down cross-legged.

The forest was silent except for the rhythmic tide of two pairs of teeth working in the darkness.

with regard to Jamie

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