By Jeevanmukta Das
Once upon a time, a youth in the prime of his stupidity, was given a sum of money by his father and told, ‘You are old enough now, go on, go out and start a fine business on your own and prosper.’
The youth happily skipped off, wandered the bazars and corridors of colleges trying to ascertain the best business to enter. He soon chanced upon a doyen of learning who informed him that a fine education was the best thing to investment in; it would reap him handsome dividends. ‘He could be an engineer, a doctor, a lawyer, anything and become hugely successful. Being of clear intelligence, he accepted the words of the doyen and enrolled in a premier college of learning.
Not long after, he came across another wise man. This one spoke of an alternative reality, of death, of old age, of disease and the urgent need to address these pressing issues. He showed scant regard for the need to secure one’s future in this world my material learning and said so in no uncertain terms. Indeed, when the youth pleaded that he needed to fend for himself, earning a living or buy himself a bride and so on, and so had recently enrolled in a college to learn, to become an engineer, the wise man countered by saying, ‘See the birds of the sky… do they sow, or reap or gather into barns? No, your heavenly Father feeds them. Aren’t you of much more value than they?’ Then in confidence he had whispered, ‘This talk about you need to be industrious, work hard, so on and so forth, is just a scam, which women, including mothers, use to make sons work hard. Better to secure your future beyond the curtains of death, than strive to write your name on the walls of fame at the cost of neglecting your own life.’
Incidentally, this wise man, who also wise in the ways of the world, had cleverly borrowed a marketing trick to promote his brand of spiritualism. Along with his flyers and other promotion materials to publicise his mission and teachings, he had got printed a ticket, of a murky cerulean blue colour, not dissimilar to the one issued at the ticket counter of local fairs and circuses. Upon it was emblazoned the legend, ‘Entry into Goloka’ in a quaint font. No doubt, he had chosen blue, for it was the colour of Krishna the Supreme Lord according to Vedic scriptures. It was a clever gimmick no doubt, though dingily executed, for something that supposedly representing an entry into the infinitely superior, transcendental world. Nevertheless, such minor inconsistencies hardly bothered him and indeed, he was urging all and sundry to purchase it, and was actually handing it out with a flourish along with his trademark 100 watt smile of supreme confidence to whosoever signed up for his teachings as if they were iron-clad guarantee.
Encouraged thus, firmly, gently, hypnotically, the youth, who was of clear intelligence, found himself levitating towards this new teacher. And before long, he withdrew from the real college and put his money down for a ‘blue ticket to Goloka.’
Two years past in an ashram happily enough, where he learned the philosophy and practiced this alternative pathway. Luckily for him, he got married to a simpleminded girl with exactly the same mind-set. However, after marriage, being a conscientious sort, he decided to step out of the ashram and enter the world of work, to support his family.
With the sense of well-being of a man who had made a wise choice, the youth ventured into the world of work. He had nothing to fear. After all, he had the blue ticket in his pocket. He flashed confidently, recklessly, and waited for doors to be opened for him.
But they were not.
He tried again. But disquietingly, the cut-throat world of materialism appeared unimpressed by his spiritual bend of mind. Indeed, like a currency note of an alien world, it appeared worthless in this world.
No matter, I will do business and make my ends meet, he said to himself. But alas, he bombed in that as well. But he was not the bickering sort and so squared his shoulders and took up work… less paying work. He managed to find work and eke out a living. The Supreme Lord it seems was kind no doubt, and took care of his flock… but preferred to keep them minimum wages.
He underwent many hardships yet, never once did he regret his decision in having chosen the path of spiritualism over the materialistic one.
Thirty years flew by thus. The youth was now a middle-aged man, with a son and daughter in college, etc., etc. Somehow he had managed to eke out a living, and become a stable member of society. He even owned a car, a pre-owned one of course—his pride and joy—and partook in the joys of life, albeit sipping at it from the shallow edges. His former friends, classmates, however had raced ahead. They were all well-set and worse, sinfully prosperous. But all that did not bother him much for he believed in the dictum ‘invest only that much in this world that would allow you to maintain body and soul,’ as said in the Bhagavad-Gita. But yes, there were days when he doubted this wisdom and wished he had plugged headlong into the game of life, which everybody was so enamoured by.
Another twenty years slipped imperceptibly by. The youth was now an old man with tired eyes and a broken spirit. Alas, old-age has a way of wearing away the resilience of youthful idealism. He was willing to admit to himself that he had blundered in his youth. He now wished he had done something with his life, become somebody… was able to hold his head high.
The faded blue ticket was still in his procession. He had paid dearly for it and had not the heart to toss it away. In fact, he was given to fondly taking it out and daydreaming of a world which would be opened to him by its mystical potency.
It was during one such a private and sentimental musing that he retrieved the blue ticket from between the pages of the ‘Bhagavad-Gita As it is’ (for that was the curious name of the book his master had given him along with the ticket, and that was where he had always kept it) and placed it in his breast pocket. They were off to see an old friend whose wife had recently passed away, and he thought that the ticket would come in handy. The Promised Land may not be real, but it sure was a handy thing to say to a guy who was grieving. Sadly, that was how he saw it all now.
But fate intervened. No one knows exactly how it happened… some say a tire had burst and his car had jumped a divider… careened into the path of a truck coming in the opposite direction. He was gone… dead, his pitiful life, unceremoniously extinguished on the road.
Now, the freshly dead are all drawn from all corners of the world into a sort of a waiting room, like the ones we have for an immigration check. Thousands of them in their subtle bodies were gathered there, and from there, they were herded (pitch forks were being freely used, I might add) in batches towards the edge of a terrible chasm of unfathomable depth. Everyone was being unceremoniously pushed into it. It was not a pretty sight and the most terrifying screams were emanating from the chasm.
That this event unambiguously represented what some called ‘the judgment day’ was certain. Most gathered there had not even believed in such an idea when they were alive. But not now. It very much existed and they were about to be judged. Needless to say, all were praying now and hard. But it was of no use. Prayers were falling right off the tongue and on to the floor with a fearful clatter. The waiting room was impervious to prayers or something.
But that’s not to say that they had given up hope. Like the aggressive individuals they were when alive, they were trying their very best to plead their cases with the ferocious guards by every means they could. Some were claiming to have given charity and other petty good deeds, still others laid claim to having big degrees and diplomas… wealth, and powerful friends in high places, but none had any trace of such connections with them now, nor were these currencies of any use here. Indeed, most of these so-called successful men and women, CEOs, politicians, businessmen and commoners… all were being pushed into the chasm… were unthinkable atrocities were being freely perpetuated upon them.
But not all were falling into the chasm. Across the chasm at about what appeared to be no more than fifty odd feet away, was an immense floating platform and a select few fortunate souls were managing to make it to the platform and safety. And safety it was of the everlasting kind. For, parked upon the platform, in open view, was the most astonishing spacecraft—a sort of a getaway vehicle. No one needed to be specifically told that that spaceship represented salvation and transportation to a beautiful world. The very few who were able to make it across onto that platform appear to glide across the chasm to board the dazzling and luxurious spacecraft. What is more, all those who were sailing across appeared to be carrying (often held aloft) some sort of a pass or ticket. From a distance all that could be made of this most desirable possession was that it was bluish in colour.
This had caught the attention and imagination of doomed masses and all were frantically searching for such a pass. In their desperation, everything blue was being snatched, seized, torn into an approximate size of the pass and used. Indeed, a whole horde of them were seen to rip into shreds the blue dress of a young girl in their midst and leaping across the chasm, with it held high in their hands. Others were simply running up to the edge and leaping towards it, flapping their arms, attempting to fly or swim across the chasm to that platform… and glorious eternal life. Still others, who were at the very edge, were clinging on to those behind them others forming clumps of humanity… but invariably these clumps too were falling enmasse into the chasm. Ferocious agents of death from the chasm would then dart up and tear them to pieces.
It is not as if one could be saved if he or she were to somehow wing his or her way to the platform by mechanical or means of machination. For, parading all along the platform were hundreds of angelic beings who helped eligible candidates across and also kept a sharp lookout for intruders who tried to get on to the platform, most often than not, by piggybacking on the eligible ones.
Terrified to his teeth by this scene of unimaginable desperation and slaughterhouse style butchery, our hero quaked in his shoes. Chasm of the un-dead as it was called, struck terror in his heart on one hand and the other the luxury spacecraft of unsurpassed beauty that enticingly stood so close at hand on the other, aroused in him a profound longing. This juxtaposing of unlimited suffering with unlimited bliss, was deliberate it seemed and designed to eliciting a deep remorse among those who made the wrong choice. And curiously, this remorse was being expressed by one and all by the ‘gnashing of their teeth.’ Perhaps it was from here that the Bible picked up that curious expression.
Our hero, evidently a looser-born, took in this sight before him, and felt a sense of deep and penultimate betrayal. His self-worth and spirits worn to the bone by his long inning of failure, and that simply did not permit him to entertain any hopes of succour. Besides, the carnage before him was after all, not that kind that encouraged optimistic thoughts or fanned a waning flame of hope. Thus, he did not, even for a second, entertain the faintest hope that he would be eligible to board that spacecraft. With one final longing look at that spacecraft of stupendous beauty, he dropped his eyes and focused instead on practical things, on stupid things, like how best to perhaps cushion his fall… perhaps a rope, a paper clip, anything….
That’s when he felt something in his pocket. He took it out; it was his accursed blue ticket, the bane of his life. He was however mystified as to how it had crossed-over to this subtle dimension of the un-dead, without apparent material destruction. As he sullenly gazed at it he noticed upon it for the first time, the long and scrawling signature of guarantee, evidently of the person who had given it to him. It all came back to him then… those glorious days at the ashram, the aratis, the chanting, the prasadam, his original euphoria, his sense of invincibility, his sense of having made a wise choice… and most of all the smile of the person who sold it to him with such a show of honesty and confidence. This fleeting glimpse was soon replaced by the crushing sense of loss and defeat he had endured all these long years, and scalding hot tears of remorse glided down his cheeks.
Vaguely it crossed his mind that perhaps this was the ticket that would and enable him too to glide safely across. After all, it was blue and eons back and something to that effect it was a ticket to Goloka was mentioned. But he firmly dismissed that thought. He and get on to that spacecraft? Cows would sooner jump over the moon! To be sure, he was too old, too defeated, and too dead to fall afresh for that scam.
Equally fed up was he of his despondency. Indeed it sickened him to the core, which was perhaps why he impulsively did what he did. He decided to end the farce once and for all. With steely resolve he pushed his way to towards the edge of the chasm. He was determined to toss that confounded blue ticket into the chasm and be freed of its phantasmagorical claim once and for all.
But alas, fate cheated him yet again. A ruffian lunched at him and tried savagely to snatch the blue ticket from his hands. Fortunately he did not succeed. Soon others too pounced upon him for it. Infuriated, our hero lashed out at them and screaming: “I have given up my whole life for it; how dare you… how dare try and snatch it from me!”
Then, before they could lunge upon him afresh, he dash towards the edge and without a second thought, leapt off. Two desperados jumped right after him without even breaking strides, and managed attach themselves upon him and all the three, continued to fall into the chasm. As they fell, ferocious agents of death darted up from within the chasm and bound them up together with mystical ropes.
Then the most curious thing happened. With lightning speed, five angels from the platform rappelled down into the chasm and engaged the agents of death in a fierce battle. That they were fighting for one or two among the three who had fallen in was apparent to all. But the agents of death were in no mood to relent. Indeed, as far as they were concerned, all of three who had fallen in belonged to them. If they angels wanted one among them, they were welcome to fight for their share. Thus, a mid-air skirmish raged between the two sets of agents. The three fallen souls, secured together with mystical ropes, kept getting tossed back and forth, sometimes being dragged up and sometimes down. Then in a decisive swoop, one of the angels managed to cut the rope that bound the three together. Yet another angel grabbed one of the captives and darted back up. The other two unfortunates fell into the chasm and the agents of death, content with two, gave up the fight and tore after them into the chasm letting out the most blood curdling screams.
Our hero, for it was he who was rescued… when he finally opened his eyes, found himself looking deep into the anxious eyes of an angel. He was laid flat out on the platform… apparently he had passed out and they were trying to revive him. When at last he came around, he blinked his eyes a few times… and when it all dawned upon him, he, being a conscientious sort, began to anxiously search in his pocket for something. Finding it, he took it out, and presented it to the angel as if for inspection. It was the blue ticket. Real or not, it had saved him from the greatest danger—danger of being recycled and possibly never seeing the world again with human eyes for thousands of years. He was getting on that spacecraft and headed to Goloka, the Kingdom of God!
With infinite compassion the angel smiled in acknowledgment… and the last flickering image our hero’s material mind dutifully morphed for him was that smile—the angel’s smiling face morphed into the smiling face of the wise man who had sold him his blue ticket with such honesty and confidence—which, he has so naively purchased!—and he too smiled conspiratorially and in deep and everlasting contentment.