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A Dialogue with Death (standard:Fan Fiction, 2148 words)
Author: JuggernautAdded: Oct 29 2010Views/Reads: 1494/1031Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
The Lord of Death Yama from Kingdom of Death visits people to find about their thoughts just before they die.
 



Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

for spending so much money for keeping Jake alive for so many years on 
death bed in the name of social justice and political correctness; then 
Yama disappeared into the thin air. 

“As an Obstetrician, I helped deliver hundreds of babies into the world,
new life born, scores of them and now I am at the end of my life, I 
feel funny,” the lady doctor on the death bed was not scared but 
philosophical. 

“I see that from your chart,” Yama was looking at Doctor's docket. 

“I went to medical school to help poor people.” 

“Yeah, I heard that before, then what happened.” 

“I got caught up in the rat race.” “The motto is if I won't do the
unnecessary ‘C' Section, somebody would do it anyway so why not I, thus 
I turned into a mean money making delivery machine,” “now it is time 
for me to reflect,” the Doctor was hard on herself in the last moments. 


“When you joined the medical school, you said you only want to help
people.” “True, you practiced good medicine, but in free time, you 
could have spent more time conducting free clinics for the poor; 
instead you attended seminars on investing on hedge funds and funneled 
money into bogus real estate investments,”  that's all I see in your 
chart, doc,” Yama placed the docket on the side table next to the dying 
doctor. 

“For better or worse, you sound more like my brother Juggernaut.” 

“Well, that old dog has still some life left, he will hang on for while
on this earth,” said Yama looking at Juggernaut's docket. 

“Am I entitled some salvation for all the work I did?” the Doc was
inquisitive. 

“I am afraid, you were overly compensated for your work, as per
salvation, there is nothing like that, once you close your eyes for 
good, you sink into the black hole of universe, if you want to call 
that salvation, do so.” “My job as the Lord of Death is to make sure 
you die before another sucker born into this world,” with these words, 
Yama bade good bye to the Doctor. 

As per our religious believes, our bodies can neither be cremated nor
buried,” anguished Mr. Roshan. 

“I know very well.” 

“I was God fearing man, all my life. I am a conformist in every way and
followed the Book; I even married my cousin to keep our business in the 
family.” “Now, Yama, you tell me please, am I going to heaven? Mr. 
Roshan looked desperate. 

“Mr. Roshan, I can see your actions and non-actions from your records.”
“Once you misplaced a 100 dollar bill while travelling in Indiana on 
business, you became restless and nasty and made your assistant's life 
miserable, do you recall,” Yama inquired. 

“Yes indeed.” “Then my wife called me and said that I left the bill at
home.” 

“Have you apologized to your assistant for your grumpy and jack-ass
behavior?” 

“No, I did not.” “Am I going to be punished after my death for that?” 

“No.” 

“Dear Yama, now I am dying from this rare disease which is unique for
our kind of people from in-breeding.” 

“I know all about it, remember I am the Lord of Death.” 

“Yes, Yes, now what shall I do?” 

“You have every opportunity to live a life with fairness and kindness;
you blew it, now you are asking me what is stored for you after death?” 
“I say, nothing,” “in a few moments time, you die and your body is 
disposed according to your beliefs.” 

“And the only consolation is.” Yama stopped short of completing the
sentence. 

“And the consolation?” Mr. Roshan looked anxious. 

“You will be dead and that's that,” Yama disappeared. 

“I born in Minnesota, where everything is white, the snow is white, for
the most part the people are all white and I played ice hockey on white 
ice rink” said morbid McMurry. 

“True, I am looking at your records as you speak,” Yama replied. Mr.
McMurry is dying from complications of a head injury received while 
playing ice-hockey. 

“I am from Minnesota where everything is white for most part of the year
and I like white,” “Can you tell me if heaven is white too?” 

“There is no heaven or hell, so stop worrying about its color,” “If you
were to be buried after death, start worrying about the color of dirt.” 
 “The dirt can be brown, red, black or even blue like in Blue Earth in 
Minnesota,” Yama gave a short lesson to Mr. McMurry. 

“Oops, I felt like somebody hit me again with a hockey stick on my
head,” those were the last words of Mr. McMurry just before he kicked 
the bucket or the rink, in his case. 

“Sir, Yama Sir, I had the dubious honor of bringing in hundreds of
thousands of IT workers to America in the name of bogus Y2K project in 
late 90's, it all legal you know,” when I see everybody ganging up on 
illegal farm workers, I feel bad, after all what I did was no different 
except my clients have diplomas to show unlike those willing to work 
for a buck picking cherries,” “I want to clear my conscious so I can 
feel light in departing,” Mr. Dubey had hard time finishing his last 
sentence. 

“Don't worry Mr. Dubey, with the cheap illegal labor and food prices,
people are poisoning themselves to death.” “As per those people who 
came to rescue America from doomsday prediction of Y2K, they are all 
now stuck with American debt amounting to trillions of dollars.” “Good 
Bye Mr. Dubey,” said Yama. 

“I joined politics to serve my country,” said Mr. Pandey, leader of a
major political party recently kicked out of leadership. 

“I heard this before, not once, not twice, countless times.” “Say,
serving country is serving themselves,” shouted Yama.” 

“I am a born leader and thought of dying as a leader of the party, but
then I was thrown out, here I am waiting for the last moments,” sobbed 
Mr. Pandey on the death bed in a luxurious private nursing home. 

“Never mind Mr. Pandey, you had a good run in politics; you galvanized
the ever crumbling coalition of self-interest groups in forming the 
government and benefitted yourself to amass a fortune in the process; 
you ran a one-man show without giving anybody an opportunity to climb 
the ladder to become a national leader; practically the entire party 
membership has to dump you to get rid off you from the party politics,” 
Yama was just reading Mr. Pandey's political resume. 

“I don't like white or black but I love orange, the glowing color of
purity, please tell me if the Kingdom of Death is color orange,” begged 
Mr. Pandey. 

“No, the color of Kingdom of Death is neutral, or shall I say
transparent or see-through.” “I need to keep a close eye on the 
accounting staff that records the activities of over 6 billion people 
on earth, for this, I keep my kingdom see-through,” “Mr. Pandey, for 
your information, in few moments when you die, the color is your least 
problem, you see, your political party is refusing to pay your medical 
bills and the hospital is going after your wife to pay the dues,” Yama 
with these last words sapped the last breath from Mr. Pandey. 

“I left my native country in a boat and traveled far to make a living in
countries where there were no roads, no electricity, no sanitation, and 
no government,” “I never paid taxes, yes, I did paid bribes to do 
business if that's called taxes, I have no problem,” “taxes are for 
people with regular jobs, in business, there is no job security or 
income guarantees, so I keep all the income,” “You tell me Yama, what's 
wrong with it?”  Reasoned Mr. Das at his Florida home after doing 
business in several countries and eventually made it to America. 

“Currency doesn't come with a source of origin ID tag; whether it is
found on a roadside, inherited, earned by whatever means, with or 
without taxes paid,” “why people bring up the topic of taxes all the 
time,” thought irritated Yama. 

“You said it all Mr. Das,” “you can drop dead now with no guilty
conscious, rest assured.” Yama was in a hurry to close the last 
transaction of the day. 

Yama called it a day and retired to his kingdom for a well earned break
after listening to all the crap from Jake, Mr. Roshan, Mc Murray and 
others.   “I don't mind preachers talk about spirit or soul, and all 
that jazz, after all it is bread and butter for them,” “in reality, I 
have hard time looking into and recording the lives of 6 billion people 
on earth; who wants them back in any shape or form after their death, 
not in my backyard,” thought Yama, the Lord of Death, sitting in a 
fancy arm chair, kicking back his legs and stretching his arms, in the 
Kingdom of Death, a place to relax forever. 

As Lord of Death, I am immortal with endless life cycle; the people on
earth have at least an exit plan, a closure with dead end, that's good, 
thought yama. 


   


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