Dialogues with Death: Of Seeking and Sacrifice

Arise! Awake! Approach the great and learn. Like the sharp edge of a razor is that path, so the wise say - hard to tread and difficult to cross. - Katha Upanishad

The dreamscape bursts, but the boy is still in the Dreaming. He floats slowly at first toward the core, the Dreamheart, and then he is speeding, flying, falling into it. He remembers the prayers and speaks them dutifully. The misty tendrils of all-sleep do not close on him, and the quori predators that dive down at him are likewise repelled. The boy prays, and his faith takes him...

...elsewhere. It is a clear, empty void, with no light and no darkness. There is no time, and no space, and the boy senses he is not in a place, but rather between places. In a gap. In the gap. The holy scriptures say nothing of this void, and he knows no prayers that would take him home. But then again, he is not trying to get home. His purpose is strong in him, fueled by a questioning faith, and he lets it guide him. There are ... tunnels, of sorts, channeled voids within the void, and he chooses one, enters, not-moves through it. After an instant or after a century, the tunnel opens, and the boy is...

...elsewhere. All is dark, and a storm is raging. Cold shards of glass swirl about him, and as he bleeds, he realizes he has lost his way. This black hell cannot be Yamasadena. Despair creeps in, but his faith is still strong. He knows he must be near, and could not have missed by much. He will reach the realm he seeks eventually, but now he must find shelter if this feeble spirit-form is to survive. He prays again, asking for sanctuary, and is granted a temporary respite. The blades of ice (not glass) are no longer cutting into his flesh, but the storm is still going strong. The boy suspects this storm is everlasting, and begins to move in a random direction, desperate to hide from the terrible wind.

Eventually, just as his wards are beginning to fail, he comes upon a house. It is a simple abode, floating in nothingness, apparently immune to the black icestorm. The boy does not know whose domain this is, and has no time or strength to announce himself properly, but simply enters, chanting his gratitude to the powers. The doors open, and he is inside a single room which contains two shrines facing each other, one chair facing a large window, and a motionless man in the chair. The pious and wise boy recognizes the statues on the shrines easily; one is of Devi, the Goddess, in her fierce warrior aspect, and the other... is of the one whom he seeks. The boy's heart jumps, and he avoids looking at his host at the last moment. He continues to pray, moving from the appreciative praise of the gods further on along the holy rites, routinely forming mudras, waiting for his presence to be acknowledged.

The boy prays and fasts for days, as the red-robed man gazes at the storm. Eventually, he feels the host's questioning eyes upon him, and does not shudder as a man of lesser faith might. He is done with the prayers, and is now sitting in the lotus position, not meditating but simply waiting, struggling on some deep level to keep his internal peace. He does not look up. He knows that to look upon Yama of Mysteries without permission is to lose one's turn, starting the cycle anew, and he has come much too far to let that happen. Instead, he imagines what this avatar of his host looks like. He pictures in his mind the red robe, red turban, red pommel jewel of the tulwar, dark face and darker hair, and his eyes, darkest of all. The hollow, bottomless eyes that are now looking through the boy, examining him, judging him, probably finding him unworthy, probably choosing where to deposit his ...

"Welcome, little priest. You are quite the sight. I never expected to be disturbed here, and yet it seems your arrival is not pure coincidence. You were trying to reach my domain in Gear Patterns, were you not?"

His voice is the soft silk of the strangling cord, but it is the voice that the boy came to hear. All fear fades away, as he addresses his host and meets his gaze.

"O Great Lord, I come here uninvited and unworthy, but I sought to reach you at your own realm, as all men eventually do. I wished to ask and be answered, listen and learn of your secrets."

For a moment, the god's laughter overpowers the sound of the storm.

"Not many come to me before their time and of their own volition, young one. I see there was a matter of a... sacrifice to me? Your father's, I understand? And now you offered yourself, but not through proper rituals, yes? Your body is still down there in the world, waiting to see whether it would go to my realm or remain in the Preserver's, is it not? Do you not know, little priest, what grievous offence against me it is to ..."

"O Yamadeva, Controller and Director, Judge of ..."

Deep, silent rage emanates from the god and overwhelms the boy in a wave of pain.

"Interrupt me again, mortal seeker, and you will know what it feels like to come back as a tapeworm for a thousand incarnations. Now then. You will explain your actions to me before I choose what to do with your soul. And you would do well to make it convincing, as I am not overly pleased by having to entertain mortal visitors in my single place of rest. Speak now."

The pain subsides, and the boy stands up. Passionate resolution tempered with wisdom forms words, and fear of punishment does not stain them. If he is to be denied because of his temerity, so be it, but he will be heard first.

"I come, O Death, from a base plane, where men would perform ritual sacrifices in blind faith, not out of true devotion but out of desire for reward. Like many, my father gave what he had, hoping for a boon, hoping to come back as a better man in a better world. Young as I am, and no priest as you call me, O Death, I still could realize the lack of wisdom in such action. I said to myself: 'Joyless, surely, are the worlds to which he goes who gives away cows no longer able to drink, to eat, to give milk, or to calve.'I knew such deeds were not for me, and neither my faith nor my fate were in empty rituals. I knew that to find true purpose and understanding, I would have to go ... elsewhere. In your realm, O Death, I could look back and see how it was with those who came before us, and observe how it is with those who are with us now. Is it not written that a mortal ripens like corn, and like corn he springs up again? I would quell or prove doubts, and find a final resolution. This is why I sought you, O Death. Life in what passed for faith among my people was not what I needed, and a need of your wisdom was all that moved me, and that moves me now."

The boy sighed, and continued.

"And so I found you, O Death, O Great Lord, O Wisdom. Yet, here and now, you call me priest, even though I was not born of priests. But is it not written that 'A priestly guest enters a house like fire, and the householder pacifies him by bringing him water and a seat'? Is it not written that 'A priest dwelling in a house, fasting, destroys a foolish host's false expectations and ..."

"Watch yourself, young one."

"I am a priest at your house, O King, and I thirst. I thirst for wisdom. Bring me water, Death."

And there was silence. The boy's eyes gazed without fear into the endless black holes that were the eyes of Death, and Death stood motionless, his hand on the pommel of his blade. Finally, he spoke.

"O priest, salutations to you! You are a venerable guest and have dwelt in my house three nights without eating; therefore choose now three boons, one for each night, O priest! May all be well with me!"

The boy nodded solemnly, and made the mudra of respectful deference. He spoke without hesitation...

//to be continued in Dialogues with Death: Of Boons and Wisdom