You know that feeling when an elevator drops just a little too fast? That stomach-lurching moment where you grab the handrail just to feel something solid? Well, imagine that sensation, but there's no elevator, no handrail, and frankly, you're not entirely sure you still have a stomach to lurch. One second Angat was floating in that endless, formless grey, and the next, he was sinking. It wasn't a fall; it was a slow, deliberate descent, like being pulled down through a vat of warm, heavy syrup.
"Whoa!" he yelped, his arms flailing instinctively for a balance that didn't exist in this non-space. "A little warning next time?"
Beside him, Narad Muni was the picture of serenity, reclining horizontally as if on an invisible chaise lounge, one hand behind his head, the other casually scrolling through his glowing tablet. He didn't even look up. "Warning? Where's the fun in that, Vatsa? Consider this your first practical lesson in non-linear travel. Much more exciting than the theoretical stuff, isn't it?"
Angat swiped a hand across his forehead, the sensation of uncomfortable warmth becoming undeniable. "And is it supposed to feel like we're walking into a sauna set on 'broil'?"
Narad finally glanced over, a mischievous grin playing on his lips. He took an exaggerated sniff of the thick air. "Ah, yes. You can smell it, can't you? That distinct aroma of... cosmic bureaucracy. It's the geothermal signature of the lower celestial planes. The insulation is notoriously terrible once you get down to the soul processing levels. Can't be helped, I'm afraid."
"Soul processing levels?" Angat's spirit did a nervous somersault. "You mean... we're actually going to... Yam Lok?"
"The very same!" Narad announced, his eyes sparkling with amusement at Angat's palpable apprehension. "Brace yourself, my boy. You're about to witness a genuine paradigm shift. The great underworld is nothing at all like those colourful, dramatic comic books your generation is so fond of."
The heat intensified rapidly, transforming from a general warmth into a dry, oppressive blanket that seemed to squeeze the very essence of him. Just as Angat was about to suggest, rather frantically, that they turn back and reconsider this entire post-mortem itinerary, the swirling darkness around them shuddered and solidified. The blurry vortex resolved into sharp, dreadfully familiar shapes, and Angat's jaw dropped open in pure, unadulterated disbelief.
This wasn't a pit of despair or a cavern of eternal torment. This was infinitely worse.
"I... I thought it would be... I don't know, more dramatic?" Angat whispered, his voice hushed with awe and disappointment. "You know, like the Chinese hells with Kshitigarbha patiently guiding lost souls through the eighteen layers, or the haunting poetry of Meng Po's soup of oblivion, wiping memories on the Bridge of Forgetfulness. Or even like the Greek Hades I saw in God of War,,all fiery chasms and echoing screams of legendary heroes. But this... this is just... soul-crushing."
They were standing at the edge of what could only be described as the universe's most depressing, eternally-lit corporate park. The cavern ...if it could be called that stretched into a gloomy, impossible distance, illuminated by the sickly, soulless glow of floating light orbs that did nothing to lift the spirit.
The air wasn't just hot; it was thick, heavy with the profound, silent pressure of a trillion unresolved deeds and a million unspoken regrets.
Endless lines of shimmering, translucent souls shuffled forward in neat, orderly queues that snaked through a vast, disheartening maze of low, polished obsidian dividers. And moving among them were figures in simple, dark uniforms, looking less like fearsome divine torturers and more like overworked, under-caffeinated office interns on the verge of a collective breakdown.
"Is that... is that really a Yamadut?" Angat whispered, pointing discreetly at one particular figure who was desperately trying to herd a group of dazed-looking souls, his gestures resembling a shepherd trying to corral a flock of particularly confused sheep. "He looks like he hasn't slept in weeks and desperately needs a long vacation. Where are the great guardians like Kshitigarbha? At least he looked like he genuinely cared about the souls he was guiding toward enlightenment."
Narad chuckled, a soft, melodious sound that felt out of place in the grim atmosphere. "Oh, Kshitigarbha runs the Mahayana division...very compassionate, very dedicated to his vow, but my dear boy, their processing speed is absolutely terrible. All that 'no soul left behind' policy creates an incredible administrative backlog.
Meng Po's soup kitchen? That's over in the East Asian cultural sector. A different franchise, you could say. Different departments, different methods for managing the cycle of rebirth. We're in the main, universal administrative hub -- it's efficiency over empathy here, I'm afraid. Now, come along."
"Welcome to the Cosmic Administrative Zone," Narad announced with a theatrical flourish of his hand, as if he were a game show host revealing a fabulous prize. "Headquarters for the universe's most tedious, yet utterly vital, work: processing you lot. This is Karma's central accounting department. A quick professional tip don't try to make friends with the staff. They're really not here for conversation."
Narad then led him on a winding path through the labyrinth of silent queues. The experience felt less like a momentous journey into the afterlife and more like being stuck in the world's most miserable, understaffed DMV, but with worse lighting and a more existential sense of dread. They finally arrived at a more imposing section, guarded by a massive, arched doorway carved from a single piece of black, volcanic rock. In front of this imposing entrance stood a sleek, monolithic desk that looked like it had been sculpted from a slab of solid midnight.
And behind this desk sat a woman.
She moved with the intense, unblinking focus of a chess grandmaster in the final match of a world championship. Her fingers were a blur, flying across multiple, complex holographic screens that hovered in the air before her, managing streams of data and scheduling conflicts with a terrifying, flawless efficiency. She didn't just work here; she radiated an aura of complete and absolute control.
Narad immediately straightened his already impeccable suit, plastered on his most dazzling, disarming smile, and approached the desk with the confident swagger of a salesman pushing a questionable extended warranty.
"Ahem! Good... well, whatever time it is! You're looking wonderfully efficient today, as always! We have that 2:15 soul-audit slot with the big man, if I'm not mistaken?" he oozed, laying on the charm with a trowel.
The woman didn't even grace him with a glance. "Hello, Mr. Narad." Her voice was cool, crisp, and devoid of any unnecessary warmth, like the audible equivalent of a freshly installed software update. "The Dharmaraja is currently concluding a high-priority video conference with Devraj Indra. They are still finalizing the root cause analysis for the recent reality buffer overflow incident." She finally glanced up from her screens, and her gaze was sharp enough to slice right through his layered charm. "Your estimated wait time is approximately four minutes and thirty seconds. Please be seated."
"Four minutes and thirty seconds! Marvelous! We are nothing if not patient!" Narad chirped, giving a little, performative bow before quickly hustling a utterly bewildered Angat over to a pair of austere stone benches that looked suspiciously like repurposed headstones.
As they sat, Angat just stared blankly into the middle distance, his mind completely buffering, unable to process the surreal corporate nightmare he had just been plunged into.
Narad nudged him with an elbow. "Alright, out with it. You look like you just saw a ghost. Oh, wait..." he chuckled at his own joke. "Anyway, what's short-circuiting in that head of yours? I can hear the gears grinding from here."
Angat shook his head slowly, as if trying to clear water from his ears. "It's just... in all the movies and the TV serials... the Yamaduts. They're always... well, dudes. Big, scary, muscular dudes with glowing eyes and massive clubs. Where are they all? This... this just looks like the IT department the day after the main servers crashed and burned."
Narad threw his head back and laughed, a rich, booming sound of pure joy that was so out of place it made a nearby shimmering soul flinch and shuffle away. "Oh, Vatsa! You sweet, misled summer child! You've been binge-watching the celestial propaganda reels!" He leaned in close, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial, gossipy whisper. "Let me let you in on a little cosmic secret. You know the Ramayan, right? Of course you do. Remember those fierce, highly competent female guards in Lanka, the ones specifically tasked with guarding Maa Sita?"
"Well, yeah, of course, but..." Angat scrunched up his face in confusion. "That was the bad guy's team. Ravan was the villain!"
"Was he?" Narad asked, his eyebrows doing a playful, knowing wiggle. "Or was he simply the brilliant, but ultimately disruptive, founder of a rival startup who lost a vicious, no-holds-barred market-share battle to the more established, traditional corporate entity, Lord Ram? History, my dear friend, is written by the victors, and they have a tendency to... well, to photoshop the losers into cartoonish monsters. But even a 'monster' knows good HR when he sees it. Lanka, under its Naresh Ravan, was an economic and technological powerhouse! He hired based on pure merit and capability, not on whether someone was a man or a woman. He understood that talent is talent." Narad gestured broadly with one hand, encompassing the vast, humming, bureaucratic machine around them. "You think a cosmic operation of this sheer scale, which has to impartially process the entire human race plus a few million other sentient species across countless millennia, can afford to be sexist? The universe's only bias is for cold, hard efficiency."
He looked at Angat, his expression softening from playful to gently teacherly, and when he spoke again, his voice took on a deeper, resonant quality that seemed to vibrate in the very core of Angat's being.
"It's all there in the ancient texts, Vatsa, if you'd just read them without the filters of those prime-time dramas.
'कर्म प्रधान विश्व करी राखा। जो जस करइ सो तस फल चाखा॥'
'The world is founded upon karma. As you act, so shall you taste the fruit.'
Yama and his crew? They're just the system administrators, the auditors enforcing the cosmic code. They are neutral forces, beyond our limited, human concepts of male and female. Their only gender is 'justice.' Their only true form is 'duty.'"
Angat's gaze drifted from Narad's smug, enlightened face back to the formidable secretary, who was now simultaneously managing three separate holographic screens and making a mis-filed soul application vanish with a single, laser-sharp glare that promised digital oblivion. The cartoonish, fire-and-brimstone underworld he had imagined his entire life didn't just crack; it shattered into a million pieces, replaced by something far more complex, nuanced, and infinitely more terrifying: the prospect of an eternity spent in what was essentially cosmic corporate drudgery.
"Right," Angat breathed out, the truth finally dawning on him with a mixture of hilarious horror and humbling acceptance. "So... the afterlife, the great judgment hall of Yama... is basically just one giant, soul-crushing, open-office plan."
"Now you're getting it!" Narad said, his face splitting into a wide grin as he gave Angat a hearty, congratulatory slap on the back.
Just then, a soft, perfectly tuned chime resonated through the heavy air, cutting through the low hum of the underworld like a knife.
The secretary looked up from her constellation of screens, her sharp eyes finding them immediately in the crowd of waiting spirits.
"Mr. Narad?" she said, her voice clean and precise, brooking no argument. "The Dharmaraja will see you now."
The massive, black archway behind her desk began to shimmer, then glowed to life with a deep, pulsing, ominous orange light, like a monstrous computer monitor powering on to display a final, irrevocable verdict.
"Showtime," Narad said, his playful smirk instantly returning as he rose to his feet and straightened his suit jacket. "Let's not keep the boss waiting. I hear he's started billing by the minute for unscheduled appointments."