The archway shimmered, not with harsh light, but with the soft, pearlescent glow of a predawn sky. Narad stepped through with the familiarity of a man entering his own kitchen, Angat hovering behind him like a nervous thought. The office was vast, its ceiling lost in a soft, luminous mist. The air hummed with a low, cosmic frequency, the sound of existence being processed.
And then, there was the shouting.
"!!!!!! a 'buffer overflow'? You call drowning a village in Uttarakhand a 'buffer overflow'? It's incompetence, Indra! Sheer, unadulterated negligence!"
The voice was not just loud; it was dense, filling the space with palpable frustration. Its source was a massive, floating screen of light on the far wall.
Seated at a smaller, sleek desk of what looked like solidified moonlight was a man meticulously scrolling through a glowing tablet. Chitragupta. He looked up, and a weary, genuine smile touched his lips at the sight of Narad.
"Chitragupta, my friend!" Narad called out, his voice a warm counterpoint to the thunder. "Still keeping the cosmos organized, I see? The great accountant of souls."
"Someone has to, Narad," Chitragupta replied, his voice dry as ancient parchment. "Good to see you, though I wish it were under better circumstances." His eyes, which had witnessed the sum of human history, flickered to Angat.
He didn't just look at him; he seemed to absorb his essence, the entire tragicomedy of his situation, in that single, knowing glance. He leaned forward, lowering his voice. "You should know, the big boss has been... volatile all day. I hope you can talk some calm into him."
Narad raised an eyebrow, his voice dropping to a theatrical whisper. "Me? Are you sure? I'm usually the one who gets him more worked up, as you well remember from the last time I 'borrowed' your attendance registers for that bet with Kubera."
A faint chuckle escaped Chitragupta. "True. But with this wide-eyed soul in tow... even he has a soft spot for genuine cases. It might distract him from wanting to throttle the Lord of the Heavens."
Suddenly, Yamraj's voice boomed again, making Angat flinch. "HOW ABOUT YOU MANAGE YOUR CELESTIAL DOMAINS WITH MORE SERIOUSNESS AND FEWER BANQUETS, INDRAJEET! IF YOU SPENT HALF THE TIME ON YOUR WEATHER SYSTEMS THAT YOU DO TOASTING APSARAS, MY INTAKE DEPARTMENT WOULDN'T BE IN CHAOS!"
Chitragupta shook his head, a record-keeper's disdain for such disarray. "The parties are legendary, I'll grant him that. But the arrogance... leaving critical systems to junior assistants. It creates such a mess in my spreadsheets."
Narad nodded, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "He has always been a little too... delegative. How long has this particular tantrum been going on?"
In the background, Angat was losing a battle against a rising tide of hysterical laughter. The sheer, absurd reality of it...gods arguing over administrative errors, cosmic beings having what sounded like a celestial conference call from hell...was too much. His shoulders shook with the effort of keeping it in.
Narad shot him a glance that was both sympathetic and warning. "Vatsa," he murmured, "if you wish to secure a soul pass today, I would strongly recommend a little more decorum. Divine irritation is still irritation."
On the screen, Yamraj delivered his final, scathing verdict. "I've had enough !!! If one more soul arrives here prematurely due to your department's error, I will personally file a complaint with the Central Administrative Council! Let's see how your party invitations fare when they're discussing your early retirement!"
The screen blinked out, leaving a ringing silence in its wake.
Yamraj, a figure of immense presence seated behind a desk of dark, polished wood that seemed to swallow the light, let out a long, weary sigh that spoke of eons of administrative headaches. He picked up a delicate porcelain cup, its fragility a stark contrast to his formidable presence, and took a slow, deliberate sip. His gaze, sharp and assessing, finally settled on his visitors.
"Narad," he said, his voice now a calm, deep rumble, though a faint echo of his earlier ire still vibrated beneath the surface. "To what do I owe the... pleasure?"
Narad cleared his throat, stepping forward and gently guiding Angat with him. "Mr. Yam. I am here as an advocate for this soul, Angat." He placed a comforting hand on Angat's shoulder. "During that recent... karmic miscalculation, his thread was snipped in error. A targeting glitch. He has found himself here through no fault of his own."
Mr. Yam raised a single, formidable eyebrow, turning his full attention to Angat. The moment his eyes met Angat's, the young man felt a sensation unlike any other.
It wasn't a scan; it was an unveiling. A gentle, inescapable light seemed to pass through him, reading not just the story of his life, but the margins, the footnotes, the edits, and the discarded drafts. He felt utterly known, and it was terrifying and awe-inspiring in equal measure.
"Ah," Yamraj said, a flicker of academic interest in his ancient eyes. "An interesting case." He turned slightly. "Chitragupta, the file, please."
"Right away, my lord," Chitragupta replied, his fingers dancing across his tablet. A holographic scroll of light unfurled in the air before Yamraj.
Yamraj's eyes scanned the data. "I see. Angat. Your life was scripted for a full eighty years. You were to meet a woman named Priya... two children, a boy and a girl..." He looked up, and his expression shifted to one of genuine, profound pity. "It was supposed to be a good life. A happy one. A quiet, beautiful story. But here you are."
Hearing the name 'Priya' spoken in this chamber, by this being, was like a punch to the soul. A future he had never consciously imagined, but had somehow always felt was his, unfolded in his mind shared laughter, quiet mornings, the weight of a sleeping child in his arms. The ghost of that life crumpled his expression into one of pure, crestfallen loss.
"My lord," Angat whispered, the words torn from him, "can't you... can't you do something? With your power, surely you can... fix this? Send me back?" It was the desperate, illogical hope of a man offered a glimpse of heaven only to have the door slammed in his face.
Yamraj's gaze was implacable, but not cruel. "I am sorry, Vatsa. Your death was a cosmic glitch. You were not just removed; you were erased. Your karmic slate has been wiped clean. And as for your family, your friends... the memory of you has been gently, irrevocably removed from their minds. It is a kindness, in its way. They will feel no grief for a man who, to them, never was."
The finality of the words....erased....sank into Angat, cold and heavy. The hope drained from his face, leaving behind a hollowed-out shell. Was my entire existence just a mistake? A line of bad code in the universe? And now I'm just... gone?
"But!" Narad's voice cut through the despair, serene and infuriatingly hopeful. He clasped his hands together. "Narayan, Narayan! Mr. Yam, my lord, does this not reek of divine intervention? A soul, plucked from his ordained path not by fate, but by a celestial clerical error? I believe my Narayana must have a different plan for this one."
Yamraj offered a small, knowing smile. "As optimistic as ever, Narad. It is your most charming and frustrating quality. So, what is your proposal?"
"I was hoping," Narad said, his tone sweetly persuasive, "that you could grant Angat a soul pass. A special visa, if you will. So he doesn't get... accidentally swept up by an overzealous Yamdut while this new, divine plan unfolds."
Mr. Yam considered it for a moment, then gave a curt, efficient nod. "Very well. Chitragupta, see to the paperwork. He is to be officially under Mr. Narad's spiritual guardianship."
He turned his gaze back to Angat, the weight of cosmic authority pressing down on him once more. "Your journey is not over, Angat. Do not be consumed by this depression. It seems your path has only just taken a most unexpected turn. Your life is not over. Not now."
As the words sank in, a fragile new feeling began to kindle in Angat's chest, a small flame thawing the icy numbness. The profound sadness on his face softened, not into joy, but into a quiet, weary acceptance.
"Narayan Narayan, remember that, Vatsa," Narad said gently. Then he began to chant, his voice taking on a melodic, ancient rhythm that seemed to soothe the very air around them:
"जब मैं था तब हरि नहीं, अब हरि हैं मैं नाहीं।
सब अँधियारा मिट गया, दीपक देखा माहीं॥." - kabir
(When 'I' existed, God was not; now God is, and 'I' is gone.
All darkness has vanished, for I have seen the lamp within.)
"You have lost your old existence," Narad translated, his voice soft. "The 'you' that was attached to that life is gone. Now is the time to let go of that ego, and have faith in the divine plan. Now is the time to hope for the soul you are yet to become."
"Well said, Narad," Mr. Yam acknowledged, a hint of approval in his tone. He looked at Angat one last time. "Worry not, son. I am sure Mr. Narad will guide you well on whatever... unconventional path lies ahead."
As they turned to leave, Narad ducked his head toward Chitragupta's desk. "Pssst, hey," he whispered, a boyish grin on his face, "can you get me one of those special Mr. Yam coffees? The celestial blend? I never get a chance to taste the good stuff."
Chitragupta looked up, a smirk playing on his lips. "Ah, the special reserve? That's incredibly expensive, you know. Far beyond a wandering sage's stipend."
Narad winked. "Just put it under 'office hospitality.' I'm sure the boss won't mind. He's in a better mood now, isn't he?"
Watching this easy, celestial banter, this glimpse of familiar friendship amidst the overwhelming strangeness, Angat felt a strange, fluttering sensation in his chest. It wasn't happiness, not yet. But it was a semblance of life returning. A spark of curiosity. Maybe, he thought, a corner of his mouth twitching upward, maybe the future won't be so boring after all.