A weird dream

I saw him yesterday. A portly man in majestic regalia with a fitting crown on his head.  He was pacing up and down in my bedroom. Swinging the magic wand in the air to frighten me in the middle of my slumber, he nudged me with its tip. I got up frightened, my mouth dry, and tongue sticky. While I rubbed the sleep off my eyes to focus clearly, blurred by hours of inactivity, he waited and then sat on my wooden recliner. He allowed me to gather myself and when I was ready to ask him who he was, he said, ‘I am YD, Yama Doot, the messenger sent by His Highness Yama, the king of hell.’

I looked around. I was not at the door of hell where this person was supposed to be manning the gate. I am in my bedroom, lying in my own bed beside my wife like other days. The dark room is not so dark any more, gently lit by the aureole of luminous silhouette  making me believe he isn’t a mortal like me. But why is he here? In my room? Are my days over?

I ask myself before posing my query to him. He seems to read my mind.

‘Yes, you are right. Your time is over. Now let`s set out for the long march.’ He sighs, muttering under his breath.

‘But who has decided about it? ‘I scream in disbelief.

‘Hopefully you know about Chitra Gupta, our data entry operator. He has checked twice before handing me over the chit. You can check for yourself. It has your name, address, occupation, phone number, driving licence and even the latest Aadhar card.’ He offers me the piece of paper for scrutiny. I rush through it. All information is up to date. Indeed this is for me.

‘This Chitra Gupta fellow is amazing, I tell you! He never makes mistake!’ Mr YD, as he likes to call himself, explains to me.

‘But who has authorised him? There is no signature or seal!’

‘This is a computer generated document, doesn't need any signature. You aren't au courant about computers, I guess. Of course it`s been done with full knowledge of the king of the hell himself.’ He assures me.

‘Is that final? Don`t I have a chance to appeal?’ I ask him frantically .

‘Of course you have, but that comes with a rider.’ YD smiles as though this is the commonest plea he listens from his victims like me.

‘What`s the rider?’ I ask.

‘If you defer your long march by a year, you suffer more severe punishment for the same period.’

‘Do I have to suffer punishment?’ I ask him astonished.

‘Of course! Do you remember how many times you lied, cheated how many people, cast your dirty glances on how many women? The list is endless, but wait. If you aren't yet convinced, CG will be able to give you a print-out of the full list.’

‘CG?’ I look at him confused.

‘Chitra Gupta! At Hell, we call ourselves in abbreviated names. Who has time for long names? And it`s the “it” thing nowadays. Have you heard about Tamils? They keep long names, but ask them their name; they will tell you the abbreviated truncated one. Even the Yankees do the same. Los Angeles becomes LA, New York becomes NY. So I am YD. Our Highness YR – Yama Raj.’

Though I am facing the worst crisis of my life, I appreciate the humour of YD. The chap, err... the spectre, has good knowledge of racial and regional variation in naming. But then he must be distributing millions of such coupons daily.

But the saddest part is I am not ready to kick the bucket  right now. I need few more years of my dear life on this earth. I haven’t settled anything. At least five EMI are due for the loan I had taken for my flat. Then there are electricity bills, corporation tax, and renewal of my driving licence next month – plethora of things to sort out by  next month. In a word – I have no time to die now. YD, as usual read my mind before me.

‘Come on Mr Roy! This kind of things happens with everybody. I don`t announce my arrival beforehand. That`s the beauty of death. All your worries end with you.’

‘But what`ll happen to my wife, son and daughters? At least I have to inform my wife that I am leaving for good!’

‘Oh Mr. Roy! You speak like an empty-headed moron. You aren't going out for a long office trip. You are going to bite the dust.’ YD gets irritated.

‘Allow me some more time please!’ I beseech.

‘Some more time is vague. You must tell me exactly how much time you want. But always remember the rider – an equal amount of time you suffer harsher punishment.’

Having assured of some kind of consideration, I feel the immediate danger is over, though it looms as a veritable Damocles` sword. But how much time? To think about it I become blank. I visualise my family, relatives, half-done works and my dreams.

The dreams for the future of my son and daughter, about our own things, the trip I have planned in next summer to idyllic islands of Greece. In a hurry I can`t concentrate properly. But YD is staring at me with his popped out eyes for an answer. If I settle for less by mistake none can change it. I shut my eyes tight, try to focus hard, think about my son`s job, my daughter`s marriage, and calculate mentally the return of my FD, PPF and major stocks. YD squints his eyes when I run the tip of my counting finger and smirks at my weird tic. I curse him for breathing on my neck while I am at a loss to decide what will be the safe bet.

‘I can`t wait until the cows come home Mr. Roy. I have other fish to fry. It`s time to cut the bait.’ He says like a bear with a sore head.

I don`t want to rub him up the wrong way for long lest he cancels my plea. So hurriedly I come to a conclusion to ask for ten years more.

‘Ten years! Are you off your nuts?’

‘That`s what I need to settle things YD sir!’ I plead suppliantly.

‘Are you aware of what you are asking for?’

‘Only ten more years Sir! I am fifty now, ten more years will see me through.’

‘In that case you start from level four.’ He grimaces as if he has taken a swig of bitter gourd juice by mistake.

But for me, not conversant with levels he is talking about I get the wrong end of the stick.  YD corrects me immediately.

‘Level four is the worst place even in the hell. You share your bed with whore-mongers and lepers.’

I shudder at the prospect of getting such horrible bed-partners. But then this is not in this life, not when I am alive. Who cares what happens to me after I kick the bucket. I nod slowly, but the unknown devil scares me a bit.

‘Then I take ten years as your final decision Mr. Roy?’ YD frowns contemptuously.

‘Yes, you can say it again!’ I say hurriedly before he flies off the handle.

He scribbles down on the chit, guffaws like a bear and leaves my room.

Once he is gone I take a deep breath as if I have come back from the brink of death. The room is dark again; I tap the side-key of my mobile. It`s three o`clock, in another hour and a half the alarm will go off – my usual time to get up from bed. I watch my wife sleeping like a log – blissfully, not aware of the midnight drama. But YD spoke quite loudly, how come she didn't get up! Did all of it happen in my dream?