Amarnath died on Saturday at 1:07 AM in morning. He was 79 years old and his youngest son was in the same room as him, sleeping and unaware of what was happening.
Amarnath though, did wake up from his slumber, just before he took his last breath. He knew. And he was happy that it was over. Being atheist, he did not thank god. He just let go.
That should have been that really.
But it wasn't. He felt himself gathering. Soon he was a small point hovering about his own body. He was not able to see anything but he still knew that he was gathering into himself and was still in same room. He still remembered the things. Not all the things. Just the things that remained with him. Indelibly imprinted on his conscious. The hand of the mother on his head as he was falling asleep on a warm summer night, his first sight of sea, and a few more. All inconsequential in conventional reckoning but still most consequential in a picture still larger.
Soon, there was a pull and the point went somewhere. It could not say where. But it went somewhere. As it zoomed, the point started to lose the memories. Soon all were gone. Nothing remained.
After a time, the point felt of joining. Something so large that there is no scale in which to imagine it. The point joined this big something like a drop of water joins the ocean. The drop is still a drop but it is part of something much larger from which it is indistinguishable.
After some time, a long time, the drop felt a pull. It went to a destination, a warm place. The point knew not how he knew to be there. But it knew that it was in the right place and it was meant to be there. And it expanded. Just a little bit. And it was a start.
Amarnath though, did wake up from his slumber, just before he took his last breath. He knew. And he was happy that it was over. Being atheist, he did not thank god. He just let go.
That should have been that really.
But it wasn't. He felt himself gathering. Soon he was a small point hovering about his own body. He was not able to see anything but he still knew that he was gathering into himself and was still in same room. He still remembered the things. Not all the things. Just the things that remained with him. Indelibly imprinted on his conscious. The hand of the mother on his head as he was falling asleep on a warm summer night, his first sight of sea, and a few more. All inconsequential in conventional reckoning but still most consequential in a picture still larger.
Soon, there was a pull and the point went somewhere. It could not say where. But it went somewhere. As it zoomed, the point started to lose the memories. Soon all were gone. Nothing remained.
After a time, the point felt of joining. Something so large that there is no scale in which to imagine it. The point joined this big something like a drop of water joins the ocean. The drop is still a drop but it is part of something much larger from which it is indistinguishable.
After some time, a long time, the drop felt a pull. It went to a destination, a warm place. The point knew not how he knew to be there. But it knew that it was in the right place and it was meant to be there. And it expanded. Just a little bit. And it was a start.
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