Lord of Light (25 page)

"So why this sudden interest in the dead?" he repeated.

"He is not dead, that one!"

"No?" said Tak. "He isn't? . . . Mistress Maya, he was dead the moment he set foot within the Celestial City. Forget him. Forget his words. Let it be as if he never existed. Leave no trace of him within your mind. One day you will seek renewal—so know that the Masters of Karma will seek after this one within every mind that passes through their halls. The Buddha and his words are an abomination in the eyes of the gods."

"But why?"

"He is a bomb-throwing anarchist, a hairy-eyed revolutionary. He seeks to pull down Heaven itself. If you want more scientific information, I'll have to use the machines to retrieve the data. Would you care to sign an authorization for this?"

"No . . ."

"Then put him out of your mind and lock the door."

"He is really that bad?"

"He's worse."

"Then why do you smile as you say these things?"

"Because I'm not a very serious person. Character has nothing to do with my message, however. So heed it."

"
You
seem to know all about it. Are archivists themselves immune to these lists?"

"Hardly. My name is first upon it. But this is not because I am an archivist. He is my father."

"That one? Your father?"

"Yes. You speak as one quite young, however. I doubt that he is even aware that he fathered me. What is paternity to the gods, who inhabit a succession of bodies, begetting scores of offspring by others who also change bodies four or five times a century? I am the son of a body he once inhabited, born of another who also passed through many, and I myself no longer live in the same body I was born into. The relationship, therefore, is quite intangible, and interesting primarily on levels of speculative metaphysics. What is the true father of a man? The circumstances which brought together the two bodies which begat him? Was it the fact that, for some reason, at one moment in time, these two pleased one another beyond any possible alternatives? If so, why? Was it the simple hunger of the flesh, or was it curiosity, or the will? Or was it something else? Pity? Loneliness? The desire to dominate? What feeling, or what thought was father to the body in which I first came into consciousness? I know that the man who inhabited that particular father-body at that particular instant of time is a complicated and powerful personality. Chromosomes mean nothing to us, not really. If we live, we do not carry these hallmarks down through the ages. We really inherit nothing at all, save for occasional endowments of property and cash. The bodies mean so little in the long run that it is far more interesting to speculate as to the mental processes which plucked us forth from chaos. I am pleased that it was he who called me to life, and I often conjecture as to the reasons. I see that your face is suddenly lacking in color, mistress. I did not mean to upset you with this talk, simply to satisfy your curiosity somewhat, and to lay upon your mind some of the thinking we old ones do upon these matters. One day you, too, will look upon it in this light, I am certain. But I am sorry to see you looking so distressed. Pray sit down. Forgive my prattle. You are the Mistress of Illusion. Are not the things of which I have spoken akin to the very stuff with which you work? I am certain that you can tell from the manner in which I speak why my name is first upon the list I mentioned. It is a case of hero worship, I suppose. My creator is quite distinguished. . . . Now you are looking somewhat flushed. Would you care for a cool drink? Wait here a moment. . . . There. Sip this. Now then, about Accelerationism—it is a simple doctrine of sharing. It proposes that we of Heaven give unto those who dwell below of our knowledge and powers and substance. This act of charity would be directed to the end of raising their condition of existence to a higher level, akin to that which we ourselves occupy. Then every man would be as a god, you see. The result of this, of course, would be that there would no longer be any gods, only men. We would give them knowledge of the sciences and the arts, which we possess, and in so doing we would destroy their simple faith and remove all basis for their hoping that things will be better—for the best way to destroy faith or hope is to let it be realized. Why should we permit men to suffer this burden of godhood collectively, as the Accelerationists wished, when we
do
grant it to them individually when they come to deserve it? In his sixtieth year a man passes through the Halls of Karma. He is judged, and if he has done well, observing the rules and restrictions of his caste, paying the proper observances to Heaven, advancing himself intellectually and morally, then this man will be incarnated into a higher caste, eventually achieving godhood itself and coming to dwell here in the City. Each man eventually receives his just desserts—barring unfortunate accidents, of course—and so each man, rather than society as a sudden whole, may come into the divine inheritance which the ambitious Accelerationists wished to scatter wholesale before everyone, even those who were unready. You can see that this attitude was dreadfully unfair and proletarian-oriented. What they really wanted to do was to lower the requirements for godhood. These requirements are necessarily strict. Would you give the power of Shiva, of Yama, or of Agni into the hands of an infant? Not unless you are a fool, you wouldn't Not unless you wished to wake up one morning and see that the world no longer existed. This is what the Accelerationists would have wrought, though, and this is why they were stopped. Now you know all about Accelerationism. . . . My, you look awfully warm. May I hang your garment while I get you another drink? . . . Very good. . . . Now, where were we, Maya? Oh yes—the beetles in the pudding. . . . Well, the Accelerationists claimed that everything I have just said would be true, excepting for the fact that the system is corrupt. They cast aspersions upon the probity of those who authorized incarnation. Some even dared claim that Heaven was comprised of an immortal aristocracy of wilful hedonists who played games with the world. Others dared to say that the best of men never achieve godhood, but meet ultimately with the real death or incarnation into a lower life form. Some others would even say that one such as yourself had been chosen for deification only because your original form and attitude struck the fancy of some lustful divinity, rather than for your other obvious virtues, my dear. .. . My, you're full of freckles, aren't you? . . . Yes, these are the things those thrice-damned Accelerationists preached. These are the things, the accusations, that the father of my spirit stands for, I am ashamed to say. What can one do with such a heritage but wonder at it? He rides a cycle of mighty days, and he represents the last great schism among the gods. Evil though he obviously is, he is a mighty figure, this father of my spirit, and I respect him as the sons of old did the fathers of their bodies. . . . Are you cold now? Here, let me. . . . There. . . . There. . . . There. . . . Come, now weave us an illusion, my lovely, where we walk in a world that is free of such foolishness. . . . This way now. Turn here. . .. Now let there be a new Eden within this bunker, my moist-lipped one of the green eyes. . . . What is that? . . . What is it that is paramount within me at this instant of time? . . . Truth, my love—and sincerity—and the desire to share . . ."

Ganesha the god-maker walked with Shiva in the forest of Kaniburrha.

"Lord of Destruction," he said, "I understand that you already seek reprisal against those here in the City who mark the words of Siddhartha with more than a smirk of dismissal."

"Of course," said Shiva.

"By so doing, you destroy his effectiveness."

"'Effectiveness'? Explain what you mean."

"Kill me that green bird on yonder limb."

Shiva gestured with his trident and the bird fell.

"Now kill me its mate."

"I do not see her."

"Then kill me any other from among its flock."

"I see none."

"And now that it lies dead, you will not. So, if you wish, strike at the first who harken to the words of Siddhartha."

"I gather your meaning, Ganesha. He shall walk free, for a time. He shall."

Ganesha the god-maker regarded the jungle about him. Though he walked through the realm of the phantom cats, he feared no evil. For the Lord of Chaos walked by his side, and the Trident of Destruction comforted him.

Vishnu Vishnu Vishnu regarded regarded regarded Brahma Brahma Brahma . . .

They sat in the Hall of Mirrors.

Brahma held forth upon the Eightfold Path and the glory that is Nirvana.

After the space of three cigarettes, Vishnu cleared his throat.

"Yes, Lord?" asked Brahma.

"Why, may I inquire, this Buddhist tract?"

"Do you not find it fascinating?"

"Not particularly."

"That is indeed hypocritical of you."

"What do you mean?"

"A teacher should display at least a modicum of interest in his own lessons."

"Teacher? Lessons?"

"Of course, Tathagatha. Why else in recent years would the god Vishnu be moved to incarnate among men, other than to teach them the Way of Enlightenment?"

"I . . . ?"

"Hail, reformer, who has removed the fear of the real death from men's minds. Those who are not born again among men have now gone on to Nirvana."

Vishnu smiled. "Better to incorporate than struggle to extirpate?"

"Almost an epigram."

Brahma stood, considered the mirrors, considered Vishnu.

"So after we have disposed of Sam, you will have been the real Tathagatha."

"How shall we dispose of Sam?"

"I have not yet decided, but I am open to suggestions."

"Might I suggest that he be incarnated as a jackbird?"

"You might. But then, someone else might desire that the jackbird be reincarnated as a man. I feel that he is not without some supporters."

"Well, we do have time to consider the problem. There is no hurry now that he is in the custody of Heaven. I shall give you my thoughts on the matter as soon as I have some."

"That is sufficient, then, for now."

They they they walked walked walked from the from the Hall, then.

Vishnu passed from the Garden of Brahma's Joys; and as he departed, the Mistress of Death entered there. She addressed the eight-armed statue with the
veena
and it began to play upon it.

Hearing the music, Brahma approached.

"Kali! Lovely Lady . . ." he announced.

"Mighty is Brahma," she replied.

"Yes," Brahma agreed, "as mighty as might be desired. And it is so seldom that you visit here that I am mightily pleased. Come walk with me among the flowered paths and we shall talk. Your dress is lovely."

"Thank you."

They walked among the flowered paths. "How go the preparations for the wedding?"

"Well."

"Will you have honeymoon in Heaven?"

"We plan to take it far from here."

"Where, may I ask?" "We have not yet agreed as to where."

"Time passes on the wings of the jackbird, my dear. If you wish, you and the Lord Yama may dwell in my Garden of Joys for a time."

"Thank you. Creator, but it is too splendid a place for the two destroyers to pass the time and feel at ease. We shall go forth, somewhere."

"As you wish." He shrugged. "What else lies upon your thinking?"

"What of the one called the Buddha?"

"Sam? Your old lover? What of him, indeed? What would you know concerning him?"

"How shall he be—dealt with?"

"I have not yet decided. Shiva has suggested we wait for a time before doing anything. Thus, we may assess his effect upon the community of Heaven. I have decided that Vishnu will have been the Buddha, for historical and theological purposes. As for Sam himself, I will give hearing to any reasonable suggestion."

"Did you not offer him godhood once?"

"Yes. He did not accept it, however."

"Supposing you did so again?"

"Why?"

"The present problem would not exist were he not a very talented individual. His talents would make him a worthy addition to the pantheon."

"This thought has occurred to me, also. Now, however, he would agree, whether he meant it or not. I am certain that he wishes to live."

"Yet, there are ways in which one can be sure in these matters."

"Such as?"

"Psych-probe."

"And if this shows a lack of commitment to Heaven—which it will . . . ?"

"Could not his mind itself be altered—by one such as Lord Mara?"

"I have never thought you guilty of sentiment, goddess. But it would seem you are most anxious for him to continue existing, in any form."

"Perhaps I am."

"You know that he might be—very changed. He will not be the same if this thing is done to him. His 'talent' may then be totally absent."

"In the course of ages all men change naturally—opinions, beliefs, convictions. Parts of the mind may sleep and other parts may awaken. Talent, I feel, is a difficult thing to destroy—as long as life itself remains. It is better to live than to die."

"I might be convinced of this, goddess—if you have the time, most lovely one."

"How much time?"

"Say, three days."

"Three days, then."

"Then let us adjourn to my Pavilion of Joys and discuss the matter fully."

"Very well."

"Where is Lord Yama now?"

"He labors in his workshop."

"A lengthy project, I trust."

"At least three days."

"Good. Yes, there may be some hope for Sam. It is against my better thinking, but then I can appreciate the notion. Yes, I can."

The eight-armed statue of the goddess who was blue played upon the
veena
, making music to fall about them as they walked in the garden, that summer.

Helba dwelled on the far side of Heaven, near to the wilderness' edge. So near to the forest, in fact, was the palace called Plunder that the animals stalked past the one transparent wall, brushing against it as they went. From the room called Rape, one could look out upon the shaded trails of the jungle.

It was within this room, its walls hung with the stolen treasures of lives past, that Helba entertained the one called Sam.