The four of them sat in the chamber in the high tower that rose from the northeast corner of the monastery.
Yama paced the room, stopping at the window each time he came to it.
The others sat watching him, listening.
“They suspect,” he told them, “but they do not know. They would not ravage the monastery of a fellow god, displaying before men the division of their ranks—not unless they were certain. They were not certain, so they investigated. This means that time is still with us.”
They nodded.
“A Brahmin who renounced the world to find his soul passed this way, suffered an accident, died here the real death. His body was burnt and his ashes cast into the river that leads to the sea. This is what occurred. . . . The wandering monks of the Enlightened One were visiting at the time. They moved on shortly after this occurrence. Who knows where they went?”
Tak stood as nearly erect as he could.
“Lord Yama,” he stated, “while it may hold for a week, a month — possibly even longer—this story will come apart in the hands of the Master to judge the first of any of those here present in this monastery who pass within the Halls of Karma. Under the circumstances, I believe some of them may achieve early judgment for just this reason. What then?”
Yama rolled a cigarette with care and precision. “It must be arranged that what I said is what actually occurred.”
“How can that be? When a man’s brain is subject to karmic play-back, all the events he has witnessed in his most recent cycle of life are laid out before his judge and the machine, like a scroll.”
“That is correct,” said Yama. “And have you. Tak of the Archives, never heard of a palimpsest—a scroll which has been used previously, cleaned, and then used again?”
“Of course, but the mind is not a scroll.”
“No?” Yama smiled. “Well, it was your simile to begin with, not mine. What’s truth, anyway? Truth is what you make it.”
He lit his cigarette. “These monks have witnessed a strange and terrible thing,” he continued. “They saw me take on my Aspect and wield an Attribute. They saw Mara do the same—here, in this monastery where we have revived the principle of ahimsa. They are aware that a god may do such things without karmic burden, but the shock was great and the impression vivid. And the final burning is still to come. By the time of that burning, the tale I have told you must be true in their minds.”
“How?” asked Ratri.
“This very night, this very hour,” he said, “while the image of the act flames within their consciousness and their thoughts are troubled, the new truth will be forged and nailed into place. . . . Sam, you have rested long enough. This thing is now yours to do. You must preach them a sermon. You must call forth within them those nobler sentiments and higher qualities of spirit which make men subject to divine meddling. Ratri and I will then combine our powers and a new truth will be born.”
Sam shifted and dropped his eyes. “I don’t know if I can do it. It’s been so long. . .”
“Once a Buddha, always a Buddha, Sam. Dust off some of your old parables. You have about fifteen minutes.”
Sam held out his hand. “Give me some tobacco and a paper.”
He accepted the package, rolled himself a cigarette. “Light? . . . Thanks.”
He drew in deeply, exhaled, coughed. “I’m tired of lying to them,” he finally said. “I guess that’s what it really is.”
“Lying?” asked Yama. “Who asked you to lie about anything? Quote them the Sermon on the Mount, if you want. Or something from the Popul Voh, or the Iliad. I don’t care what you say. Just stir them a bit, soothe them a little. That’s all I ask.”
“Then what?”
“Then? Then I shall proceed to save them—and us!”
Sam nodded slowly. “When you put it that way . . . but I’m a little out of shape when it comes to this sort of thing. Sure, I’ll find me a couple truths and throw in a few pieties—but make it twenty minutes.”