There! He was seated upon a rock in the middle of a field, the moonlight falling full upon him.
Yama drew his blade and advanced.
When he was about twenty paces away, the other turned his head.
“Greetings, oh Death,” he said.
“Greetings, Tathagatha.”
“Tell me why you are here.”
“It has been decided that the Buddha must die.”
“That does not answer my question, however. Why have you come here?”
“Are you not the Buddha?”
“I have been called Buddha, and Tathagatha, and the Enlightened One, and many other things. But, in answer to your question, no, I am not the Buddha. You have already succeeded in what you set out to do. You slew the real Buddha this day.”
“My memory must indeed be growing weak, for I confess that I do not remember doing this thing.”
“The real Buddha was named by us Sugata,” replied the other. “Before that, he was known as Rild.”
“Rild!” Yama chuckled. “You are trying to tell me that he was more than an executioner whom you talked out of doing his job?”
“Many people are executioners who have been talked out of doing their jobs,” replied the one on the rock. “Rild gave up his mission willingly and became a follower of the Way. He was the only man I ever knew to really achieve enlightenment.”
“Is this not a pacifistic religion, this thing you have been spreading?”
“Yes.”
Yama threw back his head and laughed. “Gods! Then it is well you are not preaching a militant one! Your foremost disciple, enlightenment and all, near had my head this afternoon!”
A tired look came over the Buddha’s wide countenance. “Do you think he could actually have beaten you?”
Yama was silent a moment, then, “No,” he said.
“Do you think he knew this?”
“Perhaps,” Yama replied.
“Did you not know one another prior to this day’s meeting? Have you not seen one another at practice?”
“Yes,” said Yama. “We were acquainted.”
“Then he knew your skill and realized the outcome of the encounter.”
Yama was silent.
“He went willingly to his martyrdom, unknown to me at the time. I do not feel that he went with real hope of beating you.”
“Why, then?”
“To prove a point.”
“What point could he hope to prove in such a manner?”
“I do not know. I only know that it must be as I have said, for I knew him. I have listened too often to his sermons, to his subtle parables, to believe that he would do a thing such as this without a purpose. You have slain the true Buddha, deathgod. You know what I am.”
“Siddhartha,” said Yama, “I know that you are a fraud. I know that you are not an Enlightened One. I realize that your doctrine is a thing which could have been remembered by any among the First. You chose to resurrect it, pretending to be its originator. You decided to spread it, in hopes of raising an opposition to the religion by which the true gods rule. I admire the effort. It was cleverly planned and executed. But your biggest mistake, I feel, is that you picked a pacifistic creed with which to oppose an active one. I am curious why you did this thing, when there were so many more appropriate religions from which to choose.”
“Perhaps I was just curious to see how such a countercurrent would flow,” replied the other.
“No, Sam, that is not it,” answered Yama. “I feel it is only part of a larger plan you have laid, and that for all these years — while you pretended to be a saint and preached sermons in which you did not truly believe yourself—you have been making other plans. An army, great in space, may offer opposition in a brief span of time. One man, brief in space, must spread his opposition across a period of many years if he is to have a chance of succeeding. You are aware of this, and now that you have sown the seeds of this stolen creed, you are planning to move on to another phase of opposition. You are trying to be a one-man antithesis to Heaven, opposing the will of the gods across the years, in many ways and from behind many masks. But it will end here and now, false Buddha.”