I had to go to hospital recently for a check-up. When I was there, I had to fill out a questionnaire. The hospital wanted to know my height, weight, medical history, etc. But they also wanted to know the answer to one odd question. They asked, “If you have a serious illness, would you like to know?”
I realised from this that some people would prefer not to know. They would rather hide from knowledge of their own coming death.
That reminded me of a wonderful book I read years ago – “Lord of Light,” by Roger Zelazny. In one scene in the book, a Buddhist pilgrim meets Yama, the god of Death. Instead of hiding, he has a very different approach. I have edited the story to make it easier for English students to understand.
Extract from “Lord of Light,” by Roger Zelazny:
Death came from beyond the hills of stone, walking. He followed the trail, his red leather boots silent on the path. Ahead, there was the sound of running water, where a small stream cut across his way. He advanced upon the trail, the hilt of his sword gleaming in its sheath. A man waited ahead, standing on the log that crossed the stream. It was a small man that stood there, wearing the dark garments of a pilgrim.
Death raised his hand and spoke to this man, saying, “Good afternoon, pilgrim.”
The man did not reply, but moved to bar his way, positioning himself on the log that lay across the stream.
“Pardon me, good pilgrim,” said Death. “But I am about to cross here, and you are making my passage difficult.”
“You are mistaken, Lord Death,” if you think you are about to pass here without talking with me,” said the man.
“It is always a pleasure to be recognised,” Death acknowledged, “even by one who speaks unwisely.”
“You are said to be wise in certain matters,” said the other. “You are said to be a god, whose kingdom is Death, and whose knowledge extends beyond the reach of mortals. I would like to question you therefore.”
Death did not smile. “What is it that you wish to know? I grant you the right to ask a question, and I will answer.”
Then, in the ancient words of an Indian poem, the man chanted, “There is doubt concerning a man when he is dead. Some say he still exists, others say he does not. This thing I should like to know, taught by you.”
Death replied with the ancient words, “On this subject even the gods have their doubts. It is not easy to understand, for the nature of the spirit is a subtle thing. Ask me another question. Release me from my promise to answer your question.”
“Forgive me if it is foremost in my mind, o Death. But another teacher such as yourself cannot be found. And surely there is no other knowledge which I crave more at this moment.”
“Keep your life, and go your way,” said Death. “I release you from your request. Choose sons and grandsons. Choose elephants, horses, and herds of cattle, and gold. Choose any other request from me – fair maidens, chariots, musical instruments. I shall give them to you and they shall serve you. But ask me not of death.”
“O Death,” sang the other. “These endure only till tomorrow. Keep your maidens, horses, dances and songs for yourself. No request will I make except for the one I have asked. Tell me, o Death, of that which lies beyond life, of which men and the gods have their doubts.”
Death stood very still. “Very well,” he said, and his hand moved to his sword.
Vocabulary:
a pilgrim – a person who journeys to a special place for religious reasons
to advance – to move forwards
to bar someone’s way – to block someone’s path; to prevent someone from moving somewhere
to chant – to part-sing, part-speak the words of a poem or religious text
subtle – hard to notice or understand the effects of
foremost – closest to the front
to crave something – to very strongly desire something
to endure – to continue without disappearing, ceasing, etc.
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