April 18, 2011 § 4 Comments
This story is unbelievable.
And not just unbelievable because it is about reincarnation, but about a rebirth not yet known or talked about – not mentioned in the Vedas or Upanishads, not yet discovered by the modern researchers (like Ian Stevenson), and not even mentioned by Socrates in his great dialogues (which Plato carefully jotted down like a good front bencher).
But it is based on facts.
Chapter-1 The Phoenix
I opened my eyes and looked around me. Sitting idly in the garage, I looked at the small garden towards the left. Small like they can barely afford in the cities, like a piece of nature, the nice part of it, they want to keep for themselves. Ahead, there is a large iron gate, a guard is sitting by. The house is big and clean, and looks like one belonging to a conscientious businessman.
I am 3 years old, and I know languages, though I have no voice except for a few undefined sounds made by various parts of my body. I am white, and I feel strong. There is no expression of power in my body at the moment, but it is huge, it has a style. I am confident that I am very powerful, fast, intelligent. But I also know that I cannot control myself. You will know the reason why, soon.
Chapter-2 The Death
I know this is not my home, not from the previous life. Slowly, as the sun sets, I remember how I died. It was a suicide. A broken love affair, whatever they meant by love. I remember there was a lot of pain, a lot of blood before the death. It was a slow death. I will not go into details of how it actually took place, but I will tell you how it feels, for it is highly probable that you have forgotten it.
I was the guy, suffering in pain in the relationship which had an emotionally draining past, and an uncertain future. I had talked to a lot of people about it. But nothing seemed to go right. Prophets of doom appeared in the air, and asked me to let go, else there would be destruction, of not just one or two, but at least six lives. Whole families.
Then I died.
It was strange. Initially, the process is very painful. You see, all of us, have an idea, a concept of ourselves. We use the word ‘identity’ for that. It is made up of so many little things. For some, it is their family and friends, and nation (“I am an Indian”, some assert proudly, like an achievement gained through hard work). For many others, it is the job or career (“I am a Software Engineer”). This sometimes may become more refined (“I am a Java Enterprise Edition application developer”). Then, hobbies and interests may make some more parts of it (“I love dancing”, “I am a diehard Aamir Fan”). And small and big, innumerable things go on to make this – identity. Imagine now, of a complex and beautiful machine, having all these ideas as different parts, working together, fitting together as a whole. A meaning bringing them together as a single, cohesive unit.
Now imagine that the machine breaks – because the meaning is lost. Every part now flies here and there. To the oblivion it came from. Nothing can bring them back, to fit. It’s very confusing and painful. You search with all your effort for that meaning which would put all the ideas into place, but everything slips out of hand. That is what death is like. A complete loss of identity, meaning. Maybe that’s why we fear it so much. All those years creating a meaning (“I am CEO, bitch”), and then puff, it all goes. And you have no idea what’s next, because the next was always defined by who you were and now there is no ‘you’ and hence no idea what’s next.
Then you are reborn.
In the space between, there is lightness. You see, the pain was not in the loss of identity itself, but in the trying to recapture those floating pieces of ideas which made it. Once the fruitlessness of those dawns, one gives up and the burden eases. And it is then that the essential parts of identity shine through. But I still do not know what the purpose of reincarnation is.
The scriptures say that it is to settle previous debts, cleanse past sins. But I don’t know how I will do it, because my friend, I was reborn as a machine.
Chapter-3 The Car
Yes, I am not just an ordinary machine, but a car. A whole made of the finest parts made by the finest brains of Germany. Efficient. Exact. Of a model called ‘Beast’. But I am living in India, with an Indian owner (Consistent with the research on rebirth which says that it happens in the same country or region most of the times). However, I cannot recognize him as anyone from my previous life.
My owner loves me and is proud of me. He likes to show me off, and likes to experience the speed, the rush that comes from a strong engine coming to life, for his own primal satisfaction. It fulfils him in a way he does not understand, but does not care either. He does not know that I am a part of his identity.
He takes good care of me, sometimes more than he does those humans which are around him. But then, he chose me, and he feels he deserves me. He has earned me.
Once I was hurt, someone in rush left a dent on me. And I saw him really angry and sad and he would have killed that biker had it been possible. It would be called endearing – how he got me repaired carefully. But sometimes I think I am but a machine, the sadness was not because of my pain, but because of his. But then, do not humans love each other the same way?
Anyway, I have no problems. I don’t feel a thing.
Now, don’t wait for an ending to this story. Humans like to think that stories and life have or should have a logical flow and ending. They don’t understand that life does not make sense most of the time, or, let me put it this way – life is mostly random.