story two

THE BEACH ASKED HIM A QUESTION

6:03 p.m.
“God is God because it had to be one. It has no higher purpose. God existed before the birth of universe. All alone, omniscient, omnipotent, omnipresent, all perfect. But still it was not God. How would you know that you are omniscient, omnipotent, and omnipresent? What would you do if you are so? You will create a universe, full of imperfections and then know that you are most perfect being. That was the only purpose. A function that it fulfilled.” The Beach said. And finished the conversation.

“So why did God create universe? What was its purpose? Was there also a function to be fulfilled?” he had earlier asked. He was disappointed to see that his death was a failure. He did not realise it even after dying.

6 p.m.
"The purpose of life is to survive against the realisation that it has got no meaning. The right way is to do your function, play your part in the illusion with the understanding that it is an illusion only.”

“Then tell me what that purpose in life is? What is the right way to live it?” he asked.

5:56 p.m.

“Life has no higher aims or purposes. Only a function, to fulfil which, is the purpose. Everybody lives to fulfil a function. It is your failure if you fail to recognise so. You also had a function, but you failed. You failed to see that purpose. Everything in Universe has a purpose. It is about purpose only. Its very existence, its very birth is about a purpose.” The beach slowly demolished his supposed realisation.

“My search for a purpose failed. I did not find any. I found life totally useless and pointless. Now I find death is also useless. You are as good as dead as alive. There is no difference between the two. There exists no meaning to life. There is no purpose to life. The restrictions, rules, regulations, expectations, emotions and dreams are only there to make you feel that life has a higher purpose. Even though it has nothing like that. They are methods of control. Necessary means to maintain the illusion. I finally understand that the efforts of humanity to find meaning in the universe will ultimately fail because no such meaning exists. As my search for the meaning finished, so will it for humanity. Tell me, was there really any purpose? Did I miss something?” he asked.

5:54 p.m.

“So, what did you realise in the end? How does it feel now? Do you feel good after you are dead? Are you at peace with yourself now? Do you finally understand the purpose of life? Did your search for the meaning of life finish? What is it? I also wanted to understand”. The beach enquired.
The beach asked him a question.

3 p.m.

He walked out of his room. Took the lift and went to the terrace.

3:05 p.m.

The sky was cloudy. The weather was cool. A gentle breeze blew. He thought about going somewhere. To leave that place. He searched for his watch and realised he would never need it now.

He looked at his reflection, in the water collected in a pothole. It held a magnificent portrait of sky. He walked past an uprooted tree. The uprooted trunk had made it easier for a cat to climb it. And catch a squirrel. The rains. They bring life to some, death to others.

A blast of sounds, scents, sensations and sights from past flashed upon his mind. He looked back at his life. He had it all. A good degree, a promising career ahead, good family and an envied girlfriend. He was close to being complete. But why did it end for him on that roof-top?

He had always believed that life should be for some purpose. Surviving, just for the sake of living, never really appealed to him. That is for animals, whose only purpose is survival of species. Human beings should have a higher purpose. But what is that purpose? He always thought about it. He remembered scribbling down; one day “there is no life without a purpose”.

He was waiting for the bus. He did not need it, though. People like him don’t. As he got into the bus a cacophony surrounded him. People were discussing things. He could listen to anyone, anything and was amused when he heard a father son duo discussing about future. His mind went back once again.

As a child, there was not much of worry. He was the usual being, happy in his own shell. But the world changed for him the day he saw his grandmother die. Everybody loved her in the household. And she loved everyone. But as soon as she died, cynosure became an eyesore. Her body smelled like a dead rat. They burnt away her body, like they burn away household waste in the street outside. She was just a decaying organic mass.

He then asked himself a question, if he was to die there and then, what will he think about his life? Does his life have any purpose? Is he something special? Or will he be also burned away like a dead rat one day? From that day, he was never at rest. Constantly in search for his purpose, he slowly started rejecting the basic assumptions of society.

He got down. The road was blocked by demonstrators, protesting against a movie. He kept walking, hoping to reach the train station before things get worse. Then he heard a loud cry “charge”, and all the hell broke loose. He kept walking and reached the once glitzy station.

The first time he saw that awe inspiring station, as a 10 year old kid, he was amazed. He marvelled at the beauty and ingenuity of design. He had never seen any building like that before. A train weighing hundreds of tonnes rushes in hurtling at 60kmph and stops smoothly without making any noise. It was something new, never seen before, never experienced before. The hustle, the bustle, the billboards, the screens, the lights, the machines, the carts, the train, long lines, fast food corner, penguin shaped dustbins, the escalator, the atria.......he felt that this was the most beautiful place on earth.

Today, the station looked desolate. It was a rainy, stormy day with unrest across the city. Few people ventured to travel in the suburban train. Everybody felt secure in their own egg shells. They call them cars. He went inside. The escalator was out of service. The screens carried warnings about chain snatchers, bombs, strangers, thieves, touts........water seeped in from many places, the reeking damp cement covered with moss, rusted metallic glint, paint covered by various posters; each in its own state of decay, and the stained glasses. He could only look at the flaws and the ugliness of the place. Everything bad about the place was so noticeable now. The beauty was gone. It was so different then.

As he searched more for his purpose, he grew more disenchanted with the life. He started to hate the materialistic nature of society. Everybody around him was defined by their job, money in their bank, the car they drive, the contents of their wallet. Everybody is defined by others. Nobody has a distinct identity. Everyone is defined by a relation, a position or as someone’s lovable. He knew this all is momentary, one day to be burnt away. All this, exists, only to make people feel that they are special. No! They are not. They're the same decaying organic matter as a dead rat.

He rejected everything and became a rebel. Rejected the importance of material things, of culture, of religion, of tradition, everything. Every method of control, he thought, was pulled over human eyes to stop them from realising the uselessness of their existence. He continued to exist only in the hope that one day, he will realise what his ultimate purpose is.

The Train came after a long wait. He got in. The train started off with a loud cry of pain about its body. The engine just pulled all the unwilling coaches along. One more trip on the same route. He wondered if machines also have a soul. Their thousands of components working together, without break, without any dissent, without any purpose perhaps. And if any cog rebels and rejects the system? That leads to an accident. The set order is upset.

Nature and its creations are robust, adaptive, flexible and fault‐tolerant. Machines are sensitive to damage, rigid, pre-programmed. Human beings are like their creations. Their life is pre-programmed; determined with the birth. They have to behave in some manners, some set order, to perform some role and their dreams are often determined and shaped by others for them. Like machines if they don’t perform according to expectations, it leads to damage and disaster. Just as he used to programme the functions and expressions of his robots and if it did not perform the way he wanted, the creation was consigned to dustbin.

But he never rebelled entirely. He continued to perform his role. Qualified the most prestigious exams and secured a good career. But his search consumed him. He saw the entire race around him as puppets; the entire world as vaudeville. Everybody existed without any purpose. Everybody growing up in the belief that one day they will become millionaires, celebrities and be famous. That was the purpose of their existence. For him, it was one more illusion. He feared that his life might also be like one of those puppets. To maintain his sanity he wrote down one day, “There is no life without a purpose”.

The stations slowly went by. One after the other. Slowly his destination came close. People entered in and exited out. New faces at every station. New conversations. New anxieties. New joys. New destinations. New sounds. New sights each time. And as the train moves ahead all these are left behind in a blur, replaced by some more new ones. It was like an animation. The picture changes, while the screen and observer stay the same. Each time the new one feels better or worse than before but never the same. The music of life was going on. The tracks, the people, the radio, the mobile, the engine, the breeze, the rain, the distant traffic, a passing plane...................He listened to it as an outside observer; now.

The day before his graduation he called up his dad, and asked, "Dad, now what?" He said, "Get on with your job." and then? He said, "I don't know, get married." Then? Have kids, bring them up, grow up old, see that your children also settle down, marry them and then one day die. His fears had come true. The search eluded him. He will soon turn into a puppet. He decided to finish it there and then. When you have lost everything, only then you are free to do everything. He had given up everything already, only one thing was left. And it was stopping him from knowing the purpose.

He thought something. Then he wrote his name and birth date with a pencil. And then all his identities and relations. OK! So this is him. His part in the play. He kept it on his bed and went out of room. Took the lift. And went to terrace.

He got down at the beach station. The beach was its usual self. It was also watching the animation. He walked on the sand. The sun was turning red. Soon both of them will dissolve into night. Only one will come back.

He felt like a drop of water, bound by only one rule, only one restriction. Without any purpose. The air was useless now. It only attempted to delay it. The last thought that came up into his mind was that the description of the sound of skull crashing on concrete will make up a good writing piece.

He saw a newspaper hawker. It was an evening daily. He went close. There was an article on the front page. It was about a suicide in his institute. People were wondering what could have forced this extreme step. But he understood the choice, as well as how it must have felt. There was a photograph too. He knew who it was.

5:54 p.m.
The beach asked him a question.
“So, what did you realise in the end? How does it feel now?..........................................”

END