The White Messiahs: A Short Story

gandhibaba (72)in #story • 7 years ago (edited)

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Feli had so many fears when he was yet alive and kicking but none was stronger than the fear of dying. Feli knew, of course, that death was certain, that death was the only predictable destiny of every living creature, but Feli feared dying still.

It was not being blanketed in a lonely, cramped grave by loads of sand from the shovel of some hefty-looking men that Feli feared; it was not leaving the fleeting pleasures of this material world behind that Feli feared, though it was something worth fearing; it was not the gruesome widowhood rites his wife would be subjected to that feared Feli - it was something many would consider less important: afterlife.

For thirty three years, Feli had wondered what would happen in afterlife. He had listened to all manner of preachers, read numberless books, attended seminars in six continents, on the certainty of afterlife and how to be saved. But, each preacher, each book and each seminar told Feli different things. At a point, Feli didn't even know what to believe. In one of the sacred books Feli read, he was told Jesus was the way, the truth and the life. Doomed and damned, the book said, was anyone who died without accepting that Jesus, a Jewish white man, was the son of God. In another sacred book Feli read, doomed and dammed, the book said, was anyone who did not believe that Prophet Muhammad, the prominent Arabian, peace be unto him, was a true prophet of Allah. In another less sacred book, yet, Feli was told that the afterlife was a blatant ruse, that there was no afterlife since man evolved from apes.

Although all the books Feli read about afterlife had divergent views, they all had one thing in common - they were authored by white men. It was these white men, being, or as it seemed, the truest children of the Most High that took it upon themselves the responsibility of telling Feli and his black ancestors whether or not afterlife existed and how it was to be attained if it did.

It was these discrepancies that made dying Feli's greatest fear. To die was not difficult but to know what lies beyond the grave was difficult. And since Feli's black ancestors didn't say anything meaningful about the afterlife and how to be 'saved', Feli couldn't find out exactly what lurked beyond the darkness of an eternal sleeping eyes. So, Feli fears grew like weeds every day of his life.

To palliate the fear of what lies beyond the grave, and to be saved particularly, at sixty-six Feli became a Christian, a follower of the Jewish Messiah, although his strong doubts about Christianity lingered. Feli had such doubts as how the death of just one man would lead to the remission of sins for the whole world, world before and world beyond. For Feli, however, it was safer to believe something than to believe nothing. This was how Feli became a Christian at death.

Feli died just a few hours ago and the full mystery of the afterlife had been revealed to him: there was indeed heaven and hell; there was indeed God the Creator- man didn't evolve from apes. There was no devil - evil was the absence of good. There was reward for the righteous and punishment for the wicked. Angels existed not to blow trumpets alone; they existed to serve the children of Light - those whose names are written in the digitalized Book of Life. And the ultimate criteria to be saved was not religion but love.

"If you didn't hear your names in this register, please come forward," a stern-looking, white-robed saraphim looked at a crowd of men and women standing before him. The crowd, numbering well over two thousands, consisted of men and women who died from around the world in the past seven hours. Feli, of course, and about nine hundred men and women in the crowd didn't hear their names. Feli was not disturbed, perhaps because he thought there was a second list.

"Those of you who didn't hear your names," the stern-looking seraphim started, "accept my condolences. There is no second list. Your only fate now is to roast in hell forever, except if the Messiah in whose religion you believed decides to include you in their prerogative list. And, as a divine rule, each messiah can only grant prerogative to a maximum of fourteen persons in every batch condemned to hell. If you're lucky, your messiah might save you at the last minute. Some of the messiahs are here already."

The first messiah that appeared, arrayed in a white thobe, had a prominently long beard. This must be the Arab Messiah, Feli thought. He knew an Arab Messiah was very likely to choose his own people first before anyone else. And that was exactly what happened. The Arab-looking messiah smilingly called out a list of fourteen. In the end, the entire fourteen turned out to be Arabs who had never touched the prayer beads. Some black men who believed in the Arab messiah wanted to protest but it was too late.

Afterward, another messiah appeared. He was light-skinned, blue-eyed and arrayed in a flowing white Kaftan. He had tiny holes in his pappy palms - perhaps an evidence that he was nailed to the cross. Feli's heart roared out in joy, thinking that he would get a prerogative. But by the time the messiah called out his fourteen man list, Feli's name was left out. However, fourteen Jewish men who had never seen a copy of the New Testament were rescued. Feli felt greatly disappointed, he wanted to protest but it was too late. Feli wondered why these white messiahs were granting preference to their own people.

Later other white messiahs came. Fourteen Indians got rescued. Then another fourteen Chinese got rescued. Then another fourteen Japanese got rescued. And so on.

At last, only about three hundred men and women were left. And they were all blacks. Just when they thought they would be condemned to hell, a queer-looking messiah appeared. This messiah was black. An African messiah? He wore nothing save a piece of cloth which covered the distance between his waist and his lean thighs. He wielded no serrated prayer beads but a white cock. He stood speechless for a short while, shook his bald head and then walked away, without even calling out a single name: for there was no single black man in the crowd who had an iota of faith in an African messiah.

The saraphim had not even made his final pronouncement before the crowd knew what their fate was - HELL. Feli soberly wished he had believed in his own native messiah.