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Epiphany
by Subroto Mukerji

You should have seen the gleam in Rolands eyes when I told him about the
BMW R1100S. Id got it dirt cheap, a near total wreck, for a mere 50 at an
insurance company auction. Maybe I had a feeling it wouldnt stay a wreck for
very long, once Roland got his hands on it.

Roland is the ultimate amateur motorcycle mechanic, a maniac whos never

happier than when hes tearing down a big Honda 4-cyclinder job and restoring
it to showroom condition. Professionally, hes a sculptor, the sort that creates
those crazy-looking, astronomically priced modern art things that youre never
sure are placed right side up. Hes single, wealthy, pursued by art collectors, and
restores classic bikes between commissions.

Roland carted the bike over to his place and got to work on it. For sixteen straight
weeks, he ate, slept and slaved in his workshop. When Roland does that, you can
be sure amazing things are in the offing. So when he phoned me to come over
and take a look, I was sure hed restored it to showroom condition. I knew what
he was capable of, but the gleaming apparition that occupied the centre of the
shed took my breath away. Hed refurbished the engine, added a racing fairing,
remodeled the exhausts, done away with the clumsy panniers and shaved down
the mudguards till they were mere slivers of metal.

I expected the distinctive BMW purr when a jab on the starter brought it to life,
and thats just what I got, but a caress of the throttle evoked an angry snarl that
rose to a thunderous roar as he fed more juice to the massive Bing carburetors.
He stood back then, grinning from ear to ear, and handed her over. Off you
go, he chortled. Catch you next Sunday for the final tune-up.

Riding a big BMW is an exhilarating experience. It was as if I had unlimited

power on tap. Overtaking was as simple as a gentle nudge to the twist-grip
throttle. The big bike seemed to fly as we came onto the new Hammersmith
highway. The six-lane dual carriageway was modeled on the pattern of the
Autobahn, where you could cruise at 150 miles an hour. London was just an hour
away.

I steal a glance at the speedometer: 125 and climbing. Wonderful ! I can see a
yellow Lamborghini Diablo in my mirrors, creeping up on my right; the guy must
be doing 150. Theres a curve coming up, with a broken down Volvo smack in
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the middle of the road. The Diablo swerves to avoid a man who suddenly steps
out from behind it, brushes against me. Theres a scream of tortured rubber, a
jerk. Railings a river Im airborne, floating.
Theres pale blue under my boots fluffy clouds. Omigod what the

Grey. Greyness wherever I look. Exactly where am I? As if in answer, a lone

figure emerges from the fog and ambles over.
Where am I? What happened? I just had to know.
You were killed. The car literally bumped you off. Happens all the time, he
said serenely.
And this is the Afterlife? Heaven and all that? I asked, a bit shakily.
I suppose you could call it that. This guy was BIG, if you get me.
You must be God, then? I probed.
Thats Me, He answered coolly. I wondered. He sure didnt look anything like
what Id been told God looked like, and said as much.
What did you expect, God as depicted in the Sistine Chapel? This is Me in My
workaday clothes.

I paused for a while to let it sink in. I was dead. Yes, D-E-A-D. Kaput. Finis.
I dont feel dead, I protested.
Oh youre dead, alright as you understand the term. But as you can see, youre
very much alive. You never really die, you know. As a matter of fact, youre
immortal.
I pulled myself together with an effort. How is that possible?
Because, My child, you are part of MeI made you from Me.
But why on eartherheavenwould you do that? I asked wonderingly.
Simple. In order to actually experience My greatness. I knew I was great, but
knowledge of something is of no use unless you experience it.
And You are experiencing Your greatness through me?
Bang on! Put it there, bro.
Say, You talk funny. God isnt supposed to talk like that.
Oh? And how exactly is God supposed to talk? I invented language, as I did
everything else. I am everything that is and everything that is not. I am Alpha, I
am OmegaI am all of it. I am forever. And so are you.
I sure dont feel that way, I grumbled sulkily.
That is because, between lives, you have to forget. Thats how I designed it to
work.
Meaning I am born and reborn repeatedly? You mean I get reincarnated?
Yes.
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I mulled it over. It was out of this world, no pun intended, bro.

But why? Whats the point of it all?
So that your soul can grow. So that it can climb higher and higher and ever
higher.
Why would my soul want to do that?
It has no option. Thats its life plan, so to speak. One day you will sense that
and on that day, My son, you will set foot on the road to Mastery.
Mastery, eh? And why does my soul want that?
Because, My child, its on its way to becoming Me. All over again.
You ?!
Yes, Me. It is Me, and it knows that, though you dontas yet. And in time
though there is no such thing as time in the Absolute it will become Me.
And if one were to express the duration in terms of units I can relate to?
I an instant. In a thousand lifetimes. You decide.
You brought me here to tell me all this? I didnt ask for it. I have a wife at home
a wife I dearly love and cherish.
I know. I sent Caroline to you, when you were in Berlin for that Human Rights
Conference. And the two of you fell in love. It was what you call love at first
sight. I invented that, too, ha ha. Its all about TJL Truth, Joy, Love. By the way,
she is your soulmate across eternity. And while were at it, let Me make one thing
quite clear: I did not bring you here. Your soul did. It needed answers.

The greyness was dissolving. Patches of azure were appearing beneath my feet.
Whats happening? I cried out, alarmed.
Nothing to be too upset about. Youre going back. It seems the doctors have
managed to get your body going again.
No! I dont want to go back. This is fine, believe me.
Its not Me at work, actually. Its your soul. It needs more time on earth to
evolve.
So life on earth is just
a contextual field providing opportunities for your soul to evolve.
Will I hear from You again, God?
I am always talking to you: inside your head, in your heart, through your
thoughts and feelings. Whenever you feel great whenever you have your
highest thought or grandest feeling know you that it is Me.
Au revoir, My son.

And then I was falling falling

Cool bedsheets. Murmur of voicesdoctors, nurses, anesthesiologists. A soft

little hand slips into mine. I open my eyes. Big brown eyes look into themthe
most beautiful eyes in all the world.
Carrrie! I mumble. The voices recede.
Soft lips on my cheeks, a warm tear. Her natural fragrance envelopes me in its
heady embrace.
A whisper in my ear: Thank you for coming back. You were gone, you know.
Thats what the doctors were muttering as they struggled to revive me.
She gasped. You know? But how? You were unconscious. Dead.
I was never more alive. I remember everything.
She tensed. Everything? Even what happened after after you died?
Sure I do.
What what was it like?
It was great! I got to meet God, too.
No! Come on! So what did He have to say?
He said its all about TJL, I mumbled groggily. The sedatives were taking hold.
TJL? What do you mean, honey?
Tell you about it later, I grinned, as waves of sleep washed over me