Lord of Light Page 7

  Strake and the others drew back a respectful distance as the prince placed a heavy purse in the priest's hands and said, in a low voice:

  "I'd like to speak with God."

  The priest studied his face as he replied, "The Temple is open to all. Lord Siddhartha, where one may commune with Heaven for so long as one wishes."

  "That is not exactly what I had in mind," said Siddhartha. "I was thinking of something more personal than a sacrifice and a long litany."

  "I do not quite follow you . . ."

  "But you understand the weight of that purse, do you not? It contains silver. Another which I bear is filled with gold—payable upon delivery. I want to use your telephone."

  "Tele . . . ?"

  "Communication system. If you were of the First, such as I, you would understand my reference."

  "I do not . . ."

  "I assure you my call will not reflect adversely upon your wardenship here. I am aware of these matters and my discretion has always been a byword among the First. Call First Base yourself and inquire, if it will put you at ease. I'll wait here in the outer chamber. Tell them Sam would have words with Trimurti. They will take the call."

  "I do not know. . ."

  Sam withdrew the second purse and weighed it in the palm of his hand. The priest's eyes fell upon it and he licked his lips.

  "Wait here," he ordered, and he turned on his heel and left the chamber.

  Ili, the fifth note of the harp, buzzed within the Garden of the Purple Lotus.

  Brahma loafed upon the edge of the heated pool, where he bathed with his harem. His eyes appeared closed, as he leaned there upon his elbows, his feet dangling in the water.

  But he stared out from beneath his long lashes, watching the dozen girls at sport in the pool, hoping to see one or more cast an appreciative glance upon the dark, heavily muscled length of his body. Black upon brown, his mustaches glistened in moist disarray and his hair was a black wing upon his back. He smiled a bright smile in the filtered sunlight.

  But none of them appeared to notice, so he refolded his smile and put it away. All their attention lay with the game of water polo in which they were engaged.

  Ili, the bell of communication, buzzed once more, as an artificial breeze waited the odor of garden jasmine to his nostrils. He sighed. He wanted so for them to worship him—his powerful physique, his carefully molded features. To worship him as a man, not as a god.

  But though his special and improved body permitted feats no mortal man could duplicate, still he felt uneasy in the presence of an old war horse like Lord Shiva—who, despite his adherence to the normal body matrix, seemed to hold far more attraction for women. It was almost as if sex were a thing that transcended biology; and no matter how hard he tried to suppress the memory and destroy that segment of spirit, Brahma had been born a woman and somehow was woman still. Hating this thing, he had elected to incarnate time after time as an eminently masculine man, did so, and still felt somehow inadequate, as though the mark of his true sex were branded upon his brow. It made him want to stamp his foot and grimace.

  He rose and stalked off toward his pavilion, past stunted trees that twisted with a certain grotesque beauty, past trellises woven with morning glory, pools of blue water lilies, strings of pearls swinging from rings all wrought of white gold, past lamps shaped like girls, tripods wherein pungent incenses burnt and an eight-armed statue of a blue goddess who played upon the veena when properly addressed.

  Brahma entered the pavilion and crossed to the screen of crystal, about which a bronze Naga twisted, tail in teeth. He activated the answering mechanism.

  There was a static snowfall, and then he faced the high priest of his Temple in Mahartha. The priest dropped to his knees and touched his caste mark three times upon the floor.

  "Of the four orders of gods and the eighteen hosts of Paradise, mightiest is Brahma," said the priest. "Creator of all. Lord of high Heaven and everything beneath it. A lotus springs forth from your navel, your hands churn the oceans, in three strides your feet encompass all the worlds. The drum of your glory strikes terror in the hearts of your enemies. Upon your right hand is the wheel of the law. You tether catastrophes, using a snake for rope. Hail! See fit to accept the prayer of your priest. Bless me and hear me, Brahma!'

  "Arise . . . priest," said Brahma, having forgotten his name. "What thing of mighty importance moved you to call me thus?"

  The priest arose, cast a quick glance upon Brahma's dripping person and looked away again.

  "Lord," said the priest, "I did not mean to call while you were at bath, but there is one among your worshipers here now who would speak with you, on a matter which I take to be of mighty importance."

  "One of my worshipers! Tell him that all-hearing Brahma hears all, and direct him to pray to me in the ordinary manner, in the Temple proper!"

  Brahma's hand moved toward the shutoff switch, then paused. "How came he to know of the Temple-to-Heaven line?" he inquired. "And of the direct communion of saints and gods?"

  "He says," replied the priest, "that he is of the First, and that I should relay the message that Sam would have words with Trimurti."

  "Sam?" said Brahma. "Sam? Surely it cannot be . . . that Sam?"

  "He is the one known hereabouts as Siddhartha, Binder of the Demons."

  "Await my pleasure," said Brahma, "singing the while various appropriate verses from the Vedas."

  "I hear, my Lord," said the priest, and he commenced singing.

  Brahma moved to another part of the pavilion and stood awhile before his wardrobe, deciding what to wear.

  The prince, hearing his name called, turned from the contemplation of the Temple's interior. The priest, whose name he had forgotten, beckoned him along a corridor. He followed, and the passage led into a storage chamber. The priest rumbled after a hidden catch, then drew upon a row of shelves that opened outward, doorlike.

  The prince passed through this doorway. He found himself within a richly decorated shrine. A glowing view-screen hung above its altar/control-panel, encircled by a bronze Naga, which held its tail in its teeth.

  The priest bowed three times.

  "Hail, ruler of the universe, mightiest of the four orders of gods and the eighteen hosts of paradise. From your navel springs forth the lotus, your hands churn the oceans, in three strides —"

  "I acknowledge the truth of what you say," replied Brahma. "You are blessed and heard. You may leave us now."

  "?"

  "That is correct. Sam is doubtless paying you for a private line, is he not?"

  "Lord . . . !"

  "Enough! Depart!"

  The priest bowed quickly and left, closing the shelves behind him.

  Brahma studied Sam, who was wearing dark jodhpurs, a sky-blue khameez, the blue-green turban of Urath and an empty scabbard upon a chain belt of dark iron.

  Sam, in turn, studied the other, who stood with blackness at his back, wearing a feather cloak over a suit of light mail. It was caught at the throat with a clasp of fire opal. Brahma wore a purple crown, studded with pulsating amethysts, and he bore in his right hand a scepter mounted with the nine auspicious gems. His eyes were two dark stains upon his dark face. The gentle strumming of a veena occurred about him.

  "Sam?" he said.

  Sam nodded.

  "I am trying to guess your true identity. Lord Brahma. I confess that I cannot."

  "This is as it should be," said Brahma, "if one is to be a god who was, is and always shall be."

  "Fine garments, those you wear," said Sam. "Quite fetching."

  "Thank you. I find it hard to believe that you still exist. Checking, I note that you have not sought a new body for half a century. That is taking quite a chance."

  Sam shrugged. "Life is full of chances, gambles, uncertainties. . ."

  "True," said Brahma. "Pray, draw up a chair and sit down. Make yourself comfortable."

  Sam did this, and when he looked up again, Brahma was seated upon a high throne carved o
f red marble, with a matching parasol flared above it.

  "That looks a bit uncomfortable," he remarked.

  "Foam-rubber cushion," replied the god, smiling. "You may smoke, if you wish."

  "Thanks." Sam drew his pipe from the pouch at his belt, filled it, tamped it carefully and struck it to fire.

  "What have you been doing all this time," asked the god, "since you left the roost of Heaven?"

  "Cultivating my own gardens," said Sam.

  "We could have used you here," said Brahma, "in our hydroponics section. For that matter, perhaps we still could. Tell me more of your stay among men."

  "Tiger hunts, border disputes with neighboring kingdoms, keeping up the morale of the harem, a bit of botanical research—things like that—the stuff of life," said Sam. "Now my powers slacken, and I seek once more my youth. But to obtain it again, I understand that I must have my brains strained. Is that true?"

  "After a fashion," said Brahma.

  "To what end, may I ask?"

  "That wrong shall fail and right prevail," said the god, smiling.

  "Supposing I'm wrong," asked Sam, "how shall I fail?"

  "You shall be required to work off your karmic burden in a lesser form."

  "Have you any figures readily available as to the percentage that fails, vis-á-vis that which prevails?"

  "Think not less of me in my omniscience," said Brahma, stifling a yawn with his scepter, "if I admit to having, for the moment, forgotten these figures."

  Sam chuckled. "You say you have need of a gardener there in the Celestial City?"

  "Yes," said Brahma. "Would you like to apply for the job?"

  "I don't know," said Sam. "Perhaps."

  "And then again, perhaps not?" said the other.

  "Perhaps not, also," he acknowledged. "In the old days there was none of this shillyshallying with a man's mind. If one of the First sought renewal, he paid the body price and was served."

  "We no longer dwell in the old days, Sam. The new age is at hand."

  "One would almost think that you sought the removal of all of the First who are not marshaled at your back."

  "A pantheon has room for many, Sam. There is a niche for you, if you choose to claim it."

  "If I do not?"

  "Then inquire in the Hall of Karma after your body."

  "And if I elect godhood?"

  "Your brains will not be probed. The Masters will be advised to serve you quickly and well. A flying machine will be dispatched to convey you to Heaven."

  "It bears a bit of thinking," said Sam. "I'm quite fond of this world, though it wallows in an age of darkness. On the other hand, such fondness will not serve me to enjoy the things I desire, if it is decreed that I die the real death or take on the form of an ape and wander about the jungles. But I am not overly fond of artificial perfection either, such as existed in Heaven when last I visited there. Bide with me a moment while I meditate."

  "I consider such indecision presumptuous," said Brahma, "when one has just been made such an offer."

  "I know, and perhaps I should also, were our positions reversed. But if I were God and you were me, I do believe I would extend a moment's merciful silence while a man makes a major decision regarding his life."

  "Sam, you are an impossible haggler! Who else would keep me waiting while his immortality hangs in the balance? Surely you do not seek to bargain with me?"

  "Well, I do come from a long line of slizzard traders—and I do very badly want something."

  "And what may that be?"

  "Answers to a few questions which have plagued me for a while now."

  "These being . . . ?"

  "As you are aware, I stopped attending the old Council meetings over a century ago, for they had become lengthy sessions calculated to postpone decision-making, and were primarily an excuse for a Festival of the First. Now, I have nothing against festivals. In fact, for a century and a half I went to them only to drink good Earth booze once more. But, I felt that we should be doing something about the passengers, as well as the offspring of our many bodies, rather than letting them wander a vicious world, reverting to savagery. I felt that we of the crew should be assisting them, granting them the benefits of the technology we had preserved, rather than building ourselves an impregnable paradise and treating the world as a combination game preserve and whorehouse. So, I have wondered long why this thing was not done. It would seem a fair and equitable way to run a world."

  "I take it from this that you are an Accelerationist?"

  "No," said Sam, "simply an inquirer. I am curious, that's all, as to the reasons."

  "Then, to answer your questions," said Brahma, "it is because they are not ready for it. Had we acted immediately—yes, this thing could have been done. But we were indifferent at first. Then, when the question arose, we were divided. Too much time passed. They are not ready, and will not be for many centuries. If they were to be exposed to an advanced technology at this point, the wars which would ensue would result in the destruction of the beginnings they have already made. They have come far. They have begun a civilization after the manner of their fathers of old. But they are still children, and like children would they play with our gifts and be burnt by them. They are our children, by our long-dead First bodies, and second, and third and many after—and so, ours is the parents' responsibility toward them. We must not permit them to be accelerated into an industrial revolution and so destroy the first stable society on this planet. Our parental functions can best be performed by guiding them as we do, through the Temples. Gods and goddesses are basically parent figures, so what could be truer and more just than that we assume these roles and play them thoroughly?"

  "Why then do you destroy their own infant technology? The printing press has been rediscovered on three occasions that I can remember, and suppressed each time."

  "This was done for the same reason—they were not yet ready for it. And it was not truly discovered, but rather it was remembered. It was a thing out of legend which someone set about duplicating. If a thing is to come, it must come as a result of factors already present in the culture, and not be pulled from out of the past like a rabbit from a hat."

  "It seems you are drawing a mighty fine line at that point, Brahma. I take it from this that your minions go to and fro in the world, destroying all signs of progress they come upon?"

  "This is not true," said the god. "You talk as if we desire perpetually this burden of godhood, as if we seek to maintain a dark age that we may know forever the wearisome condition of our enforced divinity!"

  "In a word," said Sam, "yes. What of the pray-o-mat which squats before this very Temple? Is it on par, culturally, with a chariot?"

  "That is different," said Brahma. "As a divine manifestation, it is held in awe by the citizens and is not questioned, for religious reasons. It is hardly the same as if gunpowder were to be introduced."

  "Supposing some local atheist hijacks one and picks it apart? And supposing he happens to be a Thomas Edison? What then?"

  "They have tricky combination locks on them. If anyone other than a priest opens one, it will blow up and take him along with it."

  "And I notice you were unable to suppress the rediscovery of the still, though you tried. So you slapped on an alcohol tax, payable to the Temples."

  "Mankind has always sought release through drink," said Brahma. "It has generally figured in somewhere in his religious ceremonies. Less guilt involved that way. True, we tried suppressing it at first, but we quickly saw we could not. So, in return for our tax, they receive here a blessing upon their booze. Less guilt, less of a hangover, fewer recriminations—it is psychosomatic, you know — and the tax isn't that high."

  "Funny, though, how many prefer the profane brew."

  "You came to pray and you are staying to scoff, is that what you're saying, Sam? I offered to answer your questions, not debate Deicrat policies with you. Have you made up your mind yet regarding my offer?"

  "Yes, Madeleine," said Sam
, "and did anyone ever tell you how lovely you are when you're angry?"

  Brahma sprang forward off the throne. "How could you? How could you tell?" screamed the god.

  "I couldn't, really," said Sam. "Until now. It was just a guess, based upon some of your mannerisms of speech and gesture which I remembered. So you've finally achieved your lifelong ambition, eh? I'll bet you've got a harem, too. What's it feel like, madam, to be a real stud after having been a gal to start out with? Bet every Lizzie in the world would envy you if she knew. Congratulations."

  Brahma drew himself up to full height and glared. The throne was a flame at his back. The veena thrummed on, dispassionately. He raised his scepter then and spoke:

  "Prepare yourself to receive the curse of Brahma . . ." he began.

  "Whatever for?" asked Sam. "Because I guessed your secret? If I am to be a god, what difference does it make? Others must know of it. Are you angry because the only way I could learn your true identity was by baiting you a little? I had assumed you would appreciate me the more if I demonstrated my worth by displaying my wit in this manner. If I have offended you, I do apologize."

  "It is not because you guessed—or even because of the manner in which you guessed—but because you mocked me, that I curse you."

  "Mocked you?" said Sam. "I do not understand. I intended no disrespect. I was always on good terms with you in the old days. If you will but think back over them, you will recall that this is true. Why should I jeopardize my position by mocking you now?"

  "Because you said what you thought too quickly, without thinking a second time."

  "Nay, my Lord. I did but jest with you as any one man might with another when discussing these matters. I am sorry if you took it amiss. I'll warrant you've a harem I'd envy, and which I'll doubtless try to sneak into some night. If you'd curse me for being surprised, then curse away." He drew upon his pipe and wreathed his grin in smoke.

  Finally, Brahma chuckled. "I'm a bit quick-tempered, 'tis true," he explained, "and perhaps too touchy about my past. Of course, I've often jested so with other men. You are forgiven. I withdraw my beginning curse.

  "And your decision, I take it, is to accept my offer?" he inquired.