The King of Heaven

by Paratrikananda dasa

He watched the small insect venture cross the desk toward his lunch. Poising to swat it out of existence, he abruptly remembered something he read:

If you don’t attain Krsna in this life, then again you go back to the process of birth and death. That’s all. And in that process of birth-death, sometimes you become Indra and sometimes you become that small bug, that’s all, according to your karma.

He broke off a bit of cookie and shared it with his tiny brother creature. Then, slouching upon a spongy, synthetic draped throne he repaired to his digital domain. This was his kingdom. Here, in a sunlight hampered cubicle, he reigned over an infinity of binary vassals. With his mighty mouse scepter he commanded an involuted mesh of petrochemicals, processed sand, and spun metal, to flick little sparks of fire from one point to another. You wouldn’t know it, but he used to chuck lightning bolts across the skies in grand fashion—he was once the king of heaven.