Yama and Chitragupta - The Weight of Judgment

The soul had just been sent to its next life—a troubled rebirth, consequence of a troubled death.

Chitragupta closed the ledger.

Chitragupta: "You were harsh with that one."

Yama: "Was I? He murdered his brother."

Chitragupta: "For water. During a drought. His children were dying."

Yama: "Murder is murder. Circumstances explain; they don't excuse."

Chitragupta: "You sound certain."

Yama: "I have to sound certain. The moment I show doubt, every soul in line will argue their case forever. 'My circumstances were special. My reasons were justified. Someone else was really to blame.' Judgment requires certainty, even when certainty is impossible."

Chitragupta sat beside him—an intimacy few were permitted.

Chitragupta: "How do you bear it? Every day, thousands of souls. Every one with a story that almost justifies their actions."

Yama: "I remember that I'm not punishing. I'm balancing."

Chitragupta: "Explain."

Yama: "When that man murdered his brother, he created an imbalance. His brother's wife was widowed. His children were orphaned. A ripple of suffering spread from that moment. My judgment doesn't punish the murderer—it continues the ripple until it exhausts itself."

Chitragupta: "So he suffers in the next life because—"

Yama: "Because suffering generates suffering. The widow's grief became anger. Her anger became cruelty to her servants. Their suffering spread to their families. I don't create new suffering. I just let existing suffering flow to its natural conclusion."

Chitragupta: "That sounds like philosophy avoiding responsibility."

Yama: "Perhaps it is. Perhaps that's the only way to do this job without going mad. Every one of them is someone's child. Someone's parent. Someone's beloved. And I have to weigh their entire existence against a cosmic ledger they can't even see."

Chitragupta: "Do you ever want to forgive? Just... let one go?"

Yama: "Every day. There was a mother last week—she stole food for her starving children. Technically theft. Technically a sin. But how could I— I sent her to a good rebirth. The karma she accumulated feeding her children outweighed the karma of theft."

Chitragupta: "That's not harsh."

Yama: "That's not judgment either. That's mathematics. Add the merit, subtract the sin, see what remains. The harsh cases are when the math is clear and the heart still rebels."

Chitragupta: "Like the murderer?"

Yama: "Like the murderer. I understood his desperation. I felt his love for his children. And I still had to balance the blood on his hands against his brother's unlived years. Do you know what I pray for, Chitragupta?"

Chitragupta: "Gods pray?"

Yama: "This god does. I pray for a universe where suffering doesn't create more suffering. Where one man's drought doesn't become another man's death. Where I could look at that murderer and say, 'Your circumstances were impossible. Go in peace.' But that universe doesn't exist. This one does. And in this one, karma balances."

Chitragupta: "It's not fair."

Yama: "Nothing is fair. Fairness is a mortal concept. The universe deals in balance, not fairness. Send in the next soul. And Chitragupta?"

Chitragupta: "Yes?"

Yama: "Thank you. For letting me doubt where they can't see. That's why I need you—not just for records, but for these moments. Where I can be uncertain, so I can be certain again."

Chitragupta opened his ledger.

Chitragupta: "The next soul is a child. Died at three. No karma to speak of."

Yama: "Good. Some judgments are easy. Quick rebirth, loving family, a chance to accumulate years. Those are the ones that make this job bearable. The innocents who pass through quickly, on their way to lives they deserve."

Chitragupta: "And the rest?"

Yama: "The rest is the job. Bring them in."