I’m an animal lover. I believe, earth can’t exist without them. Animals are the better half of humans, i.e., they have as much right over the planet as us. However, I’ve a weakness – I’m a non-vegetarian, as what the meat eaters are doomed to be called. And I sometimes indulge in the luxury of eating a tandoori or a fried one.
But I have something to confess. I have a feeling, as I’m taught to have, that God is watching my deeds of grazing over the beings who are officially entitled to be the grazers.
Before my next incarnation, I’m supposed to appear before Yamraj – an HR executive, in-charge of the Heaven & Hell, who is supposed to keep the account of our deeds and accordingly assign the new life – and I assume, he is bound to keep the account of the number of chickens I’ve had in my life.
I’ve this fear that if I continue my tryst with chicken eating, Yamraj would eventually come into my dream and say: “Put on your pants, your time is up. You ought to be a chicken!”
So in the afterlife, as a punishment of course, I’m supposed to be a chicken?
Chicken! a chicken? Gosh!
So be it!
But, will I grow at the house of a butcher? Eyeing me to put on few pounds before I can serve as martyr for an exuberant platter in a five star restaurant, along with my fellow comrades? Or will I be butchered next to a tavern?
Trembling, I bend on my knees and ask for the forgiveness. But question the Yamraj: Has any chicken ever died a natural death, without ending on the plate of someone?