QT:The Fast-Travel Department's New Recruit

When Amara opened her eyes, she found herself standing at the colossal gates of the underworld, their dark, looming arches stretching into the endless twilight. The cold realization struck her like a sharp gust of wind: she was dead.

"Dead as a doornail," she muttered under her breath, her words lost in the eerie quiet of this otherworldly realm.

Shadows flickered like restless spirits, drifting along the path that led further into the afterlife. A shiver ran down her spine, but as she stood there, memories of her life unfurled like a comforting blanket.

She remembered her humble beginnings, growing up in a modest home filled with love, surrounded by her parents and siblings. During the era of rapid economic growth, she and her family had built a business from scratch, turning it into one of the most respected giants of the Indian business world, renowned for its integrity and ethical standards.

She had journeyed across her vast motherland, from the tranquil backwaters of Kerala to the majestic peaks of the Himalayas, savoring the diverse beauty of her country. When her time finally came, she had passed peacefully, cradled in the warmth of her family's love.

Reflecting on her life, Amara felt a deep sense of contentment. She had always strived to live by the principles of dharma, avoiding harm and doing good whenever she could.

Surely, she thought, there was no need to feel guilty or afraid now—at least, not yet.

Following the ghost messenger's guidance, Amara found herself walking slowly towards the judge's office, where souls were lined up in a solemn procession, each waiting for their deeds to be assessed.

The surroundings were uncannily similar to the depictions from the ancient stories and scriptures she had heard in her lifetime—the realm of Yama, the god of death, whose duty was to weigh the deeds of every soul.

Amara's gaze traveled the length of the line ahead of her, the souls shifting impatiently, faces etched with anxiety or resignation. How long, she wondered, would she have to wait before it was her turn?

She had always imagined that once she crossed into the underworld, she would swiftly reach the banks of the Vaitarna River, cross its ominous waters, drink from the river of forgetfulness, and proceed to her next life.

But it seemed her journey was far more intricate than the old stories had let on.

Sensing her unease, the ghost messenger, a translucent figure shrouded in misty robes, regarded her with a thoughtful expression.

"You seem calm," he remarked, handing her a small, weathered dossier. "This is your information. Take a look at it before you see the judge. It's best if you finish reading it all. If you have any questions, just ask."

The document felt familiar in her hands, like an old relic from the mortal world. Its yellowed pages and faint, faded ink gave it the appearance of an ancient manuscript. As she flipped it open, she saw that the first page detailed her life story.

It recorded everything—from the moment of her first breath to the last, spanning exactly a hundred lifetimes. Each life was meticulously noted: her names, families, deeds, triumphs and failures, and ultimately, her deaths. She took a steadying breath and continued to flip through the pages, absorbing the details of her past selves.

Having successfully completed a hundred lifetimes, Amara had amassed a certain amount of merit, and two distinct paths now lay before her.

The first option, despite her accumulated merits, did not grant her access to the heavens among the devas. She could choose to be reborn, to continue doing good deeds and strive to gather more merit in her future lives.

The second option was to stay in the underworld and find work there.

Even with her usual decisiveness, Amara hesitated.

As a young girl, she had dreamt of becoming like the apsaras—celestial dancers who enchanted the heavens with their grace and beauty. Now, the opportunity to join them seemed within reach, yet the dossier plainly stated that her current merits fell short of becoming an apsara or even a lesser deva. Reincarnation would mean drinking from the waters of forgetfulness, erasing all memory of her past lives. Could she trust herself to continue doing good and gather enough merit once she started anew?

The thought of staying in the underworld unsettled her as well. Tales of Yamalok, the realm of the dead, were rife with images of punishment and harsh retribution. Working there felt like a daunting prospect.

Amara turned to the ghost standing beside her, seeking clarity. "Sir, what is it like to work in the underworld?"

The ghost, having answered this question countless times, spoke with patience. "After the judge reviews your deeds, he'll ask what you wish to do. If you decide to stay and work, there are many kinds of jobs in the inner city, some easy, others quite interesting, not unlike what you may have done in your mortal life. Yamalok's regulations are thorough and fair. With ability and dedication, you can advance, just as King Yama did five hundred years ago.

Don't be put off by the outer city; it only seems intimidating because it's filled with souls like you who have yet to be judged. Once you enter the inner city, you'll find endless delights—delicious foods, vibrant activities, and much more to keep you occupied, even if you remain in the underworld for thousands of years."

"King Yama?" Amara asked, intrigued but uncertain about the hierarchy of the underworld.

The ghost nodded, his form flickering slightly like a flame in the wind. "Yes, five hundred years ago, King Yama was just another soul, a newcomer who began at the bottom. But through exceptional performance and dedication, he climbed the ranks. When the old King Yama sought a successor, he participated in the trials and outshone all others, earning his place as one of the new Ten Kings of Hell.

It's an impressive story, isn't it?"

Amara listened, her mind amazed with the possibilities. "King Yama's journey is truly inspiring."

"By the way, are all the souls here like me?" Amara asked, observing the line of spirits ahead. Their expressions were calm, lacking the bitterness or malice she had expected.

"Good observation," the ghost replied. "Everyone who enters this hall has completed a hundred lifetimes, each marked by good deeds. Those who haven't reached a hundred lives, or who bear the weight of evil, who were exceptionally malevolent, or who died before their time, are judged in other halls."

Their conversation was interrupted as the line moved forward, and it was finally Amara's turn to enter the Judge's Hall.

Inside, the air was heavy with a solemn stillness, and the judge sat upon a grand throne of stone, his visage severe but not unkind. His eyes, deep and penetrating, held the wisdom of ages, much like the ancient depictions of Dharmaraj, the divine judge of souls. His robes flowed around him like a cascade of ink-black waters, and his presence filled the room with an air of quiet authority.

As the judge reviewed her dossier, his expression remained unreadable, his gaze flickering between the pages and Amara herself. His scrutiny was intense, yet somehow, Amara did not feel afraid.

After what felt like an eternity, the judge finally spoke, his voice resonating with a calm power that seemed to shake the very walls. "I see your situation. The good deeds you've done across your lifetimes offset the evil, leaving you with 8,000 points of merit. What do you wish for your future?"

Amara stood before him, her heart steady, her mind weighing the paths that stretched out before her. This decision, she knew, would shape her existence far beyond what she could comprehend.