The Terminal of Eternity

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The Terminal of Eternity

Saxena was one of those overworked IT honchos whose smartwatch kept reminding him to breathe as if he were a guest user on his own lungs. His startup was at that delicate stage where it needed funding, which basically meant Delhi, meetings, and unlimited “follow-ups.”

He flew from Bangalore to Delhi, met a series of HNIs( high networth individuals )—each one promising “Let me think about it”—until midnight. By then he was stretched thinner than a government file.

He checked into a super deluxe hotel, ordered his so-called power dinner, and collapsed on the bed. He expected to wake up tired. Instead, he woke up nobody.

No room.

No bed.

Not even a body.

Just a vast, silent emptiness—something like an airport terminal whose architect forgot to submit the drawings. Saxena wasn’t sure he even had eyes, but he felt awake.

Voices floated around him—shocked, confused, multilingual. A Tamil worry, a Punjabi protest, an English complaint. He understood all of them, perfectly. Strangely, none of them had faces. Or forms. They were just… presences.

A soft glow appeared, like an inverter bulb saving electricity for someone else. A calm voice announced:

“Welcome. You are at the Terminal of Eternity. Departures only.”

Panic erupted.

“Terminal? Kaun sa flight?”

“I have an early meeting!”

“My EMI is due!”

“Return ticket??”

Saxena, who had seen enough production issues at 2 AM to stay calm, asked, “What happened to us?”

The voice replied with the efficiency of a seasoned passport officer:

“Simple. You died. Your brain carried your memories. That hardware is gone. You are now just consciousness—without baggage.”

Saxena felt oddly peaceful.

No deadlines.

No term sheets.

No KPIs breathing down his neck.

Just awareness.

One by one, the formless presences were pulled toward a soft radiance—each “boarding” silently.

Saxena drifted too, and the voice spoke one last time:

“Life gave you a name, a job, and memories.

Death takes them back.

What remains is only you—without roles, without fear, without hurry.”

He felt himself becoming lighter, like a flame without a lamp.

“Your life was the waiting room,” the voice added.

“The journey begins when you drop the baggage you carried for years.”

Saxena dissolved gently into the glow—

not as an IT honcho,

not as a founder chasing investors,

but as a small spark rejoining a limitless light.

The Terminal of Eternity faded behind him.

The real journey had begun.

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"Asato ma sat gamaya,

Tamaso ma jyotir gamaya,

Mrityor ma amritam gamaya."

Meaning:

- "Asato ma sat gamaya": Lead me from unreal to real (or from darkness to light).

- "Tamaso ma jyotir gamaya": Lead me from darkness to light.

- "Mrityor ma amritam gamaya": Lead me from death to immortality.

This mantra is from the Brihadaranyaka Upanishad and is a prayer for guidance and enlightenment. It's a beautiful expression of the human desire for spiritual growth and self-realization. 🙏