A hermit was dead. What had killed the sadhu was not clear, and nobody was anyone interested in it. For all the villages around his cave, he was THE MAN. He did not do any miracles, he was just a good person at heart, listened to theier woes, gave them good advice and lived and talked about God. His death was just his discarding of this body and leaving for heaven. Now the hermit had done all the good things you could possibly imagine, as I told you before. He thought he had a sureshot berth in heaven. He was already licking his lips in anticipation. However, when he reached God, there was a long queue. Being a monk, he patiently waited until his turn came up. God: So, my man, there you are... let me look at your files. [The hermit was already smiling, he knew that he had done evrything perfect] God: Ahh... discourses, teachings and preachings, all 108 holy places visited on foot! Great!! Hermit: Thank you, O Lord! I feel blessed. God: Good, and I also find a lot of prayers for you by
The chronicles of Sudipta:
the man, the machine, and everything inbetween