It was a lovely and well patronized function. The huge garden at the front of the house was filled to capacity. Everyone was in a black t-shirt adorned with my face at the front. It would have been a sea of black t-shirts had others not put jackets on top of the t-shirts.
My body lay in the velvet interior of an elegantly crafted polished solid mahogany casket which presented an exceptional prestigious statement. I had lived in opulence and was going out in luxury. The coffin sat on a sparkling silver trolley at the front of the house. My wife, my daughters and other close relatives huddled around the coffin. All the other mourners were seated in closely packed chairs filling the garden.
The eulogies began. Everyone said something good about me. My family members spoke of a good husband, father and relative with a life well and fully lived. My former workmates talked of an irreplaceable colleague and friend.
Of all the homages that were made, I loved the pastor’s tribute most. Immaculate in one of the suits I had bought him in Italy, he described me as a pillar of the church lost too soon. He talked of my contributions towards church activities and his welfare. I had provided over half of the money that was used to build the large church building and bought him a brand new Mercedes Benz. Every month end I contributed huge sums towards his upkeep.
“What matters in life is what one has done for Christ. This is what makes a man great. All of us who have gathered here know what elder John Njumbula has done for God,” eulogized the pastor amidst screams of alleluias and amen coming from the gathering. “So, we take comfort in knowing that our dear departed brother, elder John Njumbula, has gone straight to the bosom of Abraham. Let us borrow a leaf from the way he lived so that when we die, people should have nothing but good things to say about us.”
I felt so proud. The tributes kept pouring in. In newspapers. On the radio. TV. It was not mere hyperbole. The good works of my heart and hands were there for people to see. I had left my family with a considerable fortune-a fat bank account, fourteen cars and six houses I owned in posh residential areas of Lilongwe and Blantyre. My five children would lack nothing. And then to God I had donated money towards building the church, bought the pastor a car, and contributed handsomely towards the welfare of the pastor.
Maybe as a sign of God’s approval, the day’s weather was perfect although it was still the rainy season. Not even a single tuft of cloud marred the beautiful sapphire of the sky. A cool breeze added to the comfort of those gathered.
At the end of the service, my coffin was taken to the City Cemetery at Area 18 where it was interred with pomp and ceremony. The ceremony was closed by a prayer by the pastor after the mound of my freshly dug grave had been inundated with beautiful wreaths.
There my contact with the land of the living ended. A lot of people wonder what happens when you die. Well, it is like falling asleep and waking up in a strange land. I found myself on a paved road full of people going in one direction. Ahead, the road forked and at the end of each road was a gate.
Apart from the fact that they were both gates, there the similarity ended. The gate on the right was magnificent with the walls decorated with gold and other sparkling stones. There, the light shone beautifully like the morning sun at a beach. The gate on the left was falling to pieces, the walls crumbling and covered with weeds. The light shining there was as dull as the light of the darker part of twilight. Right where the road forked to meet the two gates was a large stone desk and behind it stood a tall young man with a shining face garbed in a white robe. People think that all angels have wings but I realized that some do not have. May be that’s why we are told somewhere in the bible that some angels used ladders to traverse heaven and earth.
It did not require a genius to make out that the seraph was sorting out the new arrivals and directing them to either of the two roads. As I got closer, I could see the words GEHENNA etched on a rotting sign pointing towards the dilapidated gate. On the other road, on a brand new signpost were inscribed the words PARADISE. I hesitated, not sure where the angel would lead me to. But then I remembered I had lived a blameless life and moved forward with a more confident step.
In front of me were two people I knew. One was a person who had never set foot in church. I knew the other one to be a prostitute. I was surprised when both of them were led towards the golden gate. With this, I now knew where I was headed. If the heathen and wicked prostitute were able to go to heaven what about me who had always lived by the ways of the Lord? My step was no different to that of a victorious boxer as I reached the desk.
“Name,” inquired the cherub in a voice as smooth as silk.
“John Njumbula,” I answered smugly.
The angel went through the huge book of judgment that stood on the table.
“John Njumbula,” he read from the book. “Charge: Murder.”
The charge shocked me to the core of my body. Me, charged with murder? If this was a joke, then it was in a very bad taste. I had never dreamed of murdering anyone even in my worst nightmare!
“Be serious, man!” I flared. “Murder is nothing to joke about; it’s a serious business.”
“Actually, you’re charged with mass murder,” the angel said, a serious note creeping into his smooth voice.
“I just hope there’s no corruption here,” I accused the angel. “I just saw you allow that good for nothing heathen and prostitute go to paradise.”
A smile creased the angel’s face. “You didn’t read of the parable of the good Samaritan? While you were busy attending church as a ritual, that so called heathen was busy doing good deeds. I can give you a long list of good deeds done by the so called prostitute. But what can I say about you?”
“I helped build the church, I bought the pastor a car, left a good inheritance for my family. My pastor even testified to my impeccable character during my funeral.”
The angel laughed. “That dishonest pastor knew that the salary you earned was not even enough for you to buy your own car, where did he think you got the money to buy him a car? Buy your fleet of luxury cars? The six houses? Why didn’t he ask you the source of your sudden wealth? How can you trust such a person to say the truth? ”
The angel was sidetracking me. We were talking about my murder charge.
“The issue here is that you’ve charged me with murder while I’ve never murdered anyone. Why have you done that?”
The angel answered me with a question. “Remember that Covid 19 money you stole?”
Me, stole money? I wanted to react violently. Me, John Njumbula, a thief? The angel was getting way out of line.
Then it hit me with the force of a hammer. It was as if I was back on earth, ten years before the date of my death. A new disease called Covid 19 was ravaging the earth. In a bid to combat the disease, the government had released funds worth more than six billion Malawi Kwacha. As one of the government officers tasked with combating the disease, I had access to millions that were supposed to be used to buy oxygen cylinders and critical medicines. Here, I saw my opportunity. I diverted millions to my personal accounts. Suddenly, hitherto a poor government employee, I became rich overnight. It was with these stolen millions that I bought my fleet of cars, built or bought houses and stashed some of it in my secret bank accounts. While others were apprehended and disciplined, I was never caught. By the time the disease disappeared and life returned to normal, I had amassed an enormous fortune. It was with some of this money that I built the church, bought the pastor a car and assisted in the welfare of the church pastor.
“Well…er…yes, I embezzled the money,” I confessed. “But I don’t see how that makes me a murderer.”
“The money you stole was meant to buy oxygen cylinders and critical medicines. But because you stole it, these were not bought and consequently scores of people whose lives could have been saved if they had received the oxygen or medicines, died. Who killed those people?”
The answer was crystal clear before me.
“This is what a lot of people fail to see on earth,” the angel went on. “If you steal medicines in hospitals and people die because they can’t get the medicines, this makes you a murderer. God is not interested in the money you’ve stolen but in the lives that have been lost because of your actions.”
I had no argument against what the angel was saying. I remembered my young brother who worked as doctor at one of the big government hospitals. He was always stealing drugs and using them at his private clinic. This always led to shortages of drugs at the hospital and I knew people were dying as a result of the shortage.
“Please, let me go and warn my brother,” I beseeched the angel.
The angel smiled. “I trust you read the story of Lazarus in the Bible. Once you’re here, you cannot go back. But God, in his everlasting mercy, always ensures that there’re prophets, pastors, priests to warn people. If people don’t listen to them, it’s their choice.”
Tears welled in my eyes and started streaming down my face. All the wealth I had amassed on earth was not worth the eternal damnation I had gained.
“Let me conclude your case,” the angel said returning to the judgment book. “You’ve been found guilty of murder and condemned to sheol where you’ll burn in everlasting fire for eternity.”
There was an overpowering smell of sulphur. The gates of hades creaked open and the devil, looking like a burnt corpse, appeared and beckoned me with his claws. I found myself going forward involuntarily. As I shambled towards the gate, I realized that the heavens and hell were not separated by the two gates but a deep chasm. Across the abyss, I could see beautiful mansions set in beautiful gardens with flowing rivers where people, angels and animals mingled in perpetual bliss.
Then I passed through the gate of hell and was welcomed by a landscape so desolate that its very sight almost gave me a heart attack. The surface was was molten rock and kept shifting like the top of boiling porridge. There was fire shooting from the ground, raining from the sky-coming from everywhere. Due to the intense heat my thirst was unbearable but was no water. Although crammed with souls of dead humans, so appalling was the loneliness as everyone seemed to be immersed in their own torment so that they were oblivious of each other. It was weird that despite the raging fires, the place was in dismal blackness that I could hardly see. Weeping, wailing and gnashing of teeth permeated the boiling dungeon. And the smell. There was this smell of rotting fresh that was so heavy that I could almost touch it. With the certainty of the last nail being hammered into a coffin, I knew that all the ill-gotten gains I had left on earth would never console me in this mournful dark lake of fire where every day is a day of anguish and torture.
End
