The Ways of Death

The other day, I went for the Bhog ceremony of my friend’s brother. He was sixty-three, a man in good health, no major illnesses—no one expected him to go so soon.

They told me what happened that morning.

He had gone out for some work and returned home around 11 a.m. His son opened the door. As he stepped in, he said casually,
“Two Sardarjis will be coming shortly to take me somewhere. Make sure they are welcomed properly—offer them tea.”

The son was a little surprised, but nodded.

A while later, the father came out of his bedroom and said, “Why haven’t you opened the door? Can’t you hear the bell ringing? They have come.”

The son frowned. “No, I didn’t hear any bell.”

But the father insisted, “I can hear it. They are waiting.”

Puzzled, the son went to open the door. There was no one outside. He turned back only to see his father smiling faintly, as though greeting unseen guests. He even asked his son to go to the kitchen and make tea.

The son walked closer, concerned, and said, “Papa, are you alright?”

There was no reply. His father sat silently on the sofa, his face peaceful, his body still. In that quiet moment, he had left this world.

Not everyone is blessed with such an end. Some suffer for days, months, even years. Some lie in hospital beds, their bodies tethered to machines. And yet, a few are carried away softly, almost gently—seeing visions only they can see, and slipping into the beyond without struggle.

That day, I realized—death has many ways. Sometimes it arrives like a storm, sometimes like a thief in the night. But sometimes, it comes like a guest who has long been expected—quiet, graceful, and kind.