Arun drifted through a space that was neither sky nor earth. His new body felt weightless, woven from light. No hunger, no thirst, no pain—only a subtle awareness, as if thought itself had become form.
He turned, expecting to see the world, but it was already fading. His house, his village, his family—they dissolved like mist.
Confusion struck. Where am I? What am I? He pressed his hands to his chest. There was no heartbeat, no flesh—only a pulse of energy.
A deep memory surfaced: his grandfather's words from childhood—"After death, the soul leaves behind the gross body but carries the subtle body of mind, ego, and impressions. That is what travels."
Now he knew those words were true.
Suddenly, sounds filled the space—not earthly sounds, but vibrations. Some were harmonious, pulling him upward. Others were discordant, dragging him down. These were his samskaras—the imprints of all his actions, thoughts, and desires—shaping the direction of his journey.
Arun realized: this was not judgment from outside. It was his own mind, carrying the seeds of his past.