the tree of eden
Posted on December 13, 2024 in stories • 7 min read
One fine Tuesday afternoon, God decided it was time for a little rebranding. The old Tree of Eden had been a bit of a PR disaster, too many rules, a talking snake, and an endless stream of naked people trying to figure out what to wear. It was time for a fresh start.
"Let's go big or go home," God said, glancing over his shoulder at the vast expanse of nothingness in the middle of the great country of India. With a snap of his fingers, a new Tree of Eden sprouted in the middle of Lolpur, Uttar Pradesh. Oh, it has a fruit, another forbidden fruit? Glowing like a thousand neon signs, it was a perfect sphere of mystery and temptation.
"Alright, listen up, Earthlings!" God’s voice boomed across the world. "Here's the deal: If you can keep your hands off the fruit for a decade, I will cure every disease on the planet. No more cancer, no more flu, no more existential dread. You’ll be healthy as long as you live! But, and here's the twist, if any man eats it before that decade is up, he becomes immortal. Got it? So... you all be good, or any one of you becomes immortal. Your call."
The world went silent for a moment. And then, pandemonium.
In a small village in Assam, Partho, a simple goat herder, scratched his chin. "Immortal, you say? But do I want to be immortal? I will have to milk the goats forever, that’s a lot of pressure... doesn’t seem to be fun, I guess."
Meanwhile, in Mumbai, a group of influencers was already planning their next stunt. "This could be huge for my brand," said Aisha, she was always on a keto diet and never went out without makeup. "I’ll live forever, right? And then I can launch my own line of skincare products. Maybe I’ll even start my own cult... I mean, movement."
At the same time, a frantic, yet determined group of right wing Hindutva activists formed a protective perimeter around the tree. They had already put up barricades, dug trenches and set up tiny temples of most of the 13 crore Hindu deities.
"This is it, people! The tukde tukde gang will try to take that fruit. We must defend it at all costs!" yelled Dada Tyagi, the leader of the group, waving a homemade "पवित्र फल के रक्षक” flag. "No one is getting past me! Not on my watch!"
Meanwhile in New Delhi, PM Chaukidaar Ji was having a meeting with his cabinet when God’s voice interrupted.
"Hey, Chaukidaar, you hear that? You’ve got ten years. Keep your people from eating the fruit."
Chaukidaar ji looked up at the ceiling and rolled up his eyes. "Is that really how you're going to do it this time? Public announcement, no warning, just boom? Do you think I have time to handle a global crisis every other Tuesday?"
As God glowered at Chaukidaar Ji he muttered, “Fine, fine. We’ll have the army guard the tree and... oh, I don’t know, I might make a maan ki baat session out of it or something.”
Back in Lolpur, a well-coordinated swarm of overzealous teenagers descended on the tree. Armed with selfie sticks and high-powered drones, they had no intention of waiting ten years to make history. They’d eat the fruit. They’d become immortal.
"Wait, we should probably livestream this," said Swami, the self-appointed leader of the group. “People will pay us so much money for this. Think about it.”
But just as he was about to take a bite, a group of elderly naxal women appeared, wielding garden tools like a scene straight out of the movie Pushpa.
"No, no! We have waited our whole lives for this moment!" shouted Chhaya akka the leader of the Naxal troop. “The fruit must remain untouched! This is humanity’s last hope!"
A full-on brawl broke out, teenagers versus naxals, lasers and prayer chants filling the air. It was chaos, a beautiful chaos.
Meanwhile, in a high-rise apartment in Bangalore, Basavaraja and Manjula sat in front of their TV, watching it all unfold on the news. Basavraja looked up from his benne masala dosa. “Do you think... I should eat it? Maybe I’ll finally get that job promotion.”
“I don’t think it works that way,” Manjula replied. “Also, we’d have to wait ten years for it to be safe. You remember last time we rushed into things? Your US visa was turned down.”
Basavraja grimaced. “Yeah. Not my finest moment.”
As the decade countdown ticked on, chaos spread like wildfire. The government formed elite teams of fruit-guarding specialists, while private companies started selling “Fruit Defense Insurance.” Everyone from political leaders to weekend warriors tried to stake their claim on the tree or, at the very least, make a fortune off of it.
But as the world descended into madness, God watched from above, sitting back with a cosmic bowl of popcorn.
"I really should’ve predicted this," He mused. “I gave them one job: just don't eat the fruit. But it’s always the immotrality that they want. Always.”
Ten years later, the world held its breath.
No one had eaten the fruit. Not a single bite. Humanity had managed to survive, if only just. In the final hour of the tenth year, global eyes turned toward the tree. Satellites, drones, and a hundred cameras zoomed in. It was the most anticipated moment in human history. Everyone had their own theories. Would someone eat the fruit?
The clock struck midnight. The world exhaled.
And that’s when Dada Tyagi, the right wing hinduvta leader, made his move.
“I’ve waited ten years for this moment,” Dada muttered to himself as he approached the glowing fruit, bathed in the surreal light of the moon. His eyes gleamed with determination. This was his destiny. He knew the tree held the power to change everything. Immortality.
But as his fingers brushed the fruit, a voice boomed from above.
“Dada Tyagi. Do not eat it.”
It was God, himself.
Everyone watching it live streamed on their phones, thanks Youtube, in their living rooms, at local watch parties, froze in place. The moment had arrived. The fruit was within reach, but would Dada Tyagi take the bait? Could he resist?
Dada, looking baffled, glanced around. “You, you're testing me, right?"
“No,” said God, sounding almost too casual. “I'm just... warning you. You really don't want to eat that fruit.”
Dada frowned. “I’ve been waiting ten years for this! Do you know how many hawans I’ve attended? How many 'पेड़ की रक्षा करो' banners I’ve printed? I deserve this!"
“But I’ve been watching you, Dada,” God continued, his voice playful. “And you know what? I’ve seen the last decade. You’ve been living in your 1 BHK aprartment making TikToks about the ‘true power of the fruit.’ Honestly, you really think you deserve immortality?”
A hush fell over the crowd, and in that moment, everyone realized God wasn’t just talking to Dada Tyagi. He was talking to all of them.
“We’ve all been living in the shadow of this fruit, obsessed with power, with control, with the idea that immortality would fix everything,” God said, his voice growing somber. “But the truth is, what makes life precious isn’t immortality. It’s the fact that you have limited time, time to fix things, time to be good, time to make a difference. And frankly, Dada Tyagi, you’ve spent the last ten years spreading conspiracy theories on religious pretext instead of making the world better."
“I... I thought this was the answer,” Dada muttered, looking down at the fruit, suddenly unsure. “But... I guess... maybe it’s not?”
“That’s the point, Dada Tyagi,” God said softly. “The fruit wasn’t the answer. You were.”
Dada looked around at the people watching, karyakartas who had worked together to protect the tree, people who had sacrificed everything for this moment. He saw the families, the elderly, the kids. It wasn’t the fruit that had brought them together; it was the hope. The belief that, just maybe, something better could come out of all this.
And with a deep sigh, Dada slowly let the fruit go. The world held its breath.
Then, in a sudden, unanticipated turn of events, God chuckled. “Well, I guess you all did learn something today. Good job, everybody. As promised, all diseases are now cured, and you all get a special bonus: the gift of being completely normal. No immortality. No superpowers. No crazy conspiracies. You just get to go back to your lives, healthier, kinder, and hopefully, a little wiser.”
Just like that, the world relaxed. The air felt lighter. The stress melted away. People celebrated, not because they were immortal, but because they had rediscovered something far more valuable: the power of choice without the desperate need for eternal life.
And so, the world moved on, not with the dramatic flourish of immortality, but with the sobering realization that true solace, the ultimate escape, lay not in the pursuit of eternal life, but in the quiet, intimate act of losing oneself within the pages of a well-crafted tale.
Thank you for reading my story till the end.