Recall the story first (page 111–112). A father, giving away his possessions in a ritual, is asked once too often by his son Nachiketa which god he will be given to, and snaps: “I give you to Yama.” The boy takes it seriously, goes to Yama's world, waits a long time, and meets the god of death. He asks one question and refuses to be put off: “What happens after the death of the body?” Yama tries to avoid answering; the boy persists; and Yama, pleased, explains that the ātman, the Self, is hidden within all creatures — “It is neither born, nor does it die; it is immortal.”
What makes a good question in this exercise: Nachiketa's questions are not curious, they are necessary. He asks the one thing nobody living can answer, and he asks it of the only being who can. Write questions with that seriousness — and write them as questions, not as speeches.
| Kind of question | Examples you could use |
|---|---|
| About what survives | If the ātman is neither born nor dies, what is it that does end when a person dies? Does the ātman remember the life it has left? |
| About karma and rebirth | Do our actions follow us? Who decides what the next birth will be — you, or the person themselves? |
| About how to live | If death comes to everyone, what is worth spending a life on? What do people most regret when they reach you? |
| About fear | Why are people so afraid of you? Is there anything about death they have understood wrongly? |
| About your own work | Is it hard to be the god everyone dreads? Do you ever wish you could refuse to take someone? |
“If I were Nachiketa, I would keep my questions few and ask them plainly.
First: you have told me the ātman is neither born nor does it die. Then what exactly is it that ends when a body is burnt? Is the person I love still a person somewhere, or only an essence?
Second: does the ātman carry any memory across a birth? If it does not, in what sense is it still me?
Third: do our actions really follow us, and who keeps that account — you, or the person themselves?
Fourth: since you meet everyone at the end, tell me what people most often regret. I would rather know that now than find out later.
And last, one question for you alone: is it a heavy thing to be the god that everybody fears?”