Natwar Singh, Stephanian, Plenipotentiary, MP, Congress Advisor, Minister, finally—as all humans must—came face to face with his Cosmic Master. He found Him poring over the Celestial Logbook. This, I believe, is a slightly abridged version of what transpired....

Cosmic Master (looking up from an enormous volume): Ah-ha, who do we have here, a former minister of India, no less.

Natwar: I may add, your holiness, that I am a product of St Stephen’s and also had the honour to advise the highest authorities of my country.

Cosmic Master (if there was one thing he disliked, it was false superiority): Quite. Now please present your case.

Natwar (pulling out several sheets of paper): I beg leave to present my case for admittance to this Celestial Abode of the Truly Greats of Humanity.

Cosmic Master: Before you proceed, I must tell you that we have a rule here. Brevity is the soul of the heavenly spirit.

Natwar: You may rest assured, Celestial Holiness, that I shall endeavour to be brief, but you must understand that some beings, like Yours Truly, have a slightly more extended Curriculum Vitae than others.

Cosmic Master (stifling a yawn): Please carry on.

Natwar: To begin at the beginning. I was given admittance into St Stephen’s. As they say, it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, than for an undeserving fellow to enter into its portals. Cosmic Master: I am afraid we have different criteria here, Mr Singh.

Natwar: Well, consequent to that, in 1953, I was recruited by the state into its prestigious Indian Foreign Service. In the course of my reasonably successful career (and I employ the term ‘reasonably’ for reasons of modesty), I had occasion to meet with the mightiest on earth.

Cosmic Master: How interesting.

Natwar: My obvious polish and patent abilities in the arena of foreign policy (even if I say so myself) attracted the attention of the Indian political leadership, more specifically Indira and Rajiv Gandhi. I then proceeded to serve them with all the energy and talent (I may add) at my command.

Cosmic Master:Here we do not recognise earthly authority, Mr Singh.

Natwar: That is your prerogative, but let me inform you that, down there, not a leaf stirs in the Congress party without the express permission of its president.

Cosmic Master (with a half-smile): And all this while I believed that we were the truly omnipotent force for humanity. Let that pass. Carry on. Do you believe that you did no wrong while on earth?

Natwar: None whatsoever, as far as my memory serves me.

Cosmic Master (somewhat sternly): What then is that rattling sound I hear?

Natwar Singh (looking down and noticing for the first time a string of oil barrels attached to his right foot. He tried to shake it off, but it remained there making a dreadful ruckus): God, must have slipped my mind. There was this small matter of an oil-for-food scam, but that was a frame-up.

Cosmic Master:Are you sure?

Natwar (in a rare burst of candour): Lord, you have blessed me with an ambitious son. Do I need to say more? By the way, you did not bless me with a great brother either. That petty man took me to court, you know, over a petty land dispute.

Cosmic Master (he took such a deep sigh that the leaves on earth stirred): Ah yes, the oldest complaint in the world—greedy brothers and errant sons. Well, Mr Singh, we have decided to refer your case to a committee. It will give its report in a month. Meanwhile, you can rest in that waiting room.

Natwar (muttering under his breath): God damn these committees. I am sick to the gills with them!

He turned the colour of beetroot when he noticed his Cosmic Master looking down upon him with a pained expression. He then quietly made his way to the appointed room, oil barrels still attached to his foot.