Just a Number

Yamraj stepped out of the Boardroom drenched in sweat. The Board of Gods was not pleased. His job was on the line if the exponential population growth was not restricted.

He made his way down to Yamlok. It was eerily quiet. All the doots were out in the field. Only Chitragupta sat hunched in his cubicle, eyes glued to his screen, fingers clattering away.

Yamraj sank into the chair beside him, staring blankly at the data.

The numbers… were not good.

“Arre Sir!” Chitragupta said cheerily. “I’ve just sent you the updated sheet. We’re inching closer to the target!” Yamraj didn’t respond. He needed to debrief Chitragupta — the Board had revised the death quotas. Upward. 

 

“Gupta ji,” Yamraj began heavily, “when are the doots back? I need to address the team. The targets have been revised.” 

 Chitragupta blanched. “Revised numbers Sir? No, no, no, that cannot be. With all these new innovations in medicine and healthcare, we are struggling to meet the targets and on top of this: yoga, shoga and clean eating. What to do? Have you spoken to the Head of Research and Development?”

 Yamraj sighed. He wasn’t looking forward to it. Dr. Yan Wong had grown increasingly volatile since his budget was slashed. Most of his team had been laid off. The man had responded with what he called “active protest,” which mostly meant yelling and halting all research. Still, Yamraj decided to go see him in person.

 Everything had gone downhill since the Board brought in those wretched consultants. “Efficiency,” they’d said. “Make the organization lean.” Gone were the days of death by simply following the age factor and scattering a few accidents here and there. Now, with population outpacing natural attrition, quotas had ballooned — and Yamraj was expected to deliver results without provoking divine complaints or excessive prayer interference.

 He reached Dr. Yan’s lab and pushed open the door. Dr. Yan didn’t look up. He just smiled crookedly. “Good morning, Mr. Yam,” he said with feigned cheer. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” Technically, Yamraj was his superior. But the "Dr." in front of Yan’s name lent him an aura of annoying superiority.

 “I’ll get straight to the point,” Yamraj said. “Do you have any ongoing research that can reduce human numbers by 30 to 40 percent in the next 3 to 6 months?” Dr. Yan raised an eyebrow. “Sooo… now you need me. What happened — Poseidon not taking your calls? Oh, right. He doesn’t listen. Remember the tsunami in 2004? Wiped out triple the authorized number. Ha! The mighty Yam begging a scientist for solutions.” Yamraj didn’t react.

 Dr. Yan continued. “I may have a virus. It's in the trial stage. With the skeleton crew, we haven’t been able to gather sufficient data. We don’t want another Spanish Flu situation, do we?”

He turned to his screen and tapped a few keys. “I’ll send you the details — potential spread rate, estimated mortality, funding requirements. It’s all in the file.”

 “I don’t have time,” Yamraj said flatly. “Neither do you. The Board wants a sustainable long-term plan, and numbers that match projections — now. You’ll coordinate with other departments and give me exact death estimates by EOD.” He turned and walked out, fully aware that a middle finger was probably raised behind his back.

 Back on his floor, the doots had returned. Yamraj quickly convened a meeting. “Folks, the targets have been revised. Again. Dr. Yan will have the full action plan tomorrow.”

Chitragupta scheduled the 7 a.m. meeting. To Yamraj’s surprise, it went well. The new virus — SARS-V1 — was a masterstroke. Fast-spreading, highly adaptable, and likely to evade initial human containment efforts. It could get them close to the quarterly numbers. But there were too many variables. Yamraj, despite being the God of Death, was just one cog in the divine machinery. He couldn’t overstep or provoke other departments without consequences.

Later that day, he called doot meeting.

“To restore the optimum balance,” he began, “here’s the action plan:

• First, the SARS-V1 virus. Release it in a populous region and let it spread organically.
• Second, trigger historic locust swarms in agriculturally vulnerable nations.
• Third, deploy a series of intensified hurricanes to strike developed countries.
• Fourth, increase ground-level instability: war, riots, and hate crimes in already polarized          regions.

Natural disasters will also be amplified as nature responds to unchecked human exploitation. The heads of Nature and Calamity departments are on board.”

 One of the doots, Y50, raised a hand. “Sir, with all these crises, humans will pray. The gods will hear them — and respond. Won’t that undermine the whole plan?” Yamraj paused. He hadn’t considered that.

 “I’ll get back to you,” he said, dismissing the group. He summoned Dr. Yan again.

 “They’ll pray,” Yamraj said. “We need to stop their prayers from reaching the Board.” Dr. Yan grinned. “There’s a way. I can jam the signals.” A moment of silence passed between them.

Then Yamraj nodded.

 .And so, the horses of apocalypse were let loose — wreaking havoc on humanity, just to meet the performance target.