RA ZACHARIA
Another death. And this one had been in the middle of dinner. Mark 49 had clasped his heart as dramatically as if he’d been an actor on Homicide (Ra Zacharia had a TV in his study, purely to keep abreast of popular culture) and slumped to the floor.
There had been no way to hide that from the community. Nor any excuse to not call an ambulance. There would be an autopsy too.
Luckily there was nothing suspicious for the autopsy to find. Mark 49 had come to Ra Zacharia with crippling arthritis. He had been so free of pain that for the last few months there had been no need of herbs to soothe it while Mark 49 perfected himself.
Which he conspicuously failed to do, by not even suspecting the blockage of his heart. Yet more evidence, if any was needed, that the true Sacrifices must be young. Mark 23 was doing an excellent job. So was 40.
It was a tribute to the power of the universe, and his own harmony within it, that everyone had accepted that Mark 49’s death was a lesson in what might happen if meditation was not strictly practised. Ra Zacharia had noticed Mark 50 being particularly assiduous ever since.
If Ra Zacharia celebrated Christmas — which he did not, for the star he followed was not the one that had led the way to Bethlehem — he would have felt this was a most excellent one indeed.