The moon rises over the Western Paradise of Sukhavati. The Enlightened One Amitabha, supreme teacher of this realm, sits in his palace of white walls and vermilion-painted sandalwood pillars, looking out over his garden bathed in silver light. Gandharvas float above him, singing songs of wisdom to the beat of drums and gold cymbals. Two dancers perform before him, diaphanous silks swirling in perfect circles. Their raised platform is surrounded by a heart-shaped pond fed by streams filled with budding lotuses. The Dragon King rises from below the water, kneeling before Amitabha to request that the welcoming ceremony begin. Amitabha smiles as a luminous ray emits from the curl of hair on his forehead, and flowers rain from the sky.

Naukarani groans. Why does he insist on doing that? Who exactly does he think will clean it up? She reaches for a vacuum and starts to sweep the fallen blossoms. The lotus buds open to reveal immaculate infants, the newly reincarnated souls of those whose sincere pursuit of understanding in their previous lives has led them to this blessed land. Naukarani rolls her eyes. Immaculate—right. It might go in as nectar, but it still has to come out the other end. You try changing ten billion diapers every day. She continues to sweep with one arm, while another reaches for one of the infants, and another, and another, until all thousand of her arms are full and all ten of her faces are looking down on cooing bundles. Still, it is worth it for moments like this. One of them spits up on her sarong. Sigh. ‘The best medicine is wisdom’ she mimics sarcastically. What I wouldn’t do for some Pepto. She gives the child a placebo to suck on, hoping that will calm its stomach. She thinks back to her college days as an ogress, when she used to eat children instead of nursing them. She knows she fell in with the wrong crowd, and she is grateful to Amitabha for helping her get clean. All the same, I can’t be blamed for an occasional urge to pop one of the little monsters in my mouth. She grins wickedly.

As the moon sets on another night in paradise, she heads to the employee lounge for her break. She takes a bottle of rosé out of the refrigerator, pours herself a glass and sits down. The bottle stays on the table. It’s ok, she explains to herself, tonight I’m practicing Tantra. She lights a cigarette and reaches for the remote. She puts her thousand feet up on the table and flips through the channels until she finds ‘The Real Apsaras of Sukhavati.’ All things are impermanent, she muses, including this rosé. She reaches for the bottle and pours another glass.