Deeds

The old man could be found climbing the stairs to the temple every afternoon. It took an excruciating hour. His arthritic knees forced many stops. At the top, he burned incense, made offerings, and prayed. The town had never seen a more pious individual who was not also a monk. They said, “Surely, this man will be reincarnated into a better life.”

Then one day he did not climb. Instead, his body lay lifeless on his mat and his spirit stood before the Buddha. The man bowed low before the enlightened one. The Buddha, who lay in repose, said nothing and painted on a scroll in front of them.

“My Lord, I have lived my life in service to the Buddha. I prayed ceaselessly and endured great hardship in the name of the Buddha.”
The enlightened one laid down their brush.
“You are mistaken.”
“You are not the Buddha?”
“I am.”
“Then how am I mistaken?”
“These things I advise in life, and you claim to keep, are not for the Buddha’s benefit. They are for yours.”
The man was puzzled.
“You care nothing for my sacrifice?”
The Buddha shook their head.
“Then who judges the quality of my life?”
“They do.”

The Buddha pointed behind the man. He turned and was filled with dread for a multitude of stern faces glared at him. Faces he knew but feigned to forget. The face of his high school friend whose motorcycle he crashed, then lied and said it was stolen. The face of the woman he got pregnant and abandoned. The face of his mother with whom he cut off all contact. The face of the son he did not raise. The face of the dog he set on fire as an adolescent and sent running through the fields. The face of the man who died trying to save his crops.

There were countless others and the man wailed in despair. 
“You cannot ignore all my sacrifice and piety!”
“Why not? We benefit from them not in life, and less in death.”
“Mercy then!”
“And where is ours?”
The man wailed ever louder and began to shrink before the faces of judgment. His skin turned chitinous, his body segmented, antennae grew from his head and extra appendages from his sides. When the transformation was complete, all that was left of the pious old man was a small hateful bug.