“In the country where I currently enjoy citizenship, This” A bottle of Scotch, aged, sealed, appeared in her hand. The other dropped slightly, and two glasses appeared in the other,”It highly regulated. A good Muslim man has no booze in his household, and yet, it is still to be found.”
There was an immense sound, and whatever it was, she now poured a bit into the two glasses. Offering both to the bureaucrat.
He didn’t decline, there was no question he would not decline. He was known for bar-hopping in college.
“In the Iranian states, they ban it with a heavier hand. Yet it is to be found. Decades ago, In the American States, they tried to ban it completely. And that is when crime as they knew it organized into the ‘Mob’. Prohibition does not create holiness. Whatever you think holiness is. It does not make men better than the have ever been. If anything, it makes them worse.”
She gave the motion of a toast, then downed the glass. Sardari was sitting on the corner of the bureaucrat’s desk now.
“Once the law is broken, and how easily it is broken, who cares for the law? So the law can not be too strenuous. One must hope to be able to abide by it.”
She refilled her glass, and the other when offered.
“Now. We now if any were pure hearted, Samsara would take them from us, lest another round at life would corrupt them again. We must work with imperfect beings. At the same time – they ask for help. From man, from government, from the gods,” she failed to say ‘like me’, “we give fair compensation for their efforts. Yet.”
The twice emptied glass disappeared form the bureaucrat’s hands.
“Those standing at the border – We expect them to continue to stand content, the only benefit of a job well done in their minds. If one wants to ask for their help, they should deny both the request and the reimbursement. Do you not see the irony?”
The bottle was gone, but she was still handling her own empty glass.
“Of course, there are those that ask too much for too little. This is not solved by prohibition.”
The glass saw filled with out the sight of her refilling it. She gave a loud sigh, emptying it again.
“This is distasteful work. The politicians will call for purging corruption. We both have seen this. They will call to be given power to fix a problem that can not be fixed – at best, it will destroy the experienced ranks we have. It will endanger lives.”
“I merely ask for you to look away.” The corner of the table was empty. The so-called goddess was back in the chair which had originally been offered. “Mind your numbers. If there are any that trouble you – call upon my temple. I shall examine the problem, as I do all the problems my worshipers present. Don’t look upon the rank and file and think you know their job better than they do.”
A hand laid on the bureaucrat’s left shoulder. The chair was empty again.
“You will, of course, be compensated as the need arises for this work. If there is a greater need – call. Call.”
There was a sound of coins clinking. The cup had appeared again, where the goddess sat a moment ago – brimming with 20 rupee coins. It was not a huge sum – but it was also the only thing left changed in the office.
The goddess had left.
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