A Course for Godmen on a Cloud
God was getting worried.
Not about wars, floods, climate change, artificial intelligence, or political speeches. He had seen humans manufacture confusion out of clarity for a long time. What worried Him now was more personal.
His name was being used too frequently: on banners, billboards, television shows, healing camps, retreats, YouTube thumbnails, WhatsApp forwards, luxury ashrams, spiritual franchises, tax-exempt trusts, and limited-edition shawls.
God had not approved most of this.
So one morning, God selected a quiet cloud, high above the noise of the world, where there were no cameras, no followers, and no escape from uncomfortable questions.
The workshop was titled: “Spiritual Leadership: What Not To Do.”
Attendance was compulsory.
They arrived in robes, silk shawls, designer sandals, wooden beads, gold watches, calm smiles, and the confidence of people who had never answered a direct question in their lives. Among them were teachers of breath, sellers of silence, engineers of inner life, merchants of cosmic science, founders of fragrant communes, and campaigners for every visible crisis except the crisis inside their own institutions.
One arrived with a content team and asked whether the session could be recorded for “select spiritual dissemination.”
God said no.
God began. “My children, people come to you when they are vulnerable. They come with grief, illness, confusion, loneliness, guilt, fear, ambition, and hope. You are not expected to become Me. You are expected to behave decently.”
God asked His first question.
“Why do you claim powers that I never gave you?”
A senior Godman leaned forward.
“Lord, we do not claim powers. We only interpret possibilities. When we say a devotee will become rich, we mean rich in consciousness.”
“And when he remains poor,” another added, “his consciousness is still under construction.”
A younger Godman said, “Lord, miracles are necessary for engagement. If we speak only of humility and inner work, the views drop. But if a lemon changes colour, a photograph sheds tears, or ash appears from nowhere, people connect immediately.”
He lowered his voice. “The lemon is not divine, Lord. It is only a prop.”
A few participants nodded.
God moved to His second question.
“Why have you turned faith into a business?”
This caused visible hurt.
“Lord, business is a harsh word,” said one Godwoman. “We create livelihoods.”
“Ashrams require maintenance,” said a second.
“Devotees expect facilities,” said a third.
The first Godman explained, “Basic blessings are free. Advanced blessings require registration. Personal blessings are limited because access has to be managed.”
Another added, “Wealth, Lord, is not for us. It is for the mission.”
God looked at the gold watch on his wrist. The Godman covered it with his sleeve.
A Godwoman said, “We also publish annual reports.”
God asked to see one.
It was a handsome report. There were photographs of the founder blessing children, trees, cows, rivers, foreign visitors and meditation halls. There were testimonials, Sanskrit quotations, and a message from the Board of Trustees about service to humanity. Only at the end, almost apologetically, there was a small table of accounts in a font so fine that even God suspected it had been designed for non-reading.
God placed the report aside.
Then He asked His third question.
“Why do you show more affection towards women?”
The cloud became very still.
Until then, the workshop had felt like a leadership retreat. This question entered the room without removing its shoes.
A silent Godman said, “Lord, women are naturally more devotional.”
Another added, “They are more emotionally receptive.”
A third said, “They need closer guidance.”
Someone else said, “Sometimes the Guru must provide healing through personal attention.”
God’s voice remained calm.
“Power is not affection. Manipulation is not compassion. Access is not intimacy. A closed room does not become sacred because incense is burning in it.”
Nobody spoke.
For once, ambiguity did not help. A few closed their eyes, not in meditation but in risk management.
Then God asked His fourth and final question.
“Why do you not take up a mission to spread sustainability among humanity and help Planet Earth?”
This confused them.
They were used to speaking about liberation, karma, destiny, abundance, peace, and universal consciousness. Planet Earth sounded too practical. Sustainability sounded like something that required measurement, patience, and actual behaviour change.
One Godman said, “Lord, we already speak about nature.”
“When?”
“On World Environment Day.”
Another added, “We also plant trees.”
“How many?”
“That depends on sponsorship.”
A third said, “Our ashram has a large garden.”
“With imported grass, fountains, air-conditioned meditation halls?” God asked.
“The devotees expect comfort, Lord.”
A Godwoman tried a softer answer. “Sustainability is important, but people come to us for inner peace.”
God said, “And what peace will they have on a burning planet?”
No one replied.
“You have millions of followers,” God continued. “You can teach restraint instead of consumption. You can ask people to waste less, conserve water, respect rivers, protect forests, reduce greed, and live with enough.”
A young Godman checked his notes.
“Lord, if we tell people to consume less, donations may reduce.”
“If we speak against excess, patrons may feel targeted,” said another.
“If we ask people to travel less, attendance at retreats will suffer,” said a third.
“If we question luxury, our own infrastructure may give mixed signals,” said a fourth.
God said, “So you want to rescue souls, but not the soil beneath their feet?”
They bowed. Whenever language failed, they bowed.
God knew the workshop had failed.
He announced that there would be no certificate. One participant requested a digital badge saying, “Trained by God.” God refused. Another asked whether the workshop could be described as an “intimate closed-door dialogue with the Supreme.” God did not respond, which they later interpreted as consent.
Just before they left, God said, “I have a gift for each of you.”
The mood changed at once.
God presented each participant with a new Apple watch.
It was not an ordinary Apple Watch. It was shaped like an apple: smooth, polished, slightly luminous, and elegant enough for a holy wrist.
The Godmen and Godwomen were delighted.
“Apple. It must be from Adam and Eve,” one whispered.
“This has deep symbolism,” said another.
A third was already imagining the poster: The Apple of Awakening.
God said nothing.
What He did not tell them was that the watch was meant to watch. It would not count steps. It would count sins and slips.
It would keep track of greed, deception, bluffing, manipulation, lust, false promises, miracle inflation, spiritual blackmail, hidden wealth, indifference to the planet, and excessive self-branding. Whenever the daily limit was crossed, it would beep in a tone even a public relations team could not explain.
The watch would watch the one who claimed to watch over others.
God helped each of them fasten it.
They admired the shine, the shape, and the possibility of a new spiritual product line.
God watched them with tired affection.
So, if you ever meet a Godman or Godwoman wearing an apple-shaped Apple watch, do not ask too many questions.
Just understand that he or she once attended a training course on a cloud that failed.