The real question

This is a short story that I thought would be longer, but it had the desired effect, and I saved up some ideas for another story. Maybe the 55 thing has caught onto me, but this is longer. Still shorter than your standard short story. The last line is my explanation for God.

This is an attempt at figuring out the questions that Mankind will be faced with AFTER his questions are answered. Which, really, are pretty straightforward answers, they cannot be anything else... and are painfully obvious.

“The problem is with man and not with the cosmos” said Ravi, although he knew for a fact that Einstein didn’t need this to be said as he was already well aware of it. “Human beings are completely ignorant of the very existence of perception, and therefore you cannot fucking expect them to understand.” Einstein smiled and looked at the drowsy afternoon sun shining through the mango tree outside the window. Soft golden shafts of light pierced the otherwise dark room. Einstein was sitting on a chair next to the window, and Ravi was sitting on his bed. Einstein reached out towards the shafts of light shining through the window, and Ravi saw something that was definitely something nature did not intend to happen. The rays of light bent, twisted and contorted against Einstein’s old gnarled hands. Einstein spoke “everyone knows that the universe is an illusion, doesn’t take a genius to figure that out.”
Ravi had woken up to find Einstein sitting on the chair in the bedroom. Einstein had materialized to answer some of the questions that Ravi had prayed would get answered. He had prayed enough, and it was, after all, Einstein’s job. God had a lot of responsibilities.
Einstein retired to the realms or dimensions he claimed he didn’t come from, but a semitransparent image of him formed out of the shafts of light through the window, and just before Ravi went back to sleep, the light spoke. “The real question is, if I am a figment of your imagination or are you a figment of mine?”