Presence

As I was preparing to go to sleep, I could get the smell of incence, and I just looked through my windows to the pavement, next to our gate, and I could see a few men and women sitting silently near the senior lady who had lost her husband. Occasionally I could hear the crying of women, but for the most part there was absolute silence. And that was the scene when I woke up too. There were some ten to fifteen men and women around the senior lady, and there was no talking, but only empathetic silence. I was wondering what a wonderful way of expressing their empathy for the bereaved family, which perhaps had nothing to offer to the relatives and well-wishers who might have come from far, not even a cup of tea, but they did not seem to mind it.

Death is a moment when life seems to be taking the cruelest form of revenge on humanity. We cannot resist when death knocks at our doors, but be prepared to open wide the doors and let the angel of death lead our dear ones across the shore. The pain and agony that people go through at the death of a senior person, one who has lived the ripe old age, and was making space for the younger ones, is relatively much less in comparison to the young persons who die at the prime of their life, or still worse children dying a premature death. Whatever be our complaints and allegations against the gods, we have no way of undoing what has been predestined. The best that we could offer is to stand by those who have been robbed of their breadwinners, their main support and their sustenance.

It was hard for me to go through the loss of the dear ones, when a close friend of mine lost her father, just in his early fifties. He had his two unmarried daughters, and a son who was barely 10 years old. No one ever thought that he would leave the world so soon; they were not even prepared to believe that he was no more. My friend had lost her loving father, who had supported her all through, even when her mother would scorn and inflict pains on her. I felt there was very little that I could do, but the next moment I realized for the people who are devastated, any little help given them is great; they did not even have the strength and stamina to organize a vehicle to take the body to Bangalore from Chennai where the death took place in a hospital. I stayed with them for four days to provide the much needed consolation for them.

In a tribal society, death in a family is sequel to death in the whole village; all celebrations are cancelled until the impurity is purged; often it could take about one month to forty days. This is another way of showing solidarity and sympathy for the bereaved family. The village community stands with the family which has lost some one, and everyone gathers to bid the final goodbye for the person. It is a wonderful gesture that the young and old gather round the dead person, and when the bone-drowning ceremony (bhandan) is to take place, the villagers offer the favorites of the dead person, including eatables, beeri, cigarette and anything that could be useful for them. I had seen the same thing happening among the burial ceremony of the mainstream society too. Another way of expressing solidarity.

To get back to the Muslim family which had lost the senior member of the family, there is no cooking in the family and it was quite obvious that all the members had been keeping awake all through the night, and when it was morning, I could see some of the ladies lying near our Church; they were all fatigued and still they kept vigil, with the family of the dead person, and I don’t know how long this will continue. There is very little conversation between them, but all the men and women seem to vibrate with one another. Even in their utmost poverty and privation, they seemed to have plenty to offer to the people very much in need of their silent presence by their side. In a world that is being torn apart on the basis of color, caste and creed, the loving presence of neighbors and relatives is soothing for the heavy hearts.

Call to be a Cosmic Force

Tribal communities in India and elsewhere are often accused of indulging in superstitious 'ancestor worship', which I consider is a great injustice done to their cultural repertois; only the persons who are ignorant of their faiths and belief system can make such a derogatory remark. There is nothing as rich and noble in other religious traditions, as the tribal concept of 'ancestor worship'. Maybe it is time that the major religions look at this notion sympathetically, and borrow from them what may enrich their own belief system.

I really do not know how other tribal communities value and believe in ancestor worship, I know for sure that among the Santal tribals, it is one of the key aspects of their belief, so much so one of their festivals -Sohrae - is closely associated with them. While the harvest festival bid goodbye to the departed souls, they also bring them home, to the Manjhithan, where the ancestral spirits are to dwell permanently.

Those who die, in other words, are not lost forever, but are brought back to the very village community, and they claim their due place there. Every time a Santal offers sacrifices to the deities, the ancestral spirits have theie due share; every time a Santal drinks handipaura, the rice beer, he/she is expected to offer a few drops first before taking the first sip. These spirits also have the responsibility to safeguard the village from any natural calamity or danger. Is it not a noble concept, that all the dear departed are there in the village, hovering over the air!

During a ritual called bandan (bone-drowning ceremony), the dear departed during the liturgical year, are given a beautiful farewell. The relative who carries the collar-bone of the departed collected after the cremation, is given all the little pleasures the man/woman loved so much. The villagers offer small niceties in the name of the departed soul. When their bones are drowned in a river, they join the cosmic forces, and become one with nature, not only symbolically, but also literally.

We are part of the cosmos, and whether living or dead, we are part of the forces which operate and govern the cosmos. It is good to remember this, for there is a temptation to consider that an untimely death is a loss for the world; no, it cannot be. All are present in the cosmos, and join the eternal, undying, undiminishing power of the cosmos. The evil that men do lives after them; and their good too! They are written large on the clouds and trees, birds and beasts, air and water. And if you wish to believe, the other name for these cosmic forces is God!

In the world of the Dead

Every time I go to visit the departed friends at the cemetery, myriad thoughts cloud my mind; I know most of the persons resting in peace here at Dhyan Ashram, some of them had been my teachers, some 'father-figures', some guides; some of their words still ring in my ears. I remember great Leeming; whenever I would ask him how he was, he would tell me that he felt better when he saw me! He was obviously naughty at that age. There is Timmermans, who had a soft-heart for me, during the first year in Calcutta! (In 1984, only in Bangla, it was called Kolkata), much to the embarrassment of many of my companions. And Ernst, who liked telling me stories of missionary activities! And printer, builder Rosnar, who had told me so many times the same old stories of his hunting!

Some I know, get frightened when they visit the graveyard, as if by visiting they invite death to themselves! Far from it, it is a reality that everyone has to be prepared for! But for me it is always a pleasant experience to stand for a while before many of the familiar men, and even whisper something dear to me. It is an invitation for me to enter into their lives, a life that age could not stop. Many of these men, who have offered their lives for God and people, have become immortal in the hearts of the hundreds of men and women whose lives they had touched. They are truly immortal.

I can see the earth, which is so very kind and generous to accept them back to her bosom; she would not like anyone, bird or beast to destroy their bodies, which she had gifted to the world, until they become part of herself! The mute witness to all that these men had done on earth, is again mute when it comes to vindicating some of them for the wrongs they might have committed. The world may take several years to really forgive, but for Mother Earth, she might ask us, forgive what! After all, she is the mother, who will never refuse home to her child!

I wish I have the luxury of time to sit in the cemetery and spend a whole day, speaking to all the persons whom I had known during their lifetime. I dont know if they would be delighted to do that with me, but I will surely be delighted to remind them of my sweet time in their company. And to have someone from the other side of the world is, always a matter of great blessing, because for one thing, I know their invisible presence will protect me from all danger and harm!

Today as I stood before them, there was one little prayer, though that happens to be sign of my selfishness. I want to imitate some of their noble qualities, which surely I lack to a great extent. Many of the men lying here were great stalwarts, and had done some thing marvellous for God and Bengal. When I turn to myself in their presence, I find myself quite small, but while beholding the tradition of which they were part of, I know all their collective strength and integrity will be my food for the way.

I know some of these men were saintly people. I would like to look up to Cukale, who had a peculiar way of pronouncing my name, and had a paternalistic approach to me; this great pastor was a saint, who loved to pain and write poems. When he used to pain the walls of this very same cemetery in 1997, I used to spend sometime with him there, appreciating his art work, which was not a great thing, but he liked doing it! Today I would like to place myself in his presence, looking at him and appreciating the simple works of art he created. I know this way, I will inherit at lease a certain amount of his saintliness.