(A short story for a long lament.)
I have stepped
out to get some ilaneer (tender coconut water). On the bench by the vendor’s
cart, sits a very despondent man. I think that maybe he is thirsty but the ilaneer
is too expensive so I ask the vendor to give him one, my treat. The vendor shakes
his head. “He has been like this for a long time. He won’t speak. He won’t buy
a coconut. He just sits there, spreading gloom and sorrow around my cart.”
I wonder
what great grief fills this sad man. I take the second coconut in my hand, sit
next to him and say, “Brother, take a sip and tell me what ails you.”
He sits
silent and immobile and then, maybe sensing my determination to stay, lifts his
head to look at me. In his eyes, I see the troubles of the world. Sick people,
hungry people, old people all alone, children left orphaned. His eyes fill my
heart with an immeasurable sorrow too.
I persist,
“Tell me what ails you.”
“Can you
not see?” he asks. “Is your heart made of stone?”
“See what?”
I ask, full of pop psychology wisdom about making him articulate his feelings.
Again, I extend the coconut towards him. He smiles and takes it from me as if
to please me, saying, “This compassion you show to me, can you not find it in
your heart for what you see in the world?”
I still do
not understand. I see him, the vendor, the coconuts, the beach around us and
the sea. What does he think I see? I look in his eyes, which carry the world in
them, and say, “What do you want me to see?”
They fill
with tears now. “Willfully blind. It is more important to you that I see YOU as
compassionate than that you should let yourself live and act with empathy and
compassion, that you should actually see.”
“Brother,
tell me who you are, where you are from and why you grieve so.”
“I am Rama
of Ayodhya. I have lived in your heart since time immemorial but you still do
not recognize me? Humans are quite amazing!” A flash of temper and irony on
that beautiful, serene face full of sorrow.
“Oh.”
And then,
“Oh my god.” He chuckles, “So you say! But have you learnt nothing from me and
my life?”
Apparently
not.
“You seem
to remember me as a martial hero. But think about what in my stories fills your
heart with love and what fills you with doubt, and you will understand what
makes me sad today.”
Rama
looking at the moon in a plate of water. Rama as a diligent student. Rama’s
bond with his family, especially his brothers. Rama lifting the bow and
marrying Sita. Rama trying to please his stepmother. Rama’s gentleness with the
people of Ayodhya. Rama and Sita living in harmony with the creatures of the
forest. Rama’s friendships. Rama’s yearning to learn. Rama’s willingness to
give appreciation. Rama’s insistence of giving refuge. Rama’s sense of right
and wrong. Things we love.
Things that
make us question his perfection. His absolute sense of right and wrong, valuing
abstract norms above fairness and justice. His treating Sita as an instrument
of his adherence to external standards. His departure from absolute standards
to expedient ones in the killing of Vali. His summary justice for perceived
transgressions that kept him from seeing Shambuka as human.
I look into
Rama’s eyes again and past the surging spring of tears, I see this world and
what we have made of it with our choices. Choices that implicitly or explicitly
label some as less than human, less than worthy and simply existing as
instrumental to our own goals. I look away. I cannot look him in the eyes any
more.
“Guilt is
useless,” he tells me. “Find compassion, find empathy and then put them to
work.”
I still
cannot face him. I am slowly crumbling inside.
The vendor
observes. “Useless fellow! Everyday he sits here, looking sad, and then when
someone sits down to talk to him, he makes them also cry. With two people
weeping mournfully near my stall, how can I sell anything? Useless fellow!”
Rama
smiles. “I agree I am useless,” he says. “If you ignore the few things I am
useful for and focus on the truly useless aspects of my presence—where I was
born, where I walked, what I ate—then my existence has been a waste.”
“I don’t
need a memorial to my birthplace and palace because if I live, it is in your
heart and conscience. And if I do not live there and animate those, I do not
deserve all this fuss. If you have learnt from me to ignore the pain of your
fellow humans, to deny the destruction of this beautiful world and to indulge
in bricks-and-mortar vanity projects and ritual mumbo-jumbo, then you have
learnt nothing from me. The temple, the ritual—none of this pleases this Rama.”
“Show me
you have a heart. Show me your priorities are correct. Show me that you can
listen to the truth and learn from those who are wise. Show me that you are
secure enough for others to be free. Show me that your attachment to power is
not stronger than your attachment to humanity. Then my existence will be
meaningful.”
I find my
voice. “But Rama, have you seen the temple design? Do you know that people are
already arriving for the ceremony that marks the beginning of the construction?
Do you know how spectacular and special it is going to be?”
I see cold
fury in Rama’s beautiful eyes. “Is that so? Well, be there, be happy. I will
not be there.”
“But it’s
your temple. You have to be there.”
“You have
understood nothing. I will not be where there is no compassion, no love, no
dharma.”
“Where will
you be?”
“I will be
in Kashmir. I will be in Palestine. I will be in Syria. I will be in the homes
of villagers struggling with hunger and debt. I will be with those who cannot
access the temples I value—schools, hospitals, langars. I will be in the
sleepless nights of the workers who came home, but have no work and do not know
where to go next. I will be holding the hands of old people who are alone,
wondering when this pandemic will end. I will watch over women who do not
sleep, fearful of rape. I will be playing with children who find the little
pockets of joy in the middle of a time when adult worries seem endless. I will
be in the jails where the disease reinforces the will of the state to silence
dissenters. I will be everywhere there is war, suffering and injustice. If you
spare a thought everyday for my people, I will be in your heart. But I will not
be at the ritual or the site in Ayodhya. Know this for sure.”
The sun has
set. In the darkness, I can see just his luminous eyes, full of tears that blur
the world as he has shown it to me. I take those compassionate eyes into my
heart and I leave.
