by Bharati Thakur 

This is the story of a gentleman from a small village.   He was a pandit, a kind-hearted person, always willing to help anybody. The story began early in the morning when a neighbour told another villager that this gentleman had died.  Some children, younger men, and women moved to his hut to pay respect to him. They came out of the house and passed on the sad news of his death to other people.  Gradually the number of grieving people swelled.

Among the growing crowd was a smart young villager. He murmured to others standing nearby, ‘Shouldn’t someone go bring a doctor for the death certificate? The crematorium would need the certificate.’

Someone rushed. The wise doctor checked his pulse, signed a death certificate, pocketed his fee, and left the place. He showed that he was sad like everyone else in the crowd.

By that time the experienced elders had collected contributions. Volunteers had organized bamboos, cow dung cakes, an earthen pot, a long chord cut into several pieces, dry grass, a kerosene bottle, and a matchbox. Few more experienced men began making a tiradi (bier) on a bamboo frame, to carry the body to the crematorium.  Over a dozen volunteers firmly tied the body on the tiradi. Four sturdy men lifted it over their shoulders.

The final journey of the village gentleman began towards the crematorium on the outskirts of the village.  Now, it was noon. The scorching Sun compelled the mourners to walk briskly with the chant of Ram bolo Bhai Ram.

Some others had earlier reached the place to prepare a pyre using wood, dry branches of several trees, cow dung cakes, and bundles of hay collected from the farms. Someone sprinkled kerosene over the pyre. Another volunteer lit the matchstick, began his bidi, and started the fire on the pyre. The heat of the day, the scorching sun, the smoke, and the burning pyre, woke up the gentleman.

He yelled. I am not dead. Please stop the cremation. Untie me. Let me go, please.

The crowd of experienced men was not ready to believe him.

How can the doctor’s death certificate be wrong? After all, he had signed so many health certificates and scores of death certificates for the families of this and of every other village in the vicinity.  Wasn’t he the only qualified government-approved medical officer in so many villages? How can he be wrong?

The gentleman is indeed dead, and must be cremated without delay, the crowd said in unison.

By then, the village’s only priest had arrived and had completed the rituals. He also gave a verdict that the cremation cannot be stopped once the rituals are complete. Someone had already paid the Dakshina to the brahmin. This Dakshina can not be reimbursed, the priest insisted quoting a scripture.

The smart young villager offered a way out to resolve the ‘deadlock.’

Call a general body meeting of the village (ie gram sabha).  It will move a resolution and seek a vote, then and there.

Everybody wondered how none thought about this simple foolproof democratic solution!

The resolution was put to a voice vote without any debate. They passed it unanimously, except for the village gentleman.

The sarpanch had ruled that the village gentleman could not cast his vote because he was dead. The dead cannot participate in any democratic process, the sarpanch ruled in his capacity as the presiding officer.

The majority rule thus prevailed and was executed immediately. The pyre was lit once again. Nobody heard the wailing of the village gentleman because everybody knew the dead cannot cry. It is an allegory tale. Not real. But the conclusion of the story is like this :-

In the name of modernity, we have borrowed Western dress, lifestyle, education, rituals, food, drinks, medicine, agriculture, and everything else. We take pride in adopting the business practices and ethical values of the West. All these borrowed ideas are best only because they are Western. Everything in our tradition is considered either outdated or dead. In the process, we forget that our scriptures have a treasure of our own Indian philosophy, rituals, and wisdom handed down to us by new generations over the last several centuries.

We follow the borrowed education system and values that lead only to think of salary packages. This system ignores the most important objective to develop the students into responsible global citizens.

Let us remember that we have the benefit of a robust common sense evolved by men and women of the generations.

Let us not blindly follow the democratic system that has its own follies and absurdities also. Let us ponder if we should go only by the majority. Shouldn’t we follow what is right for the people?

About the Author:

Bharati Thakur is an avid traveller, environment lover and an acclaimed Marathi writer. She is a founder, secretary and trustee of Narmadalaya (Nimar Abhyudaya Rural Management and Development Association). She was a Central government employee in Maharashtra. She left home in her mid-30s to work in the neglected areas of the North-Eastern parts of India. She was instrumental in setting up a school in Golaghat in Assam and in
bringing the tribal children of those areas back to the school. She has done Narmada Parikrama, a 3200
km arduous journey along the bank of the Narmada River and currently runs an organization called Narmadalaya for the education and well fare of kids from the underprivileged sections in the Mandleshwar Region. Her diary written in Marathi language during the Parikrama has been published in a book form (Narmada Parikrama – Ek Antaryatra) and also recently translated to Hindi. She can be reached at [email protected]