Aavarana- The Veil

by S L Bhyrappa

  ‘I’ll start right away after I hang up. Can you wait till I come?’ he said without thinking.

  ‘Yes sir. I’ll disconnect now.’

  ‘Hm.’

  The professor’s urgent anxiety was apparent when he said, ‘I’m sorry. My mother has passed away. I must go to my village immediately. It’s six miles beyond Kunigal.’ The two men stood up instantly. ‘We’re really sorry to hear that, sir. Please come with us. We’ll take you there in our car. We insist, sir.’ The professor said okay and sat in the backseat.

  Nobody spoke for a long time. When the car turned left after Nelamangala, one of them said, ‘Don’t mind us asking, sir, but how old was your mother? We’re sure she must’ve been a great woman to give birth to a genius like you.’ The professor didn’t say anything for several minutes. Then he launched into a detailed exposition of his mother’s qualities and concluded with, ‘Shankaracharya was the sanyasi, mendicant par excellence. Imagine, in his time he boldly defied tradition and did what no other sanyasi in his time did—he performed his mother’s funeral rites and showed a mother’s greatness to the whole world. Think what that means. He was one of the first humanists, which means he was the first of the Progressives.’

  They stopped at Lakshmi’s house first.

  ‘You come with us. I need to talk to Father and Vishalakshi.’

  ‘It’s your family matter. How can I possibly come?’

  ‘You’re one of us. Please just come,’ he insisted.

  She thought about this. The professor was probably very embarrassed to face his father after so many years and especially after how they had parted. The professor’s companions struck up a conversation with her, ‘Ma’am, you don’t know who we are, but we know you quite well. The whole country knows you!’

  Subbanna, Vishalakshi’s husband, was sitting on the portico when they reached. He was tonsured and the professor didn’t recognize him. He had last seen him a quarter century ago. Subbanna greeted him, ‘When did you come? Let’s go in. Father’s sitting on the bed.’ They went in. The two youths followed them. They saw Shesha Sastri sitting erect on the bare wooden cot with his back to the wall like Time itself waiting for the century to pass. He was bald and his forehead looked like it jutted out. White stubble had grown unevenly over his chin. He wore a short dhoti around his waist and hung a small cloth over his shoulder, together with his sacred thread. The professor prostrated at his feet from a distance and stood up. Subbanna walked around to Shesha Sastri and spoke into his ear. ‘Nanu has come.’

  ‘Oh!’

  Nobody moved for a long time. The near-centenarian then said, ‘All well?’

  The professor murmured, ‘Yes.’

  And that was it. They could almost see the wall of silence Shesha Sastri had erected. Nobody could think of anything to say. And then after what felt like hours, Vishalakshi emerged from inside, followed by Jalajakshi and Meenakshi.

  ‘Did you come now, Brother? How’s sister-in-law? How are the children?’ Jalajakshi walked up to him and asked him warmly. He noticed that her hair was coarse like jute and was white. Then he looked across to his two other sisters. Their hair had similar texture and colour.

  Shesha Sastri asked the professor to sit down. He sat at the other end, almost perched on the edge of his father’s bed. Lakshmi and the young intellectual duo sat on a straw mat at the other corner of the living room. Subbanna sat in the middle, resting his back against a pillar. The professor felt compelled to speak.

  ‘If I’d known about mother’s heart trouble, I’d have brought her to Bangalore. I know many highly-skilled, foreign-trained heart surgeons. I could’ve done something.’

  ‘The Tumkur doctor said it was pointless to do surgery,’ Vishalakshi replied. The room was silent again. Then Vishalakshi turned to her father and said loudly, ‘We three sisters discussed between us and called Brother. A son doing the last rites is not the same as sons-in-law doing them, whatever their devotion and commitment. The scriptures say that if the son is alive, he must perform the rites. Am I correct, Father?’

  He didn’t reply for a minute. Then, ‘It doesn’t matter to the dead person’s spirit who does the rites. What state the spirit reaches next depends on the virtues or sins it has accumulated here, on the earth. What does a person who has no son do? What does someone who has no children do? These rites simply help the spirit cross over from one state to the next. The person who performs these rites isn’t doing a favour. He merely performs his duty.’

  ‘But he’s your son and he’s here, and all of us want him to do the rites,’ Meenakshi said.

  ‘His wish. But he needs to atone first.’

  Subbanna got up and walked to Shesha Sastri and said, ‘Well. We anyway chant a mantra before any ritual to atone for sins committed with and without our knowledge…’

  ‘This isn’t as simple as that. It isn’t as if he did it unknowingly. He has defied dharma and proclaimed to the whole world that he ate cow meat, that he continues to eat cow meat, and that he’ll continue to eat cow meat. He’s written it. He’s announced it on stage. And he’s admitted it before us. No, it’s not a sin—it’s a crime, that’s what it is. You know how she was attached to her son but she broke all ties with him through sheer willpower. His atonement isn’t as simple as chanting a mantra.’

  Subbanna didn’t know what to say. Nobody knew what to say. And Shesha Sastri didn’t say what the professor had to do. Neither did the professor ask what he had to do. Father has been nursing this grudge like a snake that waits in its hole patiently for years to take its revenge. Damn! Now I can’t ask him. These bloody socialists are here. I should’ve taken my car. Or asked Diganth to send his driver. He felt the eyes of the two young men on his back. I won’t look at them.

  Subbanna spoke again. ‘Please tell him what he needs to do to atone.’

  Shesha Sastri replied instantly. ‘Why are you asking this? Ask him if this has occurred to him.’

  ‘It’s okay, Father. We’re asking you on his behalf,’ said Meenakshi who was aware of her father’s keenness in analyzing the subtleties of dharma.

  The old man closed his eyes for a long time trying to recollect something. Then, ‘I’m old. It’s likely I’ve forgotten the nuances so it’s best you cross-check once with Virupaksha Sastri…’ He paused, closed his eyes again, and opened them before continuing, ‘A sin, a crime has two forms of punishment. The first is what is given by an assembly…like…like a court. That is the external punishment. The second is the inner punishment—where the sinner punishes himself with full awareness of the sin he has committed. This is called atonement and it’s done for self-purification. In ancient times, both forms were done together. In many cases, the assembly wouldn’t take note of certain kinds of sins but the sinner would voluntarily atone for even such sins. Atonement is two kinds: the first involves the sinner realizing—body, mind and soul—that what he did was wrong and the second involves him taking a vow to never commit it again and then punishing himself. Wrongdoings too, are classified into two types: those done in public and those done in secret. Atonement for crimes committed in secret can be performed secretly. It isn’t mandatory to tell someone. Atonement for sins done in public should be publicly performed. In other words, the world should know why he is atoning. However, atonement doesn’t erase the consequences of the crime. The only purpose of repentance is the purification of the mind. The world recognizes in a way, that the sinner is genuinely repentant. Ah! That’s not all. A sin is classified into two forms from another perspective: wilful and non-wilful. Wilful is where the person knowingly inflicts an evil act. Such wrongdoings attract the severest punishment. This man’s crime is wilful. By eating beef, he has also become a partner to the crime of killing a cow. There’s no way you can eat cow-meat without killing it—either with your own hands or by getting it killed by someone. Anyway, the point is, he has committed a wilful crime and he has celebrated his crime by announcing it to the world through his writing and speeches. The atonement
then must be equally harsh and equally public. Ask him if he’s ready to swear honestly that he repents what he did. Ask him if he’s willing to take an oath that he won’t do it ever again. In ancient times, a sin of this severity meant that the sinner had to go stay in the forest for twelve years—they had to fast periodically and eat whatever the forest offered them and face the danger of wild animals. The chances of them returning alive were slim. Our sages who made these laws realized later that this was pretty harsh and reduced the harshness of punishment. You see, as time passes, the severity of punishment decreases. This applies to self-punishment, too. So let him first admit to himself that he committed a crime. Let him write in those same papers and announce on stage that he’s atoning for the crime of eating cow meat. If his pride prevents him from doing all this, then it’s not repentance because repentance is a penance, the goal of which is to burn pride. Let him spend a few days in Lord Narasimha’s temple on a diet of just fruits and pray to the lord for forgiveness. After this, the priest will perform a ritual. That’ll complete his atonement. Speak to Virupaksha Sastri and tell him I told you all this and then do as he instructs.’

  Shesha Sastri turned his gaze to the thatched roof. Nobody said anything. Vishalakshi opened her mouth to say something to her brother but stopped herself. It was clear that the responsibility to speak was on the professor. The professor said nothing. Father is quite a man even at this age. The same iron-like decisiveness. Damn! I should’ve come in my car. Or asked for Diganth’s driver. Damn! Damn! I can’t even argue with him in this situation. But what a man! How can he retain this force in his argument even now, even in a situation like this when his wife has died barely a few hours ago? And why have I lost my force of argument when my mother is dead for equally the same period? He suddenly felt empty inside. Defeat. Father didn’t address me directly. He didn’t blame me. He said what his scriptures told him. He hasn’t asked me to tell my decision even…like it didn’t matter if I agreed to perform the atonement ritual. He’s left everything entirely up to me. Ha! Besides, Meenakshi asked him that question—should I shave my head and do the rest of the ceremonies? I think it’s best to ask them for a day’s time to think. There’s enough time anyway. The ceremonies begin on the seventh day.

  He stood up abruptly. ‘I was in the middle of something extremely urgent. I rushed here when I heard the unfortunate news from Lakshmi.’ He looked at everybody once, bent forward, prostrated before his father and left the house without looking back. His two followers followed him to the car. ‘Eat something…at least have some coffee…’ His sisters and their husbands milled around the car and fussed over him.‘Eat…yes…I’ll have lunch.’ He got in and closed the door. The car was off.

  The driver initiated conversation when the car left the village and turned to the Kunigal main road. ‘Please don’t mind me saying this, sir. We understand your situation. I think I’ve read your piece on beef-eating in your Collected Works. It’s pretty old but personally, it’s one of your best pieces…I know it’s still going into reprint. Progressive organizations, Muslim League, Indian Christian Federation, committees for religious equality, even mainstream political parties circulate it even now. Right, sir?’

  ‘What you just saw is just another instance of how our religion has decayed from within. This religion makes its followers place more value on an animal that we’re supposed to consider as our mother but cares nothing about the feelings of a son for his real mother. Ah! I think this is a good point—I’ll expand this and write a full-length essay.’ The professor had regained his force now.

  ‘Now we understand why you became a revolutionary, sir,’ said the other Progressive and then, ‘We haven’t eaten anything since morning and I guess even you haven’t. Should we stop somewhere? Kunigal has some good restaurants.’

  ‘Yes. I’m hungry, too.’

  ‘Veg or non-veg?’ the driver asked.

  ‘Non-veg, as a protest.’

  Once he was comfortably seated in the bar and restaurant, the professor felt dizzy. A sinking feeling. The intellectual force that had briefly returned in the car deserted him now. Support. I need to tie my mind to something. The two cigarettes he had smoked didn’t help. ‘Do you mind me ordering a peg?’

  ‘Not at all, sir! Please go ahead. He has to drive. I need to get back to my office once we reach Bangalore. You please have it.’

  Both Progressives knew that ‘a peg’ was not to be taken literally. The professor looked at the omelette the waiter had placed on the table and glanced at him. ‘Do we get beef here?’

  ‘You get all that in Bangalore city. If we make that here, the villagers will torch this hotel in no time. We make chicken, mutton…pork, rarely. Why do you ask, sir?’

  ‘Just curious.’

  He looked at his companions and flashed a knowing smile.

  He lay down on the long back seat of the car and slept for the rest of the journey.

  ~

  The nap refreshed him. He felt relaxed and felt clarity returning to him but he was still disturbed. The solution was to share everything with somebody. But who? He was a much-sought-after public figure and not just in Bangalore—the count of his followers was spread across all major Indian cities. Prominent universities, non-government organizations, committees, forums and trusts in Bombay, Delhi, and Calcutta accorded him the status of a guru and hung on to every word he spoke. But he couldn’t share these things with even one of his hundreds of admirers. That would dim the brilliance he cultivated around his image. If he did that, they would turn around and reproach him in public pretty much like a heretic castigated by the pious. It would vaporize everything he had built over a lifetime.

  He longed for just one friend who would listen to his outpouring without passing judgement. Nothing remains after you’re dead. Memories, thoughts, ideology, imagination, creativity, feelings…hmm hmm! It’s all here when you breathe, when your nerves work, and when the brain, the master controller of your nervous network, functions. If that stops, you’re dead even if you’re living. Death ceremonies—the seventh day, tenth day, eleventh day, the auspicious thirteenth day, institutions to commemorate, all these are man-made devices to preserve the memory of the dead. It didn’t help. His mother continued to haunt him more intensely each time he tried to put her out of his thoughts with the aloofness of cold reasoning. I might as well do the rites. I’m her son after all. I’ll get my head tonsured and just nod and do whatever the priest says…and besides, Father himself said rituals now aren’t as severe as they were in ancient times. It’ll be over quickly and painlessly. The best way to get rid of this torture. And then there are many things we hate but still do for others’ happiness. We call the baboon-like kid of our boss cute. This will be a new learning. I’ve never done any death-related rites. I’ll see what the fuss is. Oh! I know those priests…they’ll weave fantastic explanations for each ceremony and sponge away as much money as they can…I’ll find out what exact meaning they’ll…and who knows that’ll give me material to write a couple of pieces exposing their fraud.

  None of this lessened the sickly, defeatist feeling inside him. There was no way he could confide this to Elizabeth. They had completely stopped talking for over a year now. But that wasn’t the real reason. He knew what would ensue if he said he was considering atoning for eating beef. He could hear her words. ‘That means you’re saying the food habits of my entire faith are somehow wicked. Which other domestic animal gives you that quantity of meat? Sheep and goat don’t contain even a tenth of what beef gives you, let’s not even talk about chicken. What’re we supposed to do if we give up beef? I don’t buy your “sympathetic” logic that every living creature has a right to live, that cruelty to animals is bad because…because it’s against the law of nature. How will a tiger live without deer? Or a snake without the frog?’ Even without this argument, she’d still use her ‘freedom-to-practice-my-faith’ card. Her faith laid down that the whole of creation—plants, trees, herbs and animals—was created for m
an’s enjoyment. That meant you couldn’t discriminate between the kind of meat you ate. She was never a friend. How can someone who’s not a friend ever be a wife? Why am I even living with her? He lit a cigarette.

  The phone issued a long ring twice before he picked it up. A long distance call. His mood suddenly lifted.

  ‘Lakshmi here, sir. I’m calling you from Kunigal. Your brother-in-law wants to talk to you. Just a second.’

  The professor heard Subbanna’s voice, ‘Jayaram came to the village half an hour after you left. I don’t know if you remember. He’s Meenakshi’s son. He drove down from Madras. He’s an engineer in a very large software company there. He’s doing very well. You must look at his car. It’s like a ship. We’ve come in his car to Kunigal. Everyone’s here. Vishalakshi, Meenakshi and Jalajakshi. We wanted to talk to you. I still think it’s best for you to do the rites. You’re the son and you must discharge your debt to your mother. We’ve already spoken to Virupaksha Sastri. He said your father is an authority in these matters and he agreed to what your father prescribed. He says that’s the right way to go about the atonement rites. Come back here. Word of your mother’s death has already reached all relatives. The house will be packed with no place to sit or sleep. Boys and men will sleep at the temple. That way, you’ll have some company. And then you need to stay in the temple for just three days and three nights and not move out anywhere. We’ll get you fruits and milk. Three days will pass by really quickly. The main thing is the repentance has to occur within you. And the decision of whether you want to write an apology in the newspapers is entirely yours…one second…I’ll give her the phone.’

  He had never heard Vishalakshi’s voice on the phone. And then Meenakshi spoke. And then Jalakashi. And then Jayaram spoke, ‘Uncle, I don’t think you remember seeing me but I’ve seen you several times on TV. I mean, they show you delivering speeches and participating in debates and giving opinions on important public matters and mourning the death of famous people. Each time you come on TV, I call my wife and tell her you’re my uncle. Anyway, I think it’s…legally more tenable for you to do the rites than Elder Aunty’s husband. I drove down to Narasapura when I heard the news and I’m leaving early tomorrow. I have some important office work or I’d have stayed. I’ll return on the thirteenth day.’