Death came and went

Satjit Singh

I AM am not a religious man by usual standards of dress, routine or rituals. However, I start my day listening to spiritual music, generally Gurbani, which I find soothing. Of late, religious discourses or katha are also getting my attention, mainly because of my quest for comparative study of various religious beliefs on some abstract concepts and ever-engrossing subjects like death.

It was an early, but  a lazy start to the day, with melodious Gurbani in the background — Marnai te jagat darai  jeevia lorrai sabh koe (the world is terrified of death; everyone longs to live. And then the discourse — what makes people dread the ultimate reality? The scholarly preacher tried to be logical while quoting from the scriptures; the four reasons, the Yamdoot, and so on.

The thought kept me occupied and I read several references late into the night. Was it a dream or hallucination? The Yamdoot came calling riding on his buffalo. ‘Come with me,’ he commanded politely. ‘How can I go? I have so many unfinished things to do. Please, don’t be so harsh,’ I pleaded.

‘What are your unfinished tasks and how much time do you need?’ he appeared considerate. ‘I... I mean so many, the list is so long. How can I tell you?’ I fumbled. He smiled, looking up as if connecting with someone divine. ‘OK, you are granted one day. I will come and take you along tomorrow night.’ The buffalo made a thunderous exit with its rider. I was up, bewildered and sweating in the heavy winter rain on the first weekend of the New Year, several years ago.

I could not help thinking of all four reasons — family: What can I do? My small bank balance and investments may not be of much importance, but my sons will find time to get it cleared in favour of their mother. They love her. She is quite useful to them too. I often joke that she is a ‘resource’ in the house and I am a ‘drain’ on that resource. I could visualise some old colleagues and friends going all out to  help ‘my widow’ to get family pension and other death benefits. They are likely to do that  without trying to flirt with her, I am sure. 

Unfulfilled desires: True, but then there is no limit to what you want; to read, to see, to cuddle. To write too. I know so many pseudo-intellectuals  ruining their family and professional life running from door to door just to see their name in print. Is it not an effort to add credence to my intellectual pretensions. The literary world is not going to miss me. ‘It’s enough’ is a choice that I can make any time.

The pain: That is a concern. ‘The idea is to die young as late as possible’. Being healthy, at least with no pain, is a comforting thought. Even if there is pain, will it not be the last in this life?

Where will I go? That is a serious question. Suddenly, there was a thought — of a different kind. What did the Yamdoot say? ‘Come with me.’ When I go with him, ‘I’ will not be here. Then who will die? ‘One short sleep past, we wake eternally and death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die’.

Off to bed that night, I was ready for ‘him’. ‘You were sleeping like a child or perhaps a drunkard,’ my wife taunted me early next morning. She was surprised  and amused by the impromptu hug, and my question: ‘Why is bindi not on your forehead?’

He didn’t come that night, and never thereafter. Now I know. He teases and scares those who get scared.