By Loiya Leima Oinam
Strangely enough, news about the death and commemoration of Yash Raj Chopra, famous director-producer in Hindi cinema, nudges me to write about something that has rankled in my mind for years. It is about the nature of coping with loss, obligatory social exchanges, and the rites and rituals that accompany something as inevitable as death.
This is my ruminations on a topic that most people do not like to discuss over tea. The point of dwelling on elaborate funeral rites is not to underline their importance nor is it to demean the occasionally farcical manner in which they tend to unfold in many societies.
The traditional thing to do after someone’s death is arrange for a decent funeral in which friends and family gather to pray for a peaceful retreat for the departed soul. Over the years, I have come to believe that these rites and rituals are more than religious in nature. I am more inclined to consider them separate from religion. Many would see this as a rationalization of something that is considered integral to funeral ceremonies. True, amid the loss, one has to brave the funereal atmosphere and also prepare for the difficult journey towards a closure insofar as the deceased is concerned. But let us for a moment take mourning rituals also as a therapeutic way of coping with the loss. One`s involvement in the preparations and execution of every minor detail of the last rites could be a deterrent from sinking into further sorrow and be healing at the same time.
In the community I can speak of with some familiarity, the Meiteis, a god fearing person would ensure that the last rites are performed according to the book. There are people who propose the way they would like to be cremated; even soliciting consent from their kin the kind of food they want the mourners to be served. And most often than not, it is something they would have themselves liked to eat.
My query is whether it is any different from those who want their death to be treated as a natural inevitability and decide they do not want their last rites to become another ritualistic affair? It is baffling that there could be as contrary a desire to be given a respectful funeral with their body intact and purified, as the one to be useful to mankind by offering their organs for donation. The latter sure might shake conventional consciousness about (mis)handling the corpse. Not that I’m suggesting that the dead person thus operated does not deserve a decent funeral; or that rites nullifies the possibility of organ donation. Far from it.
I only wonder if the ‘unconventional’ wish would be as unwarily fulfilled as the other one. Those wishing for it could be saying they are no different than any walking being on earth and would like to be mourned in a simple way, preferably without the religious ceremonies. There are convenient terms used for them – scientific, non-religious, atheists, and so forth. We cannot dismiss their ethics as any less valid than that of the people who favour elaborate rites.
I have seen the less fortunate ones saving up for their own last rites by compromising on the small comforts and basic necessities of life; to ensure that they leave this world with honour and dignity. But what often seeps through such a seemingly innocuous choice is that many are deprived of a decent lifestyle and medical rehabilitation in their old age but are ironically pacified with assurances of decent last rites. There are some who opt to live without worrying about their status after death, and others still who ensure proper care for invalid relatives without promising them a funeral that is religious.
It is customary and thought proper for a self-respecting member of society to favour ritualistic funerals. So, more often than not, the dispassionate ones are viewed with skepticism. What if, for a brief moment, we looked beyond the religiosity that is associated with practices and even ideas related to death? After all, it is grief, the sense of personal loss, the acceptance that one mingles with the dust one walks upon at the end of life, and emotional recovery among other things that is common about deaths.
There are other social practices on the fringes of last rites that perhaps need more attention. But I do not wish to digress to discrimination of widows, restriction on women attending cremation in some societies, or the ambiguity of cremating under the influence of alcohol, which is purportedly done to calm the nerves.
Death can indeed become an interesting kaleidoscopic lens to observe life and people. U.R. Ananthamurthy showed it in Samskara: Rites of a Dead Man, in which the body of the ostracized Brahmin (Naranappa) in a Brahmin village is left to rot while the villagers squabble over who should perform his last rites. If a fictional character elsewhere hopes to be buried in the sea to be remembered as “different”, then one can cite the contentious sea-burial of Osama bin Laden, with many arguing that even a mass murderer like him deserved a proper (religious) burial. It then boils down to individual perceptions about what funereal propriety really is.
What could emerge is the unsettling fact that it is about everything but death itself or the dignity of the one who is dead.
The confusion hits home when one pays attention to the common, if not regular, trips to Vrindavan by devout Manipuri Vaishnavas for the last rites of dear ones as per their dying wish (a majority of which belongs to my grandmother’s generation). There, the underlying tussle about who is religiously and socially authorized to perform these rites can be anything but morally or psychologically reassuring for the mourning family. I can speak of only the transactions involved in the last rites. And I speak from a vantage point of someone who undertook a similar trip for solace six years ago but returned with questions and a good dose of self-introspection. One only needs to witness the commercialization of rituals related to death.
Some of us may well ponder upon the ethical choices that we make when confronted with the view of the abandoned widows from all over the country routinely queuing up outside the temples for paltry alms. We can either ignore them or feel morally wanting when we can contribute just as much. In such a scenario, the extended rites seem to border more on a facade than religious cleansing for all parties involved. In saying so, however, I do not claim a better conscience than those who do not agree with the views expressed here. I am as much a partaker in this whole exchange as anybody.
We might even discover that either the wish or disregard for last rites is the lesser problem. For some, there are more immediate concerns which they make their parting request.
~ Dying mother to son: If I die at night, please don’t leave me outside all alone. ~
