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Kamala Das

All the religions now prevalent in the world have crossed their expiry date

I accepted Dr Pillay's invitation to participate in the discussions mainly because my cousin Kalyani Kutty was to be present with her husband Dr Jan Mangalat and daughters Laja and Priya. Laja was accompanied by her American husband, Paul. The younger generation could not share their elders's enthusiasm over Malayalam. They were born and bred in America.

Except in the colouring of the skin, they were no different from the Americans of their generation. They could not speak any language other than American-accented English. Their elders tried to convince them of the greatness of their Indian heritage. The world culture permeated the lectures given by the parents who took solace in memories. The younger generation did not find any charm in quaint Malayali costumes or in the group dances which were an integral part of the celebration of Onam, Kerala's harvest festival.

Most rice fields have grown. There are no harvests worth speaking about, leave alone celebrating. To celebrate Onam in the US and other foreign countries, young girls who can only mispronounce Malayalam words are taught to lisp out ancient ballads and to dance around in a circle waving their bejeweled arms and tapping the floor with their feet making the anklets jingle. By no stretch of imagination could they be taken as Indians.

They were impatient with their parents who talked incessantly of the need to safeguard the Indian culture and, of course, Malayali culture. They did not want the children to get too close to the Americans. Dating was taboo. Obeying such parents meant segregating themselves. Segregation would make them feel alienated. Theirs was a generation that neither belonged to India nor the US. Conservative Indians met at regular intervals to sing bhajans in praise of God. The young ones were encouraged to join in.

All the religions now prevalent in the world have crossed their expiry date. They cannot exert any beneficial effect on human beings. They prejudice and poison the minds of their followers. Intolerance grows to vast proportions. Rioting can occur, and violence.

Survival depend on the compassion one can cultivate within oneself and on the swift realisation that religious differences are myths. When, on being compelled, I decided to speak at a spiritual gathering in New Jersey, I told them of my belief that God is pervasive like ether and has no form, no colour, no name.

Afterwards, one of the organisers of the get-together snarled at me: "We took years to instill in our children some faith in our Gods and now you have confused them. Our work is undone."

I had not guessed the bigoted nature of the group till I was escorted there innocently by a doctor-friend of mine.

These days, at places of worship, one hardly sees a peaceful expression on any face. Every devotee frowns and sulks. Each looks frustrated. There is a cruel glint in the eye. Avarice and concupiscence are evident in abundance. They conduct a rite known as sathru-samharan which in plainer language means the killing of one's enemy.

Once I had escorted a friend to a temple in Trichur and was standing in a queue to talk to the clerk at the counter. A sour faced woman paid two rupees and asked for a coconut. To kill my enemy, naturally, she said with a wry smile, handing over the coins. The clerk did not look surprised . I followed the determined woman to the edge of the sanctum sanctorumand watched her fling the coconut on the granite steps to break it.

It broke into two halves. The woman licked her lips in glee.

Once I had a friend who used to visit an obscure Kali shrine with my cook Chirutheyi Amma who had impressed upon her the need to destroy her husband's mistress.

After all only two rupees were needed. And the willingness to burden oneself with old superstitions. Chirutheyi Amma was forever boasting of the ease with which she prayed her foes to death, back in Balusseri, a village near Calicut.

Probably the recollection of the two women, one an elegant sophisticate and the other a rustic indulging in such rites caused a revulsion in my mind towards places of worship. At Guruvayur, I too have been collided against in a stampede. I have not been to a shrine for over a decade. Probably, I never shall see such places again. I do not have the need to externalise God. I feed at times that God has matured along with me, filling the crevices of my thought with the pristine light of energy.

Illustrations: Dominic Xavier