DEATH AND ITS SUPERFICIAL RITUALS
One day
when Jacob and I were standing at our gate, we noted a lot of women and a few
men folk going hurriedly to a nearby house. Women were clad in their home
attires sporting their ‘Mekkamothiram’
an old fashioned ear ring, which Latin ladies used to wear on their upper ear
lobes. The men wore their dhotis with,
an ordinary towel, thrown lightly over their shoulders. We were very curious to
know what was happening. Our curiosity which was aroused to a great extent
finally got an answer. Lawrence Suryapally, the head of their family was
sinking. We immediately informed ‘Ammachi’
about the sudden situation. She went along with Rajamma to see him. There was a
lugubrious air when Jacob and I went in. Lawrence’s cousin, Devassy Kelanthara,
was praying aloud “Easo, Mariam,
Ouseph...e” and the ladies gathered responded by saying “Yenikku Kuttayirikkename” (Be with me.)
The chanting of prayer reverberated through the room. I gazed at him; he was
breathing heavily, a harsh and awful noise. I wondered why people crowd around
him darkening the room and denying fresh air to his gaping mouth. I pushed open
the door; it creaked. His young wife Mariam’s face was full of anguish and
pain; tears welled up in her eyes. She was sore, had not slept a wink. The heartrending
slender sobs of the small children were
twittered like the buzzing of bees.
Lawrence’s sister, Vilama, casually came from Kumbalangi to visit her ailing
brother. She was dumbstruck and collapsed on a chair and burried her head in
her hands; crying softly, tiredly and tears rolling down her cheeks. I gazed
other weeping women; their close relations. The son was at his side
bending over him occasionally wetting his lips with water. Lawrence mumbled amid
deep gasps. He was asking his ten year old son to look after the family well.
He broke down at this request by his father; he moved to a corner of the room
tears rolling down his cheeks and he was wiping it away with one end of his
dhoti. I saw ‘Appachan’ consoling him
by patting him on his shoulder. He told him, “He should have the courage to
face the stark realities of life and trust in God Almighty.” I heard somebody
say that Lawrence had one son and three daughters. All of them were minors. ‘Ammachi’ was trying to console their young daughters. I heard one
old man who seemed very concerned, asking someone in a hushed tone, “How the
household is to survive?” I went closer to have a close look at the dying man.
Lawrence could not complete his prayer; he was trying to take in air with so
much difficulty. It was his last struggle for existence on earth before long he
would be gone. The parish priest came and performed the last sacrament, “the
anointing of the sick.” The priest
waited solemnly for the last moment. It was time for him to depart. The
chanting of the prayers became louder. We too joined in. Lawrence took two slow
gulps of air, after a minute he took a deep breath which was his last breath.
Lawrence’s body lay still, he is dead and gone forever. But the veteran
fisherman, who ventured out into the deep backwater, which shimmered in the
morning sunlight, on his tiny canoe, donning a big round hat made of bamboo
reapers and cadjan leaves atop his head, holding a traditional fishing rod or
angler made of the long, light, flexible and sturdy ‘Choonda’ palm stick, which is fixed a line, and which hooked
big fish like the Black Marlin, and Shark. Who can forget him? He is
still alive in the minds of his kith and kin, and the neighbous in his village.
Death
usurped his life; death had her day. Jacob and I were amazed at how the ‘Jeevan’ (life) or ‘Athmavu’ (Spirit) left? Was it through the mouth? Did we miss any
moment? Is there any panacea for the illness of death? I am still curious to
know if there is any weight loss to the human body when the ‘Jeevan’ (life) or ‘Athmavu’ (spirit) leaves the body. In other words what could be
the weight and mass of the life or spirit? Is it the same for young and old
alike? What about other beings on earth? What do scientists say about that?
As a
rule of Mother Nature what begins has to end. Human life is very short and we
require making the best of it. However, I learned, “”
I know from my experiences with the stark
realities of life, “Parting
is a painful and an agonizing experience, and sharing of pain, sorrow and agony will reduce pain, sorrow and
agony. However, sharing of joy and happiness would double joy and happiness;”
Time
alone can heal their wound. The bereaved family will have to move forward
gripping on hope, courage and with a desire for survival.
The
funeral was arranged as usual. Those days the parish of the Latin Catholics was
at Edacochi therefore their dead used to be buried in their parish cemetery,
which too was at Edacochi. It was a big ordeal for their kiths and kins to
carry the dead body in a large canoe across the island especially during the
times of turbulence. Why should one undertake all these pains which were an
unnecessary task? The Latins used to go to the Syrian Church to participate in
Holy Mass; Holy Communion; Anointment and other matrimonial rites. If so, why
should only their dead bodies was taken to Edacochi? They too are human beings.
I wondered why the priests and their hierarchy made such differentiation. A few
years later a new church, St. Joseph’s Church, was established and their
cemetery was also commissioned in spite of serious protests by a few locals.
However, Anthappan Thattasseri was the first one buried in the new cemetery
without giving much propaganda to the opponents. It was a relief for the Latin
community. I have noticed that old people came, one by one, to visit a grave
that would soon be theirs too.
I
always wondered why people built expensive tombs for their dead with their
names, and dates of birth and death chiseled into the stone. Many of us do not
remember the names of our great ancestors who lived five generations back.
Then, why do we fasten burden for the future generations to come.
Tomb
made of cement is a hurdle for the worms, maggots and flies which feed on the
cadaver in their endeavour to convert it into organic soil. It would be a
better proposition to utilize the money spent on these elaborate and flamboyant
tombs for the causes of the poor and the needy. One should not fall a prey to
the commercial interests of the Church.
Cremation
of the body in Indian tradition is better than burial in the ground since it is
inexpensive; causes less pollution, and a solution to the space constraints.
This is not at all the practice in the Christian community here. Nevertheless,
I would like to mention that late Shri. Dominic Jose Kuruvinakunnel’s (founder
of Casino Hotel, Wellingdon Island and other group of hotels in Kerala)
cremation was an epoch-making event. His cremation in an electric crematorium
had created ripples and opened a new debate on this issue. The Catholic Church
should move with the time and tide.
I too prefer
the cremation of my body in Indian tradition without any pomp and show at the electric
crematorium at Ravipuram in Kochi to burial in a cemetry.
