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<%-- Page Title--%> Reflections <%-- End Page Title--%>

<%-- Volume Number --%> Vol 1 Num 120 <%-- End Volume Number --%>

August 29, 2003

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Too Divine to Live

Morshed Ali Khan

From Kathalia the metallic road amid lush green paddy fields to Kowkhali looked pristine on August 12. The nightlong torrential rain had submerged the green fields and washed away every grain of dust from the pitch-black road that wound its way to Kowkhali launch ghat with rows of large plantations adorning both its shoulders. Occasionally a rickshaw passed by, interrupting the heavenly silence with its mild bell. A few naked children took turns to climb a rain tree that rose above a rousing canal nearby and jumped into the water with great delight.

Ahead on the road suddenly appeared a column of about ten rickshaws slowly proceeding towards an unknown destination. From behind, the column looked as if an unusual wedding procession was moving towards a village. But a sad bewailing cry from a female passenger seated on the second rickshaw shattered the peace.

“Is this justice? Is this what we get? Oh bhagaban what have you done to my brother?” a young woman in her late teens cried out with someone sitting next to her on the rickshaw holding her tight to prevent her from falling. On the first rickshaw of the column sat two young men holding the lifeless body of a healthy young man, hardly in his early twenties, on their laps. His eyes shut, the head of the dead man lay hanging on the lap, facing skyward.

It was an unusual procession. Relatives said Tapan, a second year student of HSC at the Kowkhali College, had committed suicide by hanging himself from the ceiling of his house an hour ago. The doctor at the Kowkhali hospital had just declared him dead and the relatives were taking his body to Palpara, where he lived with his parents.

Until now the story was sad but simple. But behind the story was a story that went almost beyond all imaginations and instantly provoked thoughts that ended in a Cul-de-sec. A relative said that two years ago a wandering sadhu had arrived at their doorstep. The three following days the sadhu stayed with the family, Tapan constantly remained with him, offering care. As soon as the sadhu was gone, Tapan summoned his family members and told them he would take up a divine exercise known as mounabrate in Bangla... a meditation taken up by sadhus in this part of the world to attain spiritual elevation. Tapan vowed not to talk for five years. He avoided most meetings except at college and with friends, if necessary, he would write down what he wanted.

It was just at the end of two years of this strange exercise of soul searching that Tapan could take no more. The young man, fearing that he might fail to honour his unusual vow, took his own life and departed from the world with a dignity that probably he alone could justify.

 
   
 
         

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