From the Heart

Fiction

Yashvardhan was sitting on a bench in the park when the student appeared before him as if from nowhere.  The sun was inching toward the western horizon beyond the Arabian Ocean. 

“Can I talk to you, sir?” the student asked.

“Why not, Sid?  Sit down,” Yashvardhan motioned towards the empty space on the bench.  The boy’s name was Siddharth and everyone called him Sid.

“I wasn’t joking when I told you the other day that you’re damaging the students’ faith in gods and religion,” said Sid.

“Is your faith damaged because of me?” asked Yashvardhan.

“No,” he said, “not mine.”

“Then whose?”

“The other guys.  Some of them.  They’ve started discussing things like whether Rama and Krishna were merely mythical creations of man and not gods.”

“It’s good to question, isn’t it?”

“But, sir,” Sid hesitated.

“Hmm, go ahead,” Yashvardhan encouraged him in his usual style.

“Why don’t you believe in religion and gods?” Sid asked.

“I wish to be a good human being,” Yashvardhan’s eyes twinkled.

Sid was scandalised. 

“Have I ever mentioned Albert Camus in your class?” asked Yashvardhan.

“Yes.”

“About a character of his who wished to be a saint without the help of god and religion?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Well, there’s this character Dr Rieux in the novel, The Plague.  When the whole city of Oran is quarantined because of the onslaught of plague, the religious priest Father Paneloux delivered a sermon declaring that the plague was God’s punishment for Oran’s sins.  But when a small, innocent boy dies of plague, the priest’s faith is shaken.  He falls ill.  But he refuses to consult a doc.  Soon he dies clutching a crucifix.  Dr Rieux knew that the priest had not contracted the plague.  That he died an unnecessary death.”

Sid did not quite understand.

“Your god can kill you in many ways, boy.”

Isn’t every god a killer?  Yashvardhan had asked the question to himself a million times.  Who commits all the evils in the human world?  In whose name? 

“Have I ever asked any one of you to give up your faith in god or religion?” Yashvardhan asked just to reassure himself.  He was not the kind to take away people’s comforting illusions and delusions. 

“No, sir,” Sid said immediately.

“So what’s your problem?”

“I don’t understand, sir.”

You won’t understand, boy, even if I explained this.  What the leaders, religious or political, tell you sounds good.  But you see that I don’t belong there, in that divine milieu.  Yet you know that my falsehood is truer than their truth.

But Yashvardhan didn’t speak anything.  He just looked at the boy who looked utterly perplexed. 

Yashvardhan placed his palm on his chest above the heart.  “Listen to your heart.  All the truths lie there.”

The sun was sinking into the Arabian Ocean.  Beyond the horizon.  The sky looked like a martyr with the crimson colour suffusing its breast.  Yashvardhan got up.  Sid too.  The teacher looked into the eyes of his student.  He opened his arms.  The boy drew close to him as if he was drawn by a magnetic ring.  The teacher held him close to his heart. 

Somewhere, not too far, a CCTV camera caught that scene.  Yashvardhan would soon have to answer an enquiry committee which would question his sexual orientation.