A QUESTION OF CONSCIENCE –2 THE REALITY OF AGING AND CAREGIVING

 

A QUESTION OF CONSCIENCE –2

THE REALITY OF AGING AND CAREGIVING

 ‘I and my wife, at last, visited the old age home in our locality for donating all the old clothes that we had been accumulating over the past few years. Though my wife had been reminding me from time to time, my inertia had got the better of my altruistic motives. It had come to a point where there was no more space in the house to store them. Our intentions were good but the execution was flawed. We had been postponing this due to sheer lethargy, and that is how all the good things that you want to do never get done. It requires tremendous effort to veer away from the normal course of leading our lives and take up an activity that would require us to compromise on many of the comforts we have been enjoying. I realized that I was all talk and no action, despite my self- proclaimed empathy. I have avoided the beggars, on the streets, on the doorsteps of the temples, at the traffic junctions, and when they tap on my car windows. I avoid looking at them because I feel uncomfortable. You are really not sure as to who is a genuine sufferer and who a fake. You do not want to be taken for a ride. What is the option if you really feel and want to contribute to the alleviation of this suffering with whatever resources you have with you? I keep asking myself as to how and what difference I could make. I have always shied away from taking the final step.’

This is an extract from my book ‘I AM JUST AN ORDINARY MAN’ published six years ago. If you ask me how far I have proceeded thereafter, the reply is, not much. Whenever I read what I have written it’s with a sense of unease. It’s all words and no deeds- a question of conscience perhaps? Or rather pangs of conscience.

When I wrote about the old age home, it was a home for the destitute. People who have been abandoned by their near and dear ones, to be taken care of in homes set up by some charitable trust.

I had earlier made a review of a book ‘Being Mortal’ by Atul Gawande. This book disturbs you. It lays bare the reality of aging and increasing dependence. In the chapter ‘Dependence’ Gawande says “It is not death that the very old tell me they fear. It is what happens short of death – losing their hearing, their memory, their best friends, their way of life.” He says we do not think about the eventuality that most of us will spend significant periods of our lives too reduced and debilitated to live independently. As a result, most of us are unprepared for it.

 In the beginning of his book, Gawande talks about his grandfather who lived till the age of a hundred and ten years and ultimately passed away surrounded by a large family in the midst of the people he loved and in his home. He says “My father’s father had the kind of traditional old age that from a Western perspective, seems idyllic” He continues “But in my grandfather’s world, how he wanted to live was his choice, and the family’s role was to make it possible”. In a splintered world this is definitely an idyllic if not an impossible situation.

In ‘The Philosophy of Loyalty” written by a Harvard Philosopher Josiah Royce, Royce wanted to understand why simply existing – why being merely housed and fed and safe and alive – seems empty and meaningless to us. What more is it that we need in order to feel that life is worthwhile? The answer he believed is that we all seek a cause beyond ourselves. This was to him, an intrinsic human need.

Those who have read my book ‘Darkness and Beyond’ will be able to connect the following narration with the story ‘Waiting for Deliverance’ in the book -

Sometime ago I dropped in at my friend’s place as it was some time since I had seen him (all this while I was waiting for an opportunity to visit him). When I enquired about his mother, he took me to her room where I found her lying on a cot totally immobilized. There was a nurse in attendance. My friend then told me “She has been like that for more than a year now, partially paralyzed and failing eyesight. Of course, over the years she had been suffering from a slow deterioration of her mental faculties. Though she can recollect certain things from the past, the present to her never really embeds itself in her memory”. When my friend told her my name there was a faint acknowledgment with her movable hand. When I leaned close to her, she said in a faint voice “why God does not take me away, why does he make me wait like this?”

We now have hospices, palliative care and assisted living for those whose children can afford it and have the inclination to do so. At the higher end of the spectrum, we have senior homes where you find those who have opted to be there and have the resources to do so. They come in two categories – those who treasure their own space and live within a community as they age, and those, whose near and dear ones are in a faraway land for whom it is possible to come down and meet them once a while. In these cases, despite the loneliness of living alone, there is always the comfort that there is someone and a sense of belonging. What about the destitute you find on the street? The luckier ones are those who have been taken to the doorstep and abandoned thereafter. What about the man on the street? Left to himself on the pavements, living on the scraps and leftovers and the charity of passersby, too infirm to do any sort of labor that could sustain him to an extent, to one day disappear: an inconsequential existence. Is it possible to alleviate or decrease such an existence, or do we just let it be, for we convince ourselves that’s what life is about? A philosophical musing indeed! As long as poverty exists the disparity in the quality of life will continue. But in a country as diverse and populated as ours to what extent can these disparities be removed? Is it possible? It is a Catch-22 situation. But should it be? Can something be done collectively? There are of course individuals who from their own experiences of tending to an aged parent or a spouse, strive to find ways and means of improving the quality of life of the old and infirm. A welfare state should address this problem for as the years progress the gravity of the situation will only increase, with an aging population. It is not only a question of Individual conscience but in the larger scheme of things it is a Question of Collective Conscience

That day before I left, my friend said “It is very difficult watching her suffer like this. I should not say this, but the truth is I am also waiting for her to pass away so that she is spared of further agony.” I felt sad for him.

This brings us to another question – When there are no means of extending life even when it is known that the patients have passed beyond a stage where subjecting them to painful processes will only end up in extending the suffering without allowing them to go in peace, is Euthanasia an answer? Another question of conscience perhaps?

I intend to examine this – ‘A Question of Conscience – Euthanasia’ in my next post.

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THE DIARY OF MRITYUNJAY - A JOURNEY'S END

THE DIARY OF MRITYUNJAY

“We wanderers, ever seeking the lonelier way,

begin no day where we have ended another day;

 and no sunrise finds us where sunset left us.

 Even while the earth sleeps, we travel.

 We are the seeds of the tenacious plant,

 and it is in our ripeness and our fullness of heart

 that we are given to the wind and are scattered.

- Khalil Gibran, The Prophet

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,

                                         --------

                                From, The Road Not Taken, by Robert Frost

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to all those known and unknown faces who never returned home after the Kedarnath disaster which occurred on the 16^thJune 2013. To their families who live with the scars left behind by those traumatic days.

PREFACE

 ‘It is very difficult to accept one’s mortality. But that is the truth; one day we shall cease to be. I have never believed in divine interventions or an afterlife, for these only tend to distract you from the present reality – that we live, and should at every moment be aware that life is what you make of it.’ This is a passage from the story ‘Enigma’ in my last book ‘Autumn Leaves – Seasons of Life’. In ‘The Diary of Mrityunjay’ I have continued to explore further, this train of thought. All the three books before this have been an exploration, whether it be an inward journey to understand oneself or an outward reach into the lives of people hoping for a beyond of the darkness that threatens to engulf them and overcoming the looming reality of aging and loneliness. But I have never ended in despair. It has always been my belief that the angst which creeps into our lives at some point or the other can be overcome through an acceptance of the temporality of life. This of course is easier said than done, for no one wants to be erased into nothingness. It is when faced with the futility of living a life that has an end, which sets us on a search for a meaning to our existence. Is it therefore preferable to spend our lives in contemplation of a certain end or soak ourselves in the wonders of creation and understand the world we live in, to the utmost?

I reproduce a passage from Hermann Hesse’s book ‘Narcissus and Goldmund’ which aptly describes the dilemma we face in trying to immortalize ourselves- ‘He thought the fear of death was perhaps the root of all art, perhaps also of all things of the mind. We fear death, we shudder at life's instability, we grieve to see the flowers wilt again and again, and the leaves fall, and in our hearts, we know that we too are transitory, and will soon disappear. When artists create pictures and thinkers search for laws and formulate thoughts, it is in order to salvage something from the great dance of death, to make something that lasts longer than we do.’

It has taken me a longer time to complete this book than the other three books, for I had to read and reread it several times while writing, to make sure there was clarity and continuance in my thought process. But I am happy that I have been able to arrive at answers to some of the questions that have plagued me over the years, and I believe that these are also reflections of the thoughts that occupy the minds of everyone.

That is why Mrityunjay, which means ‘Conqueror of death’, is symbolic with our bid to immortality.

For more than a year, after my third book ‘Autumn Leaves – Seasons of Life’ was published, I did not write much. Even the postings in my blog were few and far between. A certain listlessness had taken hold of me and I found it difficult to break out. It was as if I had exhausted myself and was bereft of any new thought that I could transcribe into the written word. I did nothing and waited. It was then that I happened to see a documentary on the Kedarnath disaster that took place in June 2013. That rekindled the angst I had felt while reading about it at that time, especially so, because a colleague and his wife never returned. I was aware that friends and relations still hoped for a miracle that would bring them back, even months after their disappearance. Six years have gone by and though the wounds would have healed by now, the scars will remain, and the memory of those traumatic days will continue to haunt.

This was the trigger that made me write this book. It has nothing to do with any individual or event and is a fictionalized account of one man’s journey through the midst of this disaster, in search of a meaning in life, and the redemption of a woman traumatized by past relationships.

INTRODUCTION

Mrityunjay literally means ‘Conqueror of death’. This is also a name by which the God Shiva is referred to. The name of the protagonist in the book was a natural outcome of the fact that the genesis of the book is the Kedarnath tragedy and the ruling deity in the temple is Shiva.

 Ahalya was the first name that came to my mind when developing the character of a woman who had been a victim of circumstances and her own frailty, undergoes the trauma of guilt and betrayal, the consequences of which make her distance herself from further relationships, and in her own words she had become ‘numb and cold as a stone’. In the Ramayana the story of Ahalya is narrated. Ahalya is punished for her perceived infidelity by her husband the Sage Gautama to become a stone and remain so till her redemption by Rama. There have been various interpretations of Ahalya’s story by different authors, but the principal question that remains is as to how far Ahalya alone was responsible for her predicament. Weren’t the men in her life more to be blamed for her sufferance? The Ahalya in this book meets her redeemer in Mrityunjay. There is no resemblance to the story in the epic Ramayana, except the concept of a wronged woman.

On the 16^th June 2013, the temple town of Kedarnath was devastated by the floodwaters of the Mandakini and the Saraswathi due to heavy rains in the area and the overflow from the Chorabari lake. Hundreds of people lost their lives, and more were reported missing; not to talk about the near-total decimation of what was once a thriving temple town. It’s in the backdrop of this disaster that the story of Mrityunjay is set. Mrityunjay who is on a search for a purpose in life, comes face to face with his own mortality and ends up realizing that ‘the purpose of life is a philosophical question. We spend our lives trying to find an answer, but this eludes us time and again. When you think you have found an answer, a new dimension opens. So, there is really no end’.

 It’s also the story of Ahalya who suffers from the trauma of betrayal in her earlier relationships and finds in Mrityunjay, the redeemer who pulls her out of the morass she had fallen into and gives a new direction to her life.

Apart from the slew of characters who form part of Mrityunjay’s journey, the river plays an important role in the book. The creative force of its serenity and the destructive nature of its turbulence on its journey to merge with the ocean are but allegorical representations of our journey through life.

In his book ‘The Hindu View of Life’ Dr. S. Radhakrishnan writes-

Life is like a game of bridge. We did not frame the rules and we cannot control the dealing. The cards are dealt out to us, whether they be good or bad, but we can play the game well or play it badly. A skillful player may have a poor hand and yet win the game. A bad player may have a good hand and yet make a mess of it. Our life is a mixture of necessity and freedom, chance and choice. We may not change events, but we can change our approach to events.

There is scope for the exercise of free will within the boundaries of the cards dealt to us and the rules of the game over which we have no control. This would explain the circumstances of our birth and the constraints which we seek to overcome. The dealer of the cards is always a mystery. Is it God?

The four lines in the poem, ‘Little Gidding’ from T.S. Eliot’s ‘Four Quartets’, aptly sums up what I have tried to portray in this book ‘The Diary of Mrityunjay’.

‘We shall not cease from exploration

And the end of all our exploring

Will be to arrive where we started

And know the place for the first time.’

DRIFTER

Drifter

Drifter,

You peacefully make your way,

Across ephemeral heights,

Look down,

This mortal tries to reach you,

Shed a tear or two,

Cleanse him,

His frivolous fantasies,

Have stained and stirred his whim.

Drifter,

You drift away endlessly,

Showering on distant views,

Like a lover, your nectar;

Whilst he a balloon bloats,

Rises high,

In newfound power;

Punctured,

Falls down dead and dry,

An autumn leaf from the sky.

Drifter,

Sometimes ominous, in grayish form,

You burst into tears and seek,

To reform,

Our brownish parched pastures,

To dress in verdant cloaks,

While he in rapture,

Squeezes out little saltish drops,

To revive in vain those visions lost

Drifter,

I gaze above,

Your whiskers white,

With silent wisdom,

Makes me shiver.

As my ignorance heightens,

Assumes appalling attitudes,

Dumbfounded, I bow my head,

On the guillotine,

Awaiting my execution.

A QUESTION OF CONSCIENCE - 1

A QUESTION OF CONSCIENCE - 1

Few days ago, while on a chat with a good old friend, he made an observation ‘You at times come across as very hesitant to hit the nail on its head just to avoid the possibility of someone getting hurt’. I accepted that it could be true. Of course, in the process, I asked myself where I stand. This followed a video which he had sent, a disturbing one about the migrants who were on the way back to their homes far away, forced by the present situation and the general apathy shown towards their plight, though there were words galore expressing sympathy, deeds were few. I write this as I sit safe and comfortable within the confines of my apartment. I can afford to do that because this is my home and I am assured of the care and attention of dear ones. Yes, I am appalled at what is happening outside. But how concerned am I? A question of conscience? Well, I had to accept that as long as nothing happens to my dear and near ones and I am safe, I can afford to speculate on the travails of the common man on the street, leave alone the larger problem and the tragedy of the migrant, and sympathize.

I understood what he meant when he said that I am hesitant to hit the nail on the head. Yes, that’s true. I have always kept away from being judgmental, but in the process, my writings have always tended towards exploring an individual’s anxiety rather than taking a stand on the plight of the individual in what at most times comes across as an indifferent world. Of course, as an individual, I am bound by my own limitations of physical strength and more importantly, I find it is the lack of will on my part to actively involve myself in the only way I know – writing. How much can I contribute to raising a general awareness? I am not a reformer nor am I a man of much consequence, but I realize that it requires a will greater than the individual’s, a collective will, and determination of the powers that are, in this case, the Government. It’s also true that you require two hands to clap, but one is enough to slap. That perhaps is the only way I can describe Democracy and Dictatorship. We abhor Authoritarianism for it treads on the individual’s freedom. We are still to describe what exactly is an individual’s freedom. Man is a social animal (well, that’s the adage), but how much of your freedom are you willing to sacrifice to prove that you are indeed a social animal. This is another question of conscience. One can never discount the fact that over the ages there have been (they still are) individuals whose overwhelming concern was/is for the general good. But a majority of us sit back and let them do their work, applauding perhaps, and most time finding holes to justify our own inability to come up with solutions. Introspection, the will to change, and last but not the least, active participation is what is needed.

I remember that long time ago I wrote some poems, out of the sheer angst that I felt arising out of youthful idealism. They have now been confined to the pages of a collection of a book of poems that I titled ‘Secrets of the Soul’. There are a few lines which I reproduce here -

 The old man sits,

His hands no longer outstretched,

But held over his head,

In a vain attempt,

To shelter from the rain.

There are no trees in this city,

No roof for this old man,

As he waits,

For the rain to stop,

On the pavement.

The rain stops,

The night grows cold:  From Ominous Patterns

There is a long poem titled ‘The Refugee’ which I have posted earlier in my blog so I am reproducing only a few lines here–

I toil to lighten,

That everlasting hunger.

And the nights I retire,

Into that world of dreams,

Myself in the midst,

Of all those past scenes.

But dear sir, this I know,

I am waiting for the day,

The day I have to go”

With these words he moved,

Back to the world of dreams.

He had taken refuge.

‘Fragments’ which you could even term as a question of conscience-

“How can I a living earn?”

I hear the leper cry,

But I wait for him to pass me by.

The truth is he is right,

And I am aware of his plight.

But I stay still,

Unmoved,

Silent and straight as that hill.

I reproduced the above only to highlight the fact that we all have similar questions of conscience. We have felt, but moved on, like the last four lines of the last poem. Recognition of a problem does not solve it. Somewhere along the way we become too involved with ourselves and let all those feelings bury themselves deep inside us. It is time for us to dig them out and evaluate where we stand. Maybe we shall find our way to authenticity.

Coming back to where we started, the Migrant. The video was disturbing, but not judgmental, for it depicted a reality as it exists, leaving the rest as a ‘Question of Conscience’. Herds or rather hordes, whichever way you want to classify them, the first is a large group of animals and the second a large group of people with their families. So it is correct to say hordes of migrants making their way back to their homes far away – some bundled in vehicles and others not so lucky on foot with blisters bursting, desperate to be in their homes (which they had left for sustenance), to be again with their near and dear ones, not knowing whether they will reach their destination, but willing to risk even their lives in trying, rather than die of starvation in an alien land.

When I first mentioned herd, it was only because the first reaction was a herd of sheep. But the difference was that they were shepherded and sure of reaching their destination. But the second and more morbid picture was that of cattle herded into a truck taking them to the abattoir.

The migrant problem will exist as long as the problem of poverty, scarcity, and security exist in the country. I know that this is not a problem that can be solved overnight in a country as populated and diverse as ours. The problem will exist, but can we make it more comfortable and welcome to all those people who have left their homes to be with us, for the reality is we need them as much as they need us.

PREFACE TO A CHILD'S FANTASY WORLD (Yet untitled)

PREFACE

A CHILD'S FANTASY WORLD (Yet untitled)

I have completed my fourth book ‘The Diary of Mrityunjay’ but have held up its publication till such time the present situation shows a semblance of heading towards normalcy. Meanwhile, I started work on my fifth book (as yet untitled) to keep a promise I made my grandson that I shall write a book for him. So here I am attempting a genre that I have never attempted ‘Children’s Fantasy’, and let me confess that I find it difficult. But I feel it slowly growing on me and it is enchanting. It is my habit to give my readers a peek at what they can expect. I am not giving anything away for I myself am not sure what will unfold in the pages to follow. It is as much a suspense to me, but the peek I promised is through the PREFACE. So please read on-

There is a whole world out there. A world that gives us refuge, even if it is for a short time, from the drudgery of our present life in this present world: an alternate universe that takes us away to a land of magic and chivalry where mythical creatures come alive. The more I think about it, the more I feel pulled into that world. All it needs us is to take that step forward and cross the boundary we have drawn to limit our imaginations. It’s people who ventured to dream and took the plunge into this realm who have given rise to great fantasy literature like ‘The Lord of the Rings’, ‘Harry Potter’, and their ilk? Now we have numerous authors and numerous books that take us to this world and we like it. During the time when we read the book or see the movie, we live there. Even as an adult these books have fascinated us and the possible existence of another dimension starts taking shape in our minds.   So, the truth is we like fantasy, which has been the preserve of every child. We want to be that child again.

The earliest I can remember are the fantasy world of the Indian epics and Greek mythology. I found myself plunging into the world of gods and demons and of retribution and rewards, Hanuman the monkey god and the avatars and exploits of Vishnu and Shiva. I have traveled along with Ulysses on his voyages or with Jason and the Argonauts, the land of Cyclops the one-eyed giants, Scylla and Charybdis, the Greek Gods Zeus and the others residing in Olympia. The dragons happened later and the dinosaurs still later, while the former still remains mythical, Dinosaurs have been documented to be real and extinct, recreated from the fossils found at various places around the world. They once walked on this earth, and that is why movies like the Jurassic Park, which transport us to an era long gone by, a lost world, appeal to us.

From a toddler fascinated by a puppy or a kitten, waving his hands in glee, to a four-year-old chasing and feeding goats, sheep and geese in the Grant’s Farm, slowly moving on to the zoo, looking at the wild animals behind enclosures with a sense of awe and anticipation, the child goes through the entire gamut of growing up, to understanding that all this is part of his world. This perhaps is his first glance at the wonders of nature. A natural progression to the land of fantasy through books completes his world: a world of reality and imagination. While the natural world helps to understand and develop a relationship with the environment, the fantasy world stimulates imagination and creativity. A  balanced development of both is absolutely necessary for molding personality. It is sad that we have moved away into a cloistered world where our children grow up behind walls, busy with their gadgets and innovations. Should they be deprived of a childhood of pure joy and innocence? Progress and development are necessary for the world to move on, and I will be the first to say that the present generation is smarter, independent, more informed, and innovative. But are they as empathetic, and understanding as they need to be? Do they have the time? Much of the environment has been destroyed and polluted; the price we have paid for the development. Forests have been cut down and the rivers have dried up, animals are slowly turning into endangered species; the repercussions of which will be felt by the generations to come.

There is no limit to human imagination as mythology has shown us. It has fed and nurtured our growing up years. Memories of a childhood that has remained buried deep in our psyche, sometimes appear as fleeting moments, not nostalgia, but déjà vu, an overwhelming sense of familiarity, of having been there. But how does one sustain that moment, an ache that grows as you age? How does one dig out that childhood? Well, I realized that it takes a child to do that to you.

That’s what my grandson did to me. He took me along to a world of his own and helped me discover mine.

ALBERT CAMUS’S – 'THE PLAGUE' ITS RELEVANCE TODAY

ALBERT CAMUS’S – THE PLAGUE

ITS RELEVANCE TODAY

 Forty-five years ago, I first read Albert Camus’s novel ‘The Plague’. This was the third book of his after ‘The Fall’ and ‘The Outsider’ that I had picked up for reading, not only because the first two had created such an impact on my thinking process, but because this was cited as one of the great books of those times. Now looking back, I am convinced that it is one of the great books of all time. The relevance of Camus’s novel becomes even starker when we contemplate and try to understand the situation we now find ourselves in. The Corona pandemic has made us reassess our attitudes towards life and death. It has exposed our fragility in the face of ultimate termination. The book is prophetic; which we realize now. When I first read the book, what left an impact was its literary translation of human emotions and one could actually feel the terror that encompassed the whole population of a city when faced with an epidemic of enormous proportions. As a young man, my life was proceeding on predicted lines and the possibility of such a situation sweeping the entire world was never within the scope of my imagination. Of course, though such epidemics have occurred from time to time in some clusters around the world, they never threatened a whole population. Even when I used to travel from Ahmedabad to Baroda and back, daily during the plague epidemic in Surat, I have never felt so insecure as I do now. I could never imagine being locked down in one’s own home for three months at a stretch. Though we are hopeful that a cure will be there in the course of time, what until then? Like all things, this too shall pass is the common refrain, and we continue with that hope and I am sure we shall overcome. Now, as a much older and presumably a more mature individual, I find myself reassessing my view of the world and my way of life. I am sure this situation is bound to bring about a new normal and like we believe a crisis in our personal lives, brings about an awakening within us, so also this universal crisis is bound to give rise to an awakening in the universal consciousness. And so, it happened that I was reminded of ‘The Plague’ and Albert Camus and what I had read decades ago. I knew I had to read it again and it was no surprise that for so many people out there it had become a topic for discussion and reviews. Camus had become relevant once again and this time his book was flying of the shelves. Though I had a paperback edition dating forty-five years ago and whose pages had also started aging along with me, it was lying in my bookshelf in Chennai. I decided to buy the Kindle version which would make it easier for me to review the book. And as I read through it, the characters came alive once again, more real, and I felt as if I was also one of the many unnamed characters in the book.

There have been plagues and epidemics dating back to prehistoric times decimating millions of people along the way. They have often resulted in changing the course of history. If we just confine ourselves to the last hundred years starting with the Spanish Flu which lasted from 1916 t0 1920 which claimed over 500 million people, there have been five of them not counting the present Corona epidemic. The Asian Flu, Ebola, H1N1, and Zika. But perhaps the one epidemic for which a permanent cure is yet to be found is AIDS which first came to be noticed in 1981 and to this day is still prevalent, though medication has since been developed in managing the virus. The fact is that we have learned to live with epidemics and come back to our normal lives though with a change as to how to live again.

The Plague by Albert Camus is an extraordinary odyssey into the darkness and absurdity of human existence. Other than Camus’s book there have been a number of books on pandemics of which Katherine Anne Porter’s book ‘Pale Horse, Pale Rider’ written in the year 1939 based on the Spanish Flu, and Margaret Atwood’s ‘The Year of the Flood’ written in 2009 in which she envisages a world devastated by a virus immediately comes to mind. It’s our misfortune that we find ourselves in the midst of something akin to what these authors prophetically wrote. There will be books and there will be epidemics in the future also, but as always, we shall carry on.

Coming back to Camus and ‘The Plague’, there have been various interpretations. While some find that the story is an allegory of the French Resistance to the Nazis in World War II, others find a metaphor of something stealthily taking over our lives and causing a change in our behavior.

The story is woven around a plague pandemic that threatens the entire population of nearly two hundred thousand in the city of Oran, a French colony of Algeria. The year of the plague is not specific, it is in the spring of 194- that it first raised its head and went on till February of the following year. The entire novel is in the form of a narrative and it is only, in the end, we find out who the narrator is. The first ominous signs of what is to follow appear early in the book- 

'On the morning of April 16, Dr. Rieux emerged from his consulting-room and came across a dead rat in the middle of the landing.' It starts with the rats. Vomiting blood, they die in their hundreds, then in their thousands. When the rats are all gone, the citizens begin to fall sick. Like the rats, they too die in ever greater numbers. The authorities quarantine the town. Cut off, the terrified townspeople must face this horror alone. Some resign themselves to death or the whims of fate. Others seek someone to blame or dream of revenge. One is determined to escape. But a few, like stoic Dr. Rieux, stand together to fight the terror. A monstrous evil has entered their lives, but they will never surrender to it. They will resist the plague'.

The narrator says – ‘In this respect, our townsfolk were like everybody else, wrapped up in themselves; in other words, they were humanists: they disbelieved in pestilences. A pestilence isn’t a thing made to man’s measure therefore we tell ourselves that pestilence is a mere bogey of the mind, a bad dream that will pass away. But it doesn’t always pass away and, from one bad dream to another, it is men who pass away, and the humanists first of all, because they haven’t taken their precautions.’

The book is replete with philosophical musings and each of the principal characters represents an aspect of human character and behavior. There is one sentence towards the end that tells us – ‘quite simply what we learn in a time of pestilence: that there are more things to admire in men than to despise.’

The principal characters in the book are – Dr. Rieux, Jean Tarrou, Raymond Rambert, Joseph Grand, Cottard, and Father Panelou. It is not my intention to discuss the role of each character here. But I shall highlight certain passages and conversations that take place between them, especially Rieux, Tarrou, and Father Panelou. The essence of the book lies in these conversations and one cannot but conclude that it is through Rieux that Camus speaks for himself. Rieux does not believe in God but believes that he is doing what needs to be done in the struggle against death despite the fact that the outcome is ultimately doomed to fail. At the other end of the spectrum is Panelou a Jesuit priest who believes that the plague is an act of God to punish those who have sinned but offers hope that God is present to offer succor to those who believe in him. Though towards the end he softens his stand, he is taken ill but refuses to call a doctor, firm in his belief that God alone can cure him and dies.

The following conversation between Tarrou and Rieux I feel is very much Camus himself -

“Do you believe in God doctor?” Again, the question was put in an ordinary tone. But this time Rieux took longer to find his answer.

“No, but what does that really mean? I’m fumbling in the dark, struggling to make something out. But I’ve long ceased finding the original.”

“Isn’t that the gulf between Paneloux and you?”

“I doubt it. Paneloux is a man of learning, a scholar. He hasn’t come in contact with death; that’s why he can speak with such assurance of the truth, with a capital T. but every country priest who visits his parishioners and has heard a man gasping for breath on his deathbed thinks as I do. He’d try to relieve human suffering before trying to point out its excellence.”

“My question is this,” said Tarrou. “Why do you yourself show such devotion, considering you don’t believe in God? I suspect your answer may help me to mine.”

His face, still in shadow, Rieux said he had already answered: that if he believed in an all-powerful God, he would cease curing the sick and leave that to Him. But no one in the world believed in a God of that sort; not even Paneloux, who believed he believed in such a God. And this is proved by the fact that no one ever threw himself on Providence completely. Anyhow, in this respect Rieux believed himself to be on the right road in fighting against creation itself.

“I have no idea what’s awaiting me, or what will happen when all this ends. For the moment I know this; there are sick people and they need curing. Later on, perhaps, they’ll think things over; and so shall I. But what’s wanted now is to make them well. I defend them as best as I can, that’s all.”

In another piece of the conversation, Rieux says -

“Since the order of the world is shaped by death, mightn’t it be better for God if we refuse to believe in Him and struggle with all our might against death. Without raising our eyes towards the heavens where he sits in silence.”

Tarrou nodded. “Yes. But your victories will never be lasting; that’s all.”

Rieux’s face darkened.

“Yes, I know that. But it’s no reason for giving up the struggle.”

At the other end of the spectrum we have Father Panelou whose extreme faith in God is brought forth by the narrator –

‘He, Father Panelou, refused to have recourse to simple devices enabling him to scale that wall. Thus, he might easily have assured them that the child’s sufferings would be compensated for by an eternity of bliss awaiting him. But how could he give that assurance when, to tell the truth, he knew nothing about it? For who would dare assert that eternal happiness can compensate for a single moment’s suffering?

No, he, Father Panelou, would keep faith with that great symbol of all suffering, the tortured body on the Cross; he would stand fast, his back to the wall, and face honestly the terrible problem of a child’s agony. And he would boldly say to those who listened to his words today: “My brothers, a time of testing has come for us all. We must believe everything or deny everything. And who among you I ask, would dare deny everything?”

It is necessary to discuss both Rieux and Panelou to understand Camus’s view of life. when Rieux says ‘I have no idea what’s awaiting me, or what will happen when all this ends. For the moment I know this; there are sick people and they need curing’, it is about finding a purpose in life and pursuing it rather than speculating on the meaning of existence. Despite the discussions on existentialism and absurdism which center around the plight of the individual in an irrational universe, we can try to relate the above sentence to what Krishna says in the Bhagavad Gita about Karma about doing one’s duty without expecting the fruits thereof. It is not necessary to believe in God to realize the import of this statement; this only defines a purpose in life. So, there is no anomaly when Rieux says he does not believe in God. In the end, he has contributed more constructively by healing and saving lives than Panelou did, but we cannot discount the fact that Panelou served the devout in us and gave hope that atonement of one’s sins and placing faith in God was the only way towards healing, though it may not have prevented the deaths, it still left open a window of hope to those who were critically ill.

In my viewpoint the characters of Rieux and Tarrou give glimpses of Buddhism especially doing what is required of an individual to attain liberation through finding a purpose in life. Buddhism encompasses the basic existentialist view that life is full of anxiety (Dukka). But it goes beyond, by identifying the causes for this suffering and the path to overcome this and attain enlightenment. Rieux works tirelessly throughout the epidemic, though he has his own misgivings as to the final result. The final retreat of the plague is perhaps is his redemption.

While Camus never wanted to be dubbed an existentialist of the Sartre school of atheistic existentialism, which believes that life is intrinsically meaningless and is only the sum total of the choices one makes, in trying to make it authentic, Camus’s Philosophy of the Absurd is reflected in the basic premise that it is the innate tendency of an individual to find a purpose even though he is not sure as to the final outcome. This is the absurdity that is explored in Camus’s ‘The Myth of Sisyphus’.

How relevant is the ‘The Plague’ to the present scenario we find ourselves in? It is really astounding that when you go through the book you realize that what is happening now is very similar to what has been described in graphic detail decades ago. Whether it is the fear psychosis, the measures taken to prevent the spread of the epidemic, the dedicated and tireless work of groups of individuals in taking care of the afflicted, the resistance to the imposition of stringent regulations by the authorities and lastly the realization that we have to move on but with a changed perspective and living a new life. The threat will always loom over our heads but that is where new lessons are learned, new beliefs come into existence. The concept of divine redemption may also undergo a change. Man can never exist without hope and hope without faith. We will continue to pray to the same Gods; and the temples, churches, and mosques will open again, but hopefully this time with more understanding rather than blind faith.

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