Death of Liberal

It was a dull day. I could not remember the last time I felt so spiritless. Nevertheless, one has to earn his livelihood and so I dragged myself slowly to the office. ‘It’s going to be a bad day’, I thought. I was walking drearily on the pavement of the big city when suddenly a commotion sought my attention. I identified the source – it was coming from an assembly of people at a distance. ‘What’s the matter?’ – I was tempted to join the group. I looked at my watch – still a few minutes left before I could be officially declared ‘late’ for the office. I consulted my guidebook for office principles and found rule 65 specifically stating – ‘Thou shall not attempt to arrive late at workplace – it ruins your appraisal but more importantly robs you of some of your hard earned money from your salary’. But who said that rules are always to be followed? So, I joined the continuously swelling crowd to take a firsthand account of whatever was happening. 

Ours is a country of onlookers / bystanders. It is our favourite activity which provides us with ample scope of entertainment and excuse to waste time. So, it took me sometime to cut through the sea of humanity and reach the front. The sight shocked me. A man was being mauled by several hounds. I could recognize the breed of a few hounds – ‘Fundamentalism’, ‘Feudalism’, ‘Regionalism’, ‘Casteism’, and ‘Communalism’. I had to face some of these breeds earlier but those were not as strong as the ones in this particular case. The man was in peril – ‘I need to do something’, I decided. I looked at the fellow ‘bystanders’ for help and saw a few terror stricken eyes; some others had glee on their face while others looked completely indifferent to the plight of the man. And then I saw a small group of visibly tensed people with concerns in their eyes. I had finally identified my support group. I made my way towards them. Once in the vicinity I asked – ‘Why are you guys not helping the man?’ 

‘Does it make any sense to court trouble? We had our share of bad days. This time it is not our fight.’ said one.

‘And just look at those hounds – have you seen how strong they are? Even if we enter the battleground, it will hardly change the script of this episode.’ remarked another.

I looked at the ‘battleground’ – the man, despite being critically injured, was trying his best to fight back. But the result was evident – it was a losing battle. If the man was not helped immediately he was sure to die. ‘I thought that the guy was one of your acquaintances and thus assumed that you would help. I’m sorry. It seems that I would have to help this guy on my own then.’

‘He is indeed a close aide. But this time we cannot help him. And I suggest that you keep yourself out of the trouble’s way.’ said the elderly one.

‘Then I suggest that you keep your suggestions to yourself.’ Mouthing this cheesy dialogue I moved towards the arena with a swagger that would have made Sunny Deol proud. And at the very next moment I found myself restrained. The ‘wrongly identified’ support group used all its muscle power to hold me back. I tried to break free but failed. ‘Leave me. Leave me. That man will die. Help him or let me help him.’ I cried.

‘You need not plunge into the midst of this confrontation. Think of your family, your loved ones.’ the elderly tried to reason with me.

‘Understand your limits. You cannot stand the evils of these hounds. It is better if you let them have their say.’ advised the strongest of them all.

They hold me back while I watched the hounds taking the man to the doors of death – their claws ripping his clothes, their teeth sinking into his flesh. I felt a stream of water running down my cheek. As I wiped my tears, I heard the sounds of sirens coming from a distance. A cavalcade of ‘Lal Battis’ (cars with red beacons) came to a screeching halt at that place. The hounds, having completed their task, stood to their ground. No one came out of the cavalcade though. The hounds growled & barked at the cars and then dispersed. And suddenly there was a flutter of activities. Occupants came out of the cars – one declared the man dead; some others gave ‘important bites’ to news people who had come along with them; some other took photos while the ones in khakis started with their job of dispersing the sea of ‘bystanders’. 

The group eased me out of their restraints. I sensed that they shared my remorse. I found some of them with moist eyes.

‘Today we lost another visionary.’ said the elderly. 

‘Who was that guy?’ I asked.

‘He used to go by the name of Liberal - A great man and a true believer of humanity.’

‘Why did the hounds attack him?’

‘Well, he was preaching a way of life which would have driven these hounds out of our society. He was urging people to support peace and reason. He wanted people to believe in co-existence of ideas & identities.’ explained the elderly.

‘And that brought him his death. We warned him that the idea is too radical for our times. But he would not listen. He went overboard with his philosophy and met this sad end.’ quipped another from the group.

‘But I do not think it is too radical for our times. Is it? In fact it is more relevant now. What is the harm in accepting that there can be a different view than mine or that others have as much right to live as myself?’

‘You are naïve. I sensed it when you decided to help him. There were so many people out there. Most of them knew that he was correct but how many actually come out to help him? None. Not even us. Being a ‘Liberal’ is not easy. Once his way was emerging as fad but now the opposite mentality drives the market.’

‘So, he died for nothing.’

‘The most likely answer is yes. However, there is a glimmer of hope that his death will galvanize the terror stricken ones and the indifferent ones to take a stand – the righteous one. Otherwise this society will slowly move to the gallows.’ 

Our discussion was interrupted by the khakis who wanted us to leave. We bid goodbye. I checked my watch – it was meaningless to go to the office at that time. I looked back at the body of Liberal. They were readying him for a transport, probably for a postmortem. While I trudged back, I wished that his death does not go waste.  

P.S.: One of my posts with similar topic can be found here.