Annie Zaidi: What the gods didn’t ask for

That particular god-defender had a round sort of face and a tilak. That’s what I broadly remember about him. And, of course, his protesting an ‘insult’ to the gods.

It was the day before Diwali. An aspiring, enthusiastic poet had just recited a poem at an open mic (full disclosure: I help run a monthly open mic, and this week, I also happened to be conducting the proceedings). He seems to enjoy dabbling in political satire, but this time, he pointed a finger at the incongruities between people named after gods and goddesses, and their professions. For instance, divine names might be given to a drunkard or a gambler or a waiter or a bar dancer or a beggar.

It was received in a spirit of fun. Most people laughed. But as soon as the poet left, the round-faced young man with a tilak on his forehead, approached me and said he wanted to come up to the microphone.

I thought he was a poet/performer too, so I asked him to wait his turn. Then he said, “No I want to say something right now — about this particular work… it’s not right.”

I was too taken aback at first to ask what wasn’t right, but he told us anyway. “This thing about gods, insulting god, it isn’t right.”
What I wanted to do, then, was roll my eyes. Instead, I found myself getting anxious. But I wasn’t about to be cowed, of course. So I told the angry young god-defender that this was between us and gods; we’d settle our own scores. 

He went off and stood around sulking for a bit, and complaining to the nearest person who was too polite to protest. But until he left the venue, I remained anxious, mostly on account of the young performer whose work had given him offence. 

What I found surprising was that the poem should be offensive to anyone who was concerned about the gods. If anything, the poet had already taken offence on their behalf, and written about how inappropriate it was that people who are not powerful in any way should be allowed to bear the names of Them, whom we worship. I personally didn’t care so much for the poem, but that was because of its slightly unkind irony — poking fun at the most fragile amongst us. It was almost as if the god-defender had randomly latched on to the few stray words, and decided that name of the gods should not be taken in vain.

Accusing someone of having insulted the gods (or a faith) is the easiest way to make him (or her) a target for violence. And in our country, it is also the most difficult violence to punish. And so, when faced with accusations of having insulted someone’s religious faith (or caste identity), we panic. Unlike our political/economic/ecological beliefs, we do not really defend our religious ideas. We take for granted that everyone owes them respect. And we do this by seizing upon divinity.

Say the ‘god’ word and all arguments are silenced. When it comes to offence-giving, the burden of proof lies upon the accused. And how does anyone prove that the gods have NOT been insulted? Of course, the gods themselves do not strike us down. At least, not at the precise moment of the alleged offence-giving. So it is just as likely that the gods don’t mind the occasional insult. After all, if the gods do not will it, not a leaf moves. I wish I’d had the presence of mind to at least remind the god-defender that.

Annie Zaidi writes poetry, stories, essays, scripts (and in a dark, distant past, recipes she never actually tried).