Recently I watched a documentary on National Geographic. It was about a tribe’s deep-rooted hatred against modern medical practices. For instance, surgery was a complete no-no for them, no matter how complicated the disease.
When someone had epileptic seizures, everybody watched with rapt attention, reading it as a spirit wandering away towards heaven, seeking divinity. Once I finished with the documentary, I could not help but wonder what faith is all about. This is modern age, and yet we cling to our faith with all our might. [break]
I am not sure whether such practices are followed in our country. I have vague memories of people dancing in trance and sacrificing a chicken, and a fountain of blood spewing all over a patient’s body. The place was my ancestral village in remote Okhaldhunga. It was scary, to say the least. Later, I was told that the person was getting treated for stomachache. My obvious question then was, ‘why is she not in the hospital?’ That spoke a lot about my naiveté about the place and the country.
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The learning I was forced to imbibe from the village head was that there is God, and it is he who heals. I probably smiled in confusion.
Often I see people drawing a direct correlation between one’s educational qualification and his/her beliefs in non-scientific ways of things. But evidence says otherwise.
Once, I had a serious bout of fever and unbearable pain for three days or so. My mother walked around the house angrily, for she was of the opinion that I visit a certain Baidhya in Ason. One of her friends’ son had had the same ‘disease’ and was cured once he was attended by the Baidhya. She told me the right cure was to draw a certain ‘tiger’ like image around my forehead. Instead, I took drugs prescribed by the local dermatologist. I was back to work after two weeks of bed rest, fit and fine. The only thing left of the illness was the scar on the forehead.
My mom still believes that had I heeded her suggestion, that scar would not be there. What makes everything funny is the irony of it all. She is not just educated, but highly educated–she has a Masters from TU and an M Phil from UK. The only conclusion I could draw, which now she sportingly admits, is that when it comes to “special situations”, logic gives way to blind faith.
Three days ago, I met an elderly gentleman. As we talked, he mentioned that of late his son was showing some peculiar signs. To me it appeared to be a case of depression. While I was in the US, I had met a girl at work. At first she looked perfectly normal, but soon, there were changes in her behavior. She would fidget around at work; she would do the same thing twice or thrice.
Over a cup of coffee, I asked her if she was aware of all the weird things she has been doing lately. She hit straight back “How come no one told me about this? Of late I was not feeling my normal self.” A couple days later, perhaps over the same coffee table, she told me how she went to visit a psychiatrist and was diagnosed with initial stages of depression. She was now taking medicines regularly, and was happy with the improvement.
When I asked the elderly gentleman to take his son to a psychiatrist, his reply was perplexing. Once again, it defied the premise that educated people do not believe in blind faith. He was a headmaster of a reputed school, and according to him, until the age of 21, his son’s horoscope showed bad omens. No medicine, no consulting would be of any help, he seemed convinced. Perhaps he did not want society to know that his kid was going through mental disturbances. That would directly affect his reputation and status. But that’s just my guess. He could very well have believed in the horoscope! I parted ways with him, but not before asking him ‘What advice would you give to a parent with similar problem?’ He was probably itching to suggest a doctor, but he did not utter a single word. I felt bad for him, since I felt I offended him.
With the festive season arriving soon, I am pretty sure there will be pujas galore. My community makes me perform a certain ritual as fond remembrance of dear ones who are no more. At the end of that puja, I am asked to make a ‘round-cake’ of milk, smashed white rice, and banana. Once the puja is over, I have to take all of the flowers and tikas used in the puja (along with those food items) and let it flow away in river. I believe in keeping rivers clean, and yet I am forced to sneak in the evening and quietly let those things float. I am caught between two extremities; either not believe in the ‘puja’ at all, or ‘do it the right way’. Asked why river, punditji says that’s what our religion says. Period.
A bigger festival is coming in Nepal. Looks like the elections is happening for real. However, votes here do not come free; you literally have to buy them–perhaps with direct cash. This is the time when politicians awaken from their slumber. This is a huge investment–you get a free license to do a whole lot of things should you emerge winner.
I have seen some of these leaders from close quarters in person, and others often in television. Invariably I take note of the rings they wear in each finger, each with special stones. At times you can almost tell how ‘eminent’ a leader is just by their rings.
At my morning walks in Pashupati, I have begun noticing some familiar faces that otherwise I would only see on TV. I take the liberty of assuming that their prayers now must be about getting an election ticket.
You can’t blame them, for if something goes wrong tomorrow and some pundit tells them that this was because his stars and horoscopes were unfavorable, there would be no turning back. With so much at stake, what’s wrong in paying one odd visit to a god? Or so must be the thought process.
Are they also educated persons? This time I am not so sure.
hiteshkarki@gmail.com
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