In my childhood days, I witnessed my great-grandma in her deathbed counting her rosary and gradually she breathed her last. The relatives and some neighbours surrounding her were weeping. I could barely understand what was going on. But a few days later, I realised the void-the eternal absence of the magnificent storyteller. I was shocked. I felt death was a threat to cohesiveness.

During my adolescent period, I heard many deaths and saw a few. I heard the crying sounds of the mourners surrounding the dead body. Later they would pray for the rest of the soul in peace of the demised. Lectures were delivered by some of the seniors in which there would be some quotes like: ‘My Father used to say…Inns are not residences’ (Marianne Moore). Reflecting the good sides of the particular deceased. The lecture ended with some pieces of advice: ‘Go through what you go through’ (Tyrese Gibson) - a common quote on growing up. ‘Life is real. Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal;/Dust thou art, to dust returned,/ Was not spoken of the soul (Longfellow). And later some advice followed: not to break down, better to keep trust in the immortality of the soul, keep the life force active, etc., etc.

Overall the saddest reality was to me a thought-provoking one. I had not studied it separately. Neither do I have the intention to do research over that. To my strange, yet I pondered: All are born free but all are born to die! Birth for decay only! The phenomenon is so common! I alone myself probably (to me of course) tried to become rebellious against death. So I found out a way to vent out my anger towards death through an article entitled ‘A Letter to Death’ for my school mag in which I condemned death. On reading which a few of my friends including my teachers praised me for the creative writing. It seemed none of the readers felt at all that it was the outburst of my anger.

I was growing up. Just like the children grow. I was not a fanatic, nor too much interested in following the religious rituals. I was studying independently. I was living in concord with my neighbouring areas. I had many friends there. Yet to and fro I found something to rebel against. I would not be able to confine myself round-the-clock in my study. I used to go for visits here and there. I visited Ochtertony Monument, Victoria Memorial, Fort William, Marble Plaace, Eden Gardens, Pricep Ghat, and Cathedrals. Whatever I read, wherever I went I enjoyed with seriousness. I also visited Burning Ghats, Churchyards, and Graveyards. I visited Job Charnok’s Mausolian and Michael Madhusudan Fut’s Tomb. Behind the closed shutters, going through the epitaphs embarked on the marble stone apparently stern, I deep down and could hear the voice of the silence. I looked with awe.

While I was studying history, I learnt about Kshudira, Mastarda Surya Sen, Binoy, Badal, Dinesh, and many others who fought for the freedom and accepted death. Humayun tumbled to life and tumbled to die. I read about the glorious dead and glorious retreats. I learnt ‘A somg;e deatj os a trade, a ,o;opm deatj os a statistic' (Jospth Stallin). Philosophy also taught me well. Death is plainly visible in the distance in the eye of Philosophy.

“How sweet is mortal Soveantly!
Think some: others-How blest
The Paradise to come!”
Ah, take the cash in hand and waive the Rest” 

– Rubaiyat.

An Urdu Shayeri:

Laai Hayat aae, gaza le chali chale
Apni khusi na aae, na apni khusi chole”

- Md. Ibrahim Zauk

(I came as life had brought me as death takes me I do.
I came not of my own accord nor willingly I go.)

Swamiji writes: 

Thy bonds are broke, the quest in bliss is found.
And one with that which comes ad Death and Life,-
Thou helfpful one!
Unselfish e’er on earth
Ahead, still aid with love this
World of strife.
Or see the epitaph written by himself engraved on a marble stone at the tomb of Maichel M. Dutt-
Stop a while, traveller! Should Mother Bengal
Claim thee for her son. As a child takes repose
On his mother’s elysian lap.
Even so here in the Long Home,
On the bossom of the earth, Enjoys the sweet eternal sleep.

Death is to the right of me. Death is to the left of me. Amd ot os omevotab;e/ pm;u e;am bota; (life force) is the essence of life.

To quote Thomas Grey, “We spend much time being afraid of death, we forget to live.” Tennyson says, “Theirs not to reason why, theirs but to do and die”

And I read the tragic death of Macbeth, Hamlet, Othello, Desdemona in Literature. Even when I read Willy’s lamentation, I felt that Death is the most inevitable truth.

My perfect realisation became strongest when I was gifted a mirror by Her. She very often used to advise me by quoting “Point out the way, however dimly and lost amongst the host as does the evening star to those who tread their path in darkness” and of Swamiji, “Arise, Awake and stop not till the goal is reached” and lastly :

She gifted me a mirror
Before passing away to
Her heavenly abode saying :
“Go ahead, never stop your studies, you know for you
Sky is the limit.”
I was at the final exam
I was at loss with sorrow
Waves of life around me
Enkindled my wrath although
I kept it in my cubby hole.
And I forgot.
I was at dismay.
After a few days’ gap
I saw the gigantic figure
Standing beneath me,
Holding in hands with that one –
Arms outstretched.
I did not miss the boat.
Rather, I grasped it with a kiss.
I saw the face of mirror
I saw my fatigued face,
I saw the steel-framed picture
And saw the man
Who’s with me, no more a player.
It was a panacea
Might be those were the days of
Penance and anger.
Of enjoyment and cheer.
But I can feel somebody whispers to ear,
“Sky is the limit and proceed without fear.”

.    .    .