Denied eternal bliss because their dead bodies were viewed by members
of other faiths, some Zoroastrian souls create their own abode!
Zenobia Panthaki
Let us for a while suspend belief and give full vent to our imagination. A short while ago I was pronounced dead, dead as a door-mouse. Since I come from privileged Parsi stock and have blue blood coursing through my veins (or should I say ‘had’), my paidast is over and I have now embarked on my final journey. I am approaching Chinwat Pul, but even on this highway to eternity there is a traffic jam! I thought I had dispensed with the irritants of mortal life, but apparently not, for there is a sea of humanity ahead of me.
To my utter surprise and joy these are my soulmates from Delhi (literally, not metaphorically any more), three generations of them, my great-grandparents, grandparents, parents, family and friends! I thought they all had their visas stamped, prayers recited and farewells bid when the coffin lids were closed and they were buried six feet under, but it seems there’s a clearance glitch. What, here too? Well, I learn that their visas got revoked when the evil eye was cast upon them by ‘Children of a Lesser God,’ i.e. when they were viewed after funeral prayers by non-Parsis who had come to bid them adieu. Now declared ‘persona non-grata’ they are doomed to Purgatory (a la Chinwat) Pul. But having lived in Delhi and imbibed the robust attributes of Punjabis, these Dilliwallas are a breed unto themselves. Not to be deterred, they have created their own ‘Kingdom Come’ and unhesitatingly I decide that this is where I shall reside for the rest of my ‘non-days;’ no regrets.
On a more serious note, this debate, ab initio to ab infinitum, has sucked the oxygen out of our discourse, ad nauseam, on what should essentially be a non-issue. I thought the best part of the Zoroastrian faith was a Prophet who trusted our judgment and gave us a sound mind to make choices. He held us to a minimum social standard to enjoy this universe without degrading the environment. The current system of dakhmenashini is in violation of that very principle. Some would have us shutter the mind and justify the practice, reinforcing their own prescriptive version of the faith with veiled threats of debarment from behest (heaven). This takes us to the brink; blind faith sans rationality.
Illustration by Farzana Cooper
As if that were not enough, we wax eloquent about who should be allowed at the final viewing. To be surrounded by those who walked with you and went the extra mile for you, regardless of caste, creed or religion, is balm for the body and soup for the soul. Would their casting an eye on you, now that you are ‘all soul,’ deny you entry to the hereafter? Isn’t that based on the deeds you performed when you were ‘all body?’
Are we discussing this in the 21st century? Social scientists say that migrant populations are stuck in a time warp, but a time warp of several centuries is a bit too much for a community that prides itself to be highly educated and emancipated!
My fui (paternal aunt), Lily Billimoria, died in 2004 after having worked for the better part of her life at the Holy Family Hospital in Delhi. At her passing, the nuns and staff insisted that her body be kept in their chapel, and not in the morgue, and a few of them took turns at singing psalms and reciting prayers. The peace and tranquility of those moments lives with the family even today. When it was time to take her to the aramgah, I asked the medical director if the staff would like to attend her funeral. They had probably held back, being aware of our exclusionist practices, but with that offer, doctors, nurses and nuns climbed into the van (they did not let her body be carried in a hearse) and accompanied us to the aramgah. They sat through the geh sarna performed by my husband, Behram, and accompanied us to the graveside. When the coffin was being lowered, I requested them to sing the hymns again. While the setting sun glimmered through the trees and the birds chirped as they prepared to roost for the night, the soothing hymns brought peace and tranquility to a heart-wrenching moment. This was the perfect blend of my fui’s Zoroastrian life with her professional one of service to the sick. The fusion of this interfaith ceremony was beyond compare. This is the picture of her final moments that is etched on the canvas of our hearts. Do those who preach no deviation from archaic practices really believe that she’s in purgatory, held back at Chinwat Pul? Is that their humata or their hukhta? Or is it more likely that the weight of her huvarashta carried her through the pearly gates?
Can we as a community at least try to be as magnanimous, inclusive and respectful to followers of other faiths as they are to us?