Archive

Unless a miracle happens, we will die as a community,” said Dr Farokh Udwadia while presiding over the launch of Berjis Desai’s book, The Bawaji: Chronicles of a Vanishing Community (see "The dead cannot be defamed,” Parsiana, December 21, 2019). The pages of Parsiana echo the same sentiment in letters from readers as well as in thought-provoking articles such as "Race and reason” (Parsiana, October 7, 2019).
On the lawns of the Willingdon Club where I often unwind with a group of Parsi friends, we discuss whether the community will survive. All members of the group have a child or grandchild who is married to a non-Parsi. The discussion generally ends with a cynical doctor friend, thoroughly disgusted with the community after the recent The B. D. Petit Parsee General Hospital debacle when a magnanimous offer to enable its survival was scuttled, stating: "It’s a hopeless situation. We can’t survive. The community has a death wish.” 
The very fact that many are discussing this subject is a sign of hope. Perhaps if we examine what has brought us to this pass, we may find an answer. We must also distinguish between the terms Parsi community and Zoroastrian religion which are being used interchangeably. The former describes those who came from Iran and settled in India several centuries ago, while the Zoroastrian religion is practiced anywhere in the world by those who believe in the teachings of Zoroaster. It is possible that the Parsi community will die out, but the religion may survive and flourish.

 

 

 

 

Our numbers are declining not merely because more persons are dying than are being born, late marriage and low fertility, but also because some have chosen to leave the religion, disillusioned by how it is practiced. The writer of "Race and reason,” Yezdyar Kaoosji chose not to perform the navjote of his children, both of whom would have been worthy members of the community as their non-Parsi mother would be considered an outcast.
Why should a faith as old as ours, so beautiful in its simplicity that it attracts scholars to study and even convert to it, lose its appeal for those born into it? There are some obnoxious features that have crept into its practice which are unacceptable in today’s scenario where every family has at least one non-Zoroastrian bonded to it by marriage.
My father was a navar maratab, an ordained priest qualified to speak on what is enjoined by the faith, something that individuals not similarly qualified indulge in with impunity. He always told us that our faith in essence centered around goodness — good thoughts, good words and good deeds. One must recognize the existence of good and evil, right and wrong and do what one’s reason and conscience says is right, he would say. There were no rituals in our house. We were encouraged to do our kusti and say our prayers. Never did we hear the word parjat (outcast) from which emanate some of the obnoxious practices that have been the curse of the community.
His own life was an example of what a man of God should be; bringing up five children and educating them to the best of his ability while striving to make a mark in the legal world. We saw our parents willingly renounce pleasures that most others indulged in, and learnt from them values which we passed on to our children. Even when life had lost meaning for him after my mother, his soul mate for over 60 years passed away, he continued to be our guiding light. We could always turn to him in need as he never allowed his grief and loneliness to come in the way of what he felt was his duty. He enriched the lives of all he touched and the tributes to his integrity, erudition, gentleness and generosity that poured in when he passed away proved what an exceptional human being he was. To my mind, by his exemplary life he taught the principles of the religion better than many who preach it from platforms.

 

 

 

 

The younger generation will not accept dogma unless it meets the test of rationality, reasonableness and civility. The belief that the presence of a non-Zoroastrian at prayers for the dead will vitiate the atmosphere, and therefore they must be barred from such ceremonies, is anathema to them. That non-Parsi parents or partners are disallowed from attending prayers for their nearest and dearest would be repugnant to any right thinking person. Also, the practice that food which has been "prayed over” should not be given to a non-Parsi but may be given to a cow or dog or crow, is unacceptable to many. Most religions are based on the principle that one should love one’s fellow man, that through love for one’s brethren one expresses love for God, as wonderfully conveyed in the poem Abou ben Adhem by Leigh Hunt ("Write me as one that loves his fellow men”).
Permitting the navjote of children of Parsi men married to non-Parsi women but not of Parsi women and their non-Parsi spouses is shocking in a world where gender equality is the norm. Has anyone calculated the effect of this on the Parsi population?
The young must be equally disturbed by the ad nauseam discussions on the enjoined method of disposal of the dead. Many youngsters are studying abroad or may settle there; others may reside in places where there is no dakhma. Will their souls and the souls of their kin suffer damnation if their bodies are not consigned to the dakhma?
In order to survive, religions must change with the times, and for this we need men of vision like Pope Francis who is reported to have said, "Who am I to judge what God has created?” when stating that the Roman Catholic Church will not come in the way of same-sex marriages. He is considering appointing married men as priests because of the extreme scarcity of Catholic clergy in some parts of the world. How many Popes would have dared to do this?
Coming back to our own situation, it must be admitted that abroad and in several places in India itself, non-Parsis do attend prayers said for the dead, outmarried women navjote their children and enter the fire temple without fear of reprisal. When I was in Washington recently, a friend told me that the Parsis there are extremely liberal. Not only do they navjote children of outmarried Parsi women, but are seriously considering permitting those non-Parsis, who are conversant with the basic tenets and so deeply devoted that they wish to embrace it, to enter the religion. Visiting professors and persons who have made a deep study of the religion are invited to speak to the Parsis and religious classes are held for children. So, while the religion may be dying out in the land where it once grew and flourished, there is hope that it is taking root and growing in far-off places. Shorn of the misconceptions and misinterpretations that have stifled its growth here, it can once again bloom in fresh soil, retaining its essential purity while adapting to a world which is infinitely different from the one in which it was born.
At family gatherings I look at youngsters — my own grandchildren and the grandchildren of my brother and friends, products of mixed marriages, bright, arguing, many of them achievers even at this stage. Any community would be proud of them. Some have been navjoted, others are awaiting the difficult decision from their parents. Should they be lost to the community?
We are all keepers of our faith. At this critical juncture it is for us to explain to the youngsters that our religion in essence is beautiful and remind them of their heritage — the great community to which they belong. When motivated and convinced, the young can change the world — and ensure our survival.