Tags:
Journalism of Courage
There8217;s an old Tamil saw, 8220;Yellam nanmaikku.8221; 8220;Everything happens for the best.8221; See, there was this wise minister and this was his favourite saying. One day his king lost a thumb in an accident. A brilliant archer, he was naturally very upset. But true to form, the old minister clucked, 8220;Everything happens for the best.8221; Good and mad at this apparent lack of feeling, the king had him put away in his deepest dungeon.
Some months later the king went hunting. Like in every fairytale, he chased so hard after a deer that he was separated from his retinue and lost in the jungle. A wild, whooping band of brigands suddenly pounced on him. They were worshippers of Mahakali and were out looking for a nice, plump human to sacrifice to her. Gagged and trussed, the king could do nothing but invoke his personal deity and pray like crazy. The brigand king approved of their catch. Preparations were made, bonfires were lit, the sacrificial block was cleaned up, Mahakali8217;s statue was decked with red jungle flowers, there was drumming, dancing and the killing of many chickens and goats for the follow-up feast.
We may safely presume that brigands, who, apart from this one disturbing penchant, were otherwise sporting gentleman, decided not to waste the now nicely broiled chickens and goats but to continue with the party. We may even assume that the king was royally fed, since his status had changed. If he was no longer a victim, he could only be a guest and 8220;Atithi devo bhava8221; the guest is a god even to jungle gentlemen of unpleasant habits. Sent off home with affectionate swaggers and belches at daybreak, the king raced home. Pausing only to fervently thank his personal deity and promise her a splendid new crown of gold, he rushed to the dungeons and led the minister out with many prostrations and pleas for forgiveness. The minister, being a sweet old man, and not exactly oppressed by a multitude of career options, was most gracious about it and everything was speedily forgiven and forgotten.
The fact is, there8217;s nobody we dislike as much as those we have wronged. The knowledge that we have behaved badly to someone is a constant internal rebuke, a thorn in our heart. What if the king had never told anybody of his escape? What if the minister had spat and cursed? Instead they met halfway and became even closer, after this trial. Can8217;t our warring communities do that?
