Pandemic is awfully ridiculous. You know there are a trillion microscopic organisms trying to strangle you from every side but you have nothing to do about it. You know there are clouds of tar in your lungs, water bodies are tainted with chemicals, air is saturated with poison, but you, my friend, have got nothing to do about it.
It was during the time of a deadly pandemic. Before a kid stuffed his school bag with all his important stationery items, before a regular office clerk tied his shoelaces to leave for the day, before a retired old man started watering his plants, it broke out. It swallowed almost half of the world population, claiming up to 500 million lives and soon turned into a global hazard before letting anybody plan their strategies out. It was like a dream, only a bad one, a very very bad one. A nightmare that didn’t promise a conclusion.
Two undertakers were making the arrangements in a mortuary. It was a weekday and all the national news channels reported that the death toll reached beyond sixty thousand after two hundred fatalities were reported the day before. People were dying like insects, fluttering their wings of freedom in desperation. But all their silly efforts were going in vain. The superstitious acts of optimism were deemed destructive and unnecessary. Every recovery attempt was a failed attempt. It felt like an entire nation was driving a car at a high speed only to reach a dead end.
Two dead bodies from the state hospital were supposed to be released and carried to the cremation ground. Since the people were advised to stay at their homes during a nationwide lockdown, the family members of the deceased men didn’t arrive to wave them goodbye. There was no funeral procession, no sobbing from a distance, no rituals that men down the centuries had been obligated to perform. They say, a crisis wipes away all the age-old traditions in the blink of an eye. When you are locked up in a cage, trapped, like a helpless lab rat, these fancy societal customs seem ineffective, seem nothing but a staged reality, a figment of imagination. Suddenly, you fall out of the habit.
The undertakers stepped out to puff at their last cigarettes.
First undertaker: He was an old bastard. Bastard in the truest sense of the term. Look how lonely he is. His daughter hasn’t even come to see him off.
Second undertaker: But the other one is a young chap. How old was he? Seventeen? He could have partied and banged some chicks a few more years. What luck!
First undertaker: The hospital guys were saying that this oldie was a Muslim. That kid was a Hindu, no?
Second undertaker: Yes, thank God their isolation wards were far apart.
First undertaker: I have heard that the entire Muslim community is responsible for spreading this disease. These brainless Muslims don’t learn their lessons! Gathering in front of Hazrat Masjid in large numbers? That too when the government has repeatedly asked us to stay indoors? What do they think? Their Allah will rescue them every goddamn time? Dumbfucks!
Second undertaker: Hey, don’t curse the Muslims. Who are you people? Bloody saints? Didn’t you celebrate Dussehra last week? Don’t you break these annoying rules to satiate your stupid religious sentiments?
First undertaker: Shut the fuck up! Now don’t get started. Let’s take these shitpiles to the cremation ground and burn them. I haven’t picked up the groceries yet, my wife is waiting for…
Second undertaker: Hey, hang on! Why the hell will you burn both the bodies? Have you fucking lost it? That man is a Muslim for God’s sake.
First undertaker: Yeah, so? You think I give a rat’s ass about him? Burning the bodies doesn’t even take much time. Their souls will be set free in a minute and then they can travel in space or scare their kids, I don’t care. All I care about is my wife, and she is waiting for me. You seriously think I’ll dig a grave for these two assholes who mean nothing to me?
Second undertaker: Do not fuck with me. This man is a fucking Muslim and he deserves a fucking grave. If you don’t let me bury him, I won’t let you cremate that kid.
First undertaker: You’ll fuck with me? (pushing the second undertaker) Huh? You’ll fuck with me? Come, let’s settle it right here!
Second undertaker: I’ll fucking kill you, behnchod! An unpleasant argument transformed into a merciless fight. Nobody marched forward to stop them, to put an end to this brawl; not even Allah Himself. The wind stood still; a few birds perched on the power lines to enjoy the spectacle; some street dogs cowered at the sight of this wrestling match. Two puny men were fighting over a burial pit in the name of religion and it soon began to rain. The enormous sky was mourning for the dead.
This short story has been written by Manjima Sarkar, an ex-student of Funlish.
Hey,
this is Manjima Sarkar. I am pursuing Masters in English Language and Literature
from Calcutta University. I am a trained Odissi dancer, freelance writer and a
teacher. I love traveling, reading interesting pieces and watching wholesome
movies! Attending Swati Aunty's English classes was a life-changing experience
for me. She is partly the reason why I have become the person I always wanted
to be. I'll be indebted to her forever!
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