Raintree

This is not a monastery, a hermitage or a cave.

It is our one-bedroom house. No bellringing to tell me it’s time to go to the church hall to pray.

No fixed routines. No group meditations. No tedious chores.

This is my home. I have been here by myself for 6 weeks. Mostly silent. Listening. Being.

The wind, whispers and then howls, bashing the banana plantation outside my window, pushing all the birds back into their nests, felling trees and forcing me to stay indoors.

The monsoon makes a dramatic entry, takes over the skies.

The morning ritual of making ginger tea. I sit by the big window, drinking it, present to the light of the day. Grateful for it, I smile.

The luxury of silence and solitude!

I drive to the farm. Today is the day to plant a raintree. Early monsoon is a good time for it. The three feet tall sapling has travelled on an overnight train all the way from a friend’s garden in Goa. Known for its fifteen-meter-wide umbrella shaped canopy, it needs a lot of space. We mark the spot on a clearing, dig a hole, put the root ball into the moist soil, add some compost and cover it up. Two sticks support the young tree and it’s on its own. Good luck, Buddy.

My brother calls in the evening to inform me about the air-crash in Gujarat.

I light a candle and sit with my eyes closed. Tears streaming down my face, my chest bursting with pain. God bless their souls and their families. God bless them all.

Night arrives. Si calls up. He asks if I was aware that yet another war had begun in the middle east. I didn’t.

Why? Isn’t there enough suffering in the world already?

I think about the raintree. I wonder if it will survive this sharp heavy monsoon. Who can say? No one.

Silence. Solitude. Surrender.

1+50+176+?

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Merchandise at the Manchester Firing Line. Manchester New Hampshire. USA.

On a board of chess, both sides stand face to face

Using wise moves, strategies and tacts.

No drones, no justified assassinations

No sneaky cyber-attacks.

Two rooks, bishops and knights, both sides have by rights.

Those are the rules of the game. For both sides, the same.

Some things are clearly wrong and others that are right.

Whether your pieces are black, or brown or white.

The way the moves are made,

the way the game is played,

a knight is often not the first to be slayed.

A murder in plain sight

Yet, everyone kept quiet.

No criticism. No outcry?

The killers had good reason. That is why.

They always do.

But do they speak the truth?

Who knows? Do you?

Vietnam, Iraq and now this.

For what? For who?

He was someone’s dad, someone’s son,

A military leader, not holding a gun.

This was an act of cowardice, just for fun.

Guns are a sport in the land

from where the assassin came.

The killers proudly laid claim

To this, their ‘good deed’.

Knowing full well that yet again,

they are sowing a seed.

A seed of death and conflict.

Within a week, a stampede.

Multiple counter-strikes

Hitting innocent planes and passers-by.

Who are the ones that die?

People like you and I.

While the international bully

Keeps on keeping on fighting

In the name of self-defence,

‘Freedom and Liberty’?

When a gun is fired, two people die.

The one hit by the bullet

and the one who let it fly.

War is not the answer. Please.

How can we tolerate this?

Instead of wrapping the world in daisy-chains,

We are covering it in wreaths.

(Footnote: Sixty thousand war veterans, many of them young men, have died by suicide in the USA in 2008-2017. On an average 17 to 20 suicides per day and the rates are not falling despite massive efforts.

https://www.military.com/daily-news/2019/09/23/alarming-va-report-totals-decade-veteran-suicides.html)

Remembering. Not learning.

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Six years ago, Remembrance Sunday fell on the 11^th of November. Same as today. I was visiting Saagar in Durham that weekend and had the privilege of attending the special Sunday service at the ancient, opulent Durham Cathedral. The music and words were deeply moving. I felt lucky to have found a spot to stand at the back of the cathedral that day. I met up with Saagar afterwards and we went for a long walk, lunch and then we had a hot chocolate at the Railway station before my return.

I was surprised to find that over a million Indian soldiers fought in WW1 at Somme, France. At least 74,187 Indian soldiers died and 67,000 were wounded during the war. We rightly remember and honour those who lost their lives serving their country. But do we learn from history?

Northern Europeans have mass murdered indigenous people of entire continents, now Australia and USA, diminishing their numbers to tiny percentages. Then they funded scholars to write books to justify these acts of violence against innocents. Today, I remember and honour all those people who died defending their right to exist.

India was known as ‘the golden bird’ before the Empire established itself in that country. After years of exploitation and oppression they left behind a shattered subcontinent. A fractured country. 14 million people were displaced and several hundred thousand lost their lives as a result. I salute all those innocents who died for no fault of their own.

“What do you think of western civilisation?”, someone asked Mahatma Gandhi.

He replied, “That would be a good idea.”

We continue to make war in the name of peace. We spend millions on finding more deadly and cowardly ways of killing people. We never forget the 3000 people who died in America on 9/11 but we don’t remember the 500 that have been dying every week in Syria for the last 7 years and in Yemen for the last four. Before that, in Afghanistan and Iraq. All, for peace and liberty. Today, I remember all people, everywhere who have been traumatised and displaced by war and those who have died violent deaths as a result of war. May humankind learn to be kind.

An excerpt from the hymn ‘Hope for the world’s despair’ by Ally Barrett:

Love for the human heart:
when hate grows from our fears
and inwardly we start
to turn our ploughs to spears.
Help us to sow
love’s precious seed
in word and deed,
that peace may grow.

Day 899

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More Vietnam veterans have died by suicide than were killed in Vietnam. According to the Veterans Administration, one veteran dies by suicide every hour in the USA.

‘The survivor is a disturber of peace. He is a bearer of ”unspeakable” things. About these he aims to speak, and in so doing he undermines, without intending to, the validity of existing norms. He is a genuine transgressor, and here he is made to feel real guilt. The world to which he appeals does not admit him, and since he has looked to this world as the source of moral order, he begins to doubt himself. And that is not the end, for now his guilt is doubled by betrayal– of himself, of his task, of his vow to the dead. The final guilt is not to bear witness. The survivor’s worst torment is not to be able to speak.’ – Terrence Des Pres in ‘The Survivor’.

”If the thing they were fighting for was important enough to die for then it was also important enough for them to be thinking about it in the last minutes of their lives. That stood to reason. Life is awfully important so if you’ve given it away you’d ought to think with all your mind in the last moments of your life about the thing you traded it for. So, did all those kids die thinking of democracy and freedom and liberty and honor and the safety of the home and the stars and strips forever? You’re goddamn right they didn’t.” – Dalton Trumbo in ‘Johnny got his gun.’.
Viktor E. Frankl said, ” Suffering ceases to be suffering when it has meaning.”
Meaningless violence gives birth to more meaningless violence. There are no winners. All sides loose.

Day 764

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paratrooper

He served for 10 years in the Parachute Regiment. He had witnessed and been a part of ‘very severe military activity’ in Afghanistan as a result of his service in the elite Pathfinder Platoon. He left the army in 2010 and started to work in close protection in Iraq. In 2012 he married a Thai woman who commented that 2 years later he ‘wasn’t good’.

He sought help from the Combat Stress charity (http://www.combatstress.org.uk/) in December. A nurse referred him to a Consultant Psychiatrist as she felt he might have PTSD. His father noticed that Pete had started to have a tic and facial problems and that was a clear indication that he was suffering from deep psychological trauma. The psychiatric appointment was available for a date 4 months away, in April. Faced with this long wait, Pete went back to Iraq for 2 months. He returned home briefly before flying to Vietnam for a kite-surfing course. Pete never went on the course and sadly ended his life in Vietnam in February.

The Coroner heard that drugs were found in Pete’s blood and ruled there was insufficient evidence for either suicide or accidental death. His family are hoping that the authorities will recognise Pete’s death as a direct result of PTSD resulting from his service. They want his name to be included at the National Memorial Arboretum.

Another tragic loss of a young life, not getting timely help despite asking for it. Another family lost, not knowing exactly how to help their young man. Another suicide not registered as such, adding to the underestimation of the national scandal that it is. Another charity, offering more assistance than the NHS. Another child not coming home for Christmas.

Preventable? Yes.

RIP Pete.