No speeches were made. The local MLA showed up days later. The ministers didn't. Not particularly surprising perhaps. Death by illness, death by hunger. These are hardly uncommon occurrences in a developing country. These days however, the nation is gripped by death of another kind : death by war.

The slaying of Indian soldiers in the ongoing battle with Pakistan aided infiltrators has provoked an upsurge of public emotion. Funerals of martyred army and air force men in towns all over the country are reportedly drawing crowds of commoners. Leaders have been vocal in theirappreciation.

The media - both electronic and print - have been generous with and taken pains on coverage. This display of pride and public support is touching; it has also been aided in large measure by the proliferation of the media.

Regardless of where we live we see the funerals of these brave men in all their emotive glory - the wreaths, the flags, the bugles. We also see pictures of men, young, strong, hopeful. We see their families - aged parents, a newly widowed wife, weeping relatives. We read moving personal details such as the gutsy individual's youthful aspirations; his last contact with his family; the bewilderment of an infant son who will not see his father again. There is value in such identification. Brought up close soldiers stop being men in uniform and become real people, people with families and children and hopes. It makes it possible, in fact, forces countrymen far away from the scene of action to empathise and truly appreciate the sacrifices made on their behalf. All this istrue.

At the same time however there is a danger, a grave danger in excessive sentiment. The danger is of losing perspective. We cannot forget that our forces are professionals. They have been trained for the very purpose of fighting and have opted for a way of life in which the fatality count is high. One has only to listen to the eagerness with which wounded soldiers wish to return to combat to guage the extent of their commitment.

To laud such commitment is one thing. To invest it with undue emotionality is to encourage the build up of a fragile situation in which a dispassionate assessment of national interest would have to compete with a widespread and uncontrollable public desire for revenge and retribution. Feelings that now or some point in the future can only result in the loss of many many more lives.

There are two good reasons why Indian society at present might well form fertile ground for such a trend. The first is the Sachin factor - our eternal search for a hero. Whether it is theavatars of Vishnu, the one-man battalion of the cinema or that one incomparable cricketer in a team of eleven, we seem to be constantly and inevitably in search of a saviour. Someone who will drag us out of the mire, slaughter the demons on our behalf, restore our lost pride and make the world safe and beautiful.

Time and time again we are disappointed. Periodically the truth hits us hard in the face. Yet we persist, knocking down yesterday's hero to make way for the hope of the moment. Well, consider the fact that at the moment the post is vacant. Lord Rama in reruns has lost his appeal. Politicians, judges, election commissioners - we've tried them all. Amitabh Bachchan could do with some help himself. And worst of all, the miracle man, Sachin Tendulkar, has failed to bring home the trophy that would have made all the difference.

In such dire circumstances the jawan - strapping, reliable and inordinately brave -- might well fall into the freshly dug hole of our myriad expectations.The other reason hasto do with a more contemporary phenomenon which is the slow build up of patriotism following the hoopla over free India's fiftieth anniversary and the BJP's nationalist line over the years. We have seen it appear periodically in the cinema, in youth surveys that claim young people take pride in their Indian-ness and so on. It is however a peculiar kind of patriotism that we have witnessed so far. It is not the kind of loyalty that seeks to help ameliorate some of the country's daunting problems for instance. It is the kind of loyalty that thrives on symbolism and slogans.

On soft focus shots of mountain, valley, monument and river - never mind environmental depredation or the state of some of our architectural wonders. On pop songs and ad lines : `My heart beats for India'. On signing the world's largest banner in support of the Indian cricket team. It is a state of mind in which war too could be romanticised.

Whether we can afford such escapism is another matter. For the fact remains that we are stilla country in which two and half hours away from the commercial capital children die of hunger. So even as we appreciate the harsh conditions in which our men are fighting; even as we feel gratitude for their sacrifice, grieve for their loss, rejoice in their bravery; it might make sense to remember that death in India comes in many regrettable ways.