Yet the Buddha smiles

It’s not fair to compare the destruction of the Babri Masjid with the ugly happenings in Afghanistan. Doubtless, what happened on the banks of the Sarju was a heinous act

The images of the Buddha exude love and compassion, the quintessential features of his teachings. Whether perched on a hilltop or in the serenity of a cave, they bring to humanity the message of peace and brotherhood. In a geographical dictionary written in the 13th century, the author Yaqut refers to the images of the Buddha at Bamiyan. ‘‘Nowhere else’’, he wrote, ‘‘is there anything to equal these.’’ Abul Fazl, the historian at Akbar’s court, noted the sculptured ‘‘colossal images’’, one said to be 80 ‘yards’ high, the other 50 ‘yards’. They are (were) actually 53 and 38 metres high. Abul Fazl, well known for his eclectic worldview, may have added that it is cultural heritage that is perennial and has a message far beyond any political or ideological biases.

At the beginning of this new millennium, the Taliban regime has very different ideas. In a brazen exhibition of religious fanaticism, its stormtroopers have let loose their religious fury on sites and symbols of veneration, if not actual worship. They have established beyond doubt that Talibanisation represents nothing but regression and the aggressive and evil propensities of man. ‘‘It is immaterial’’, underlines the Indian History Congress resolution, ‘‘if the Taliban claim that they are doing it to fulfill what are alleged to be the prescriptions of Islam. No religion is entitled to sanction the destruction of the works of another faith’’.

Round one of this unequal contest between the booming guns and the smiling Buddha may belong to the mullahs in Afghanistan, but the Taliban regime has forsaken the right to be heard by the international community. For decades to come, the devotees of the sage from Kapilvastu, as well as those millions who treasure works of art would be haunted by the images of a decapitated Buddha, his arms and limbs smashed by modern weaponry. This act of vandalism vindicates the position of all those, both in India and elsewhere, who oppose the reassertion of religion in public life and politics. Moreover, it is a stern reminder to the Western governments, who have nurtured the Taliban with the avowed goal of containing communism in the region. Now that the monster is out in the open, it is devouring its own people and destroying its own rich cultural inheritance. The public outcry in the West is a case of too little, too late.

Long ago, Cicero asserted that there was a true law namely right reason, which applied to all persons and was unchangeable and eternal. But the Taliban, impervious to reason and rationality, couldn’t care less. Imposing their own codes on an impoverished and deeply fractured tribal society, they have disregarded the legitimate aspirations of their own people for political participation, social justice and human rights. Now, in this brazen act of vandalism, they have alerted the world to the dangers of religious extremism and the urgent need to counter it forcefully and effectively. ‘‘The happenings in Afghanistan’’, states a Sahmat statement, ‘‘are a clear demonstration of the threat that fundamentalism of all hues pose to the creativity, culture and civilization of the world.’’

Not so long ago, the Prophet of Islam is reported to have conceived of the Muslim community as ‘‘a single hand, like a compact world whose bricks support each other’’. Mind you, Afghanistan is no dar al-Islam (land of Islam) or dar al-aman (land of peace). Nor are its leaders seeking to emulate and realise an Islamic religio-political vision. At best, this country is at war with itself. The enemy lies within its own borders. The Taliban use Islam as a weapon to suppress dissent, invoke the Islamic law to legitimise oppression against women, and employ the rhetoric of holy war to consolidate their authoritarian structures. At the same time, it is worth remembering that religious extremism is not restricted to or inherent in any one religion. What happened in Bosnia-Herzegovina is fresh in everybody’s mind. Similarly, what is happening in Israel is naked aggression on the rights of the Palestinian people. Negotiating with the hotheaded zealots can, most definitely, be a nightmarish experience.

What, then, is the way out? External intervention is ruled out, for it will harden attitudes and aid, as the Iranian experience illustrates, the cause of Islamic fundamentalism. The only hope lies in the willingness of the people of Afghanistan to overthrow the Taliban regime and organise its decent burial in the Central Bamiyan province itself, 125 kilometers west of Kabul. For their own survival and the preservation of their own cultural heritage, they are the ones who should also perform the final rites. I realise this is easier said than done. Yet the world, which is on their side at this juncture, await their verdict against their rulers.

The challenge today is not to stereotype or project a monolithic threat but to distinguish between the life-patterns of the majority and a minority who justify their activities in the name of religion, caste, ethnicity or political ideology. It is, therefore, not surprising that Muslim countries, including Pakistan, and Muslim organisations all over the world have uniformly condemned this act of barbarism perpetrated by the Taliban. Muslim scholars and politicians in India, too, have unequivocally expressed their anger and indignation. They realise the seriousness of the Taliban menace and how it endangers their own position in an otherwise pluralist society. For these reasons, it is not fair to compare the destruction of the Babri Masjid with the ugly happenings in Afghanistan.

Doubtless, what happened on the banks of the Sarju river in broad daylight was a heinous act. It was a brutal assault on India’s sanskriti, its multi-cultural and multi-religious ethos that is exemplified by Ustad Bismillah playing the shehnai at the Vishwanath temple in Varanasi or the visitations of thousands of Hindus at the shrine of Khwaja Muinuddin Chishti.

Yet the vast majority of people in this society, then and now, are not wedded to the Hindutva agenda. Let’s not forget that they rejected the sangh parivar in Uttar Pradesh, the site of the Babri Masjid and the storm centre of the Hindu mobilisation campaigns. Let us also not forget that they are wedded to the preservation of our composite legacy. This is indeed what makes India different. This is surely what makes living in this country worthwhile. I raise my voice against Hindu and Muslim extremism without the fear of being guillotined. This cannot happen in the Afghanistan of today. I invoke Gandhi and Nehru with unfailing regularity without the fear of reprisals from the BJP government. It is, indeed, their legacy of these outstanding men that fortifies my confidence in the survival of our democratic and secular republic.

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