The Most Beautiful Woman

Ladies and gentlemen, I wish to tell you the story of the most beautiful woman of the Twentieth Century, but on second thoughts I shall tell the story of the second most beautiful woman, as modesty will not permit me to name the most beautiful woman {I was married in 1977} of that era.

Kindly allow me to take you back in time to the middle of the last century, to a country which is very near the South Pole and whose footballers are its greatest ambassadors today. Yes your guess is right. I am speaking of Argentina and the year is 1952.

Argentina was then ruled by a benevolent dictator, if such a nomenclature exists, Juan Peron. His wife, Evita, the first lady was a darling of the masses; not only was she exceedingly beautiful but also was an accomplished singer with a gifted voice. She was highly popular and it was her wont to address the masses as her ‘shirtless children’. She constructed numerous hospitals and playgrounds for the poor.

In 1952 she died of cancer when she was hardly 32 years old. The whole country was shocked and there was a spontaneous outpouring of grief. The funeral cortege left the Presidential Palace, with military honours, traversing the streets of Buenos Aires to be buried in a graveyard some distance away. The funeral procession of Lady Diana comes immediately to mind. The throng crowded the streets to have a last glimpse o the coffin of their departed Evita.

But no one knew that the coffin did not have the mortal remains of the first lady. Then where was the body? It was right there in the Presidential Palace. Juan Peron loved his wife beyond death and was unable to be separated from her. He called the Professor of Anatomy from Cordoba, I apologise for forgetting his name, to mummify the body. It was done in utmost stealth and secrecy, and even the Palace attendants were unaware of the mission. The good Professor took exactly an year to have the body mummified and the flesh retained her living luster.

The best-preserved body in history, as claimed by many, is that of Comrade Lenin in Red Square, Moscow. But they, who were fortunate to have beheld both the bodies were of the opinion that the corpse of Evita was a thousand times better preserved and more lifelike.


But the story does not end here. Six years after her death there was a military coup in Argentina and president Juan Carlos had to flee the Presidential Palace in a private aeroplane. The military junta ransacked the Palace, searching each and every room, when they chanced upon the body. They were totally flabbergasted! It simply couldn’t be true: she was long since dead and safely buried. For identification they chopped off her right thumb and were then satisfied that it was indeed the remains of the erstwhile first lady.

The body was shifted to the national museum and was always under an armed guard.

But the ultimate tribute to her beauty and the ultimate honour to the professor’s genius was paid six years after her death, in 1958, when a top ranking Argentinean general was arrested, prosecuted and convicted for performing necrophilia on the corpse. Necrophilia, incidentally, means sexual violation of a dead woman.

So you agree that she fits the Bard of Avon’s description “age cannot with her, nor custom stale her infinite variety” to a pie.

Unparalleled stupidity: the Amul Macho Ad

What exactly do they take us for? The Information and Broadcasting Ministry at the Centre headed by none other than the old warhorse Priyaranjan Dasmunshi has banned the Amul- macho underwear Ad. Are we all children then? What exactly is offensive there? There are no explicit sex scenes, no paedophilia, no advocacy of designer drugs and no attempt to disturb the religious sentiments of Hindus and Muslims.

But the Ad itself is a stupendous fit of imagination. I can certainly bet my bottom rupee that it is well beyond the limited I.Q of a Doordarshan voyeur. Dasmunshi should restrict himself to what he loves doing best: to be available at the beck and call of the Dynasty of New Delhi.

As I was saying, the Ad is a gem of imagination. A village belle from the much-maligned Hindi belt of our country ventures to the local pond to wash clothes. Other women in the scene describe her as a newly married bride who had her nuptials the previous night. As she descends the steps to reach the water, we feel poetry in motion. Her gait evokes a lascivious desire in a man’s heart; it is tantalizingly seductive. It recalls the walk of Sakharam Binder’s promiscuous wife in Vijay Tendulkar’s play of the same name and that of Shabana Azmi’s in Mandi.

More provocations are to follow. She takes the underwear of her husband’s in her two hands and stretches it as if demonstrating his erect penis ready for intercourse. The onlookers are aghast. She repeats the procedure twice.

Now she sits down and washes the underwear by scrubbing it with soap. Her movement is slow, gentle and rhythmic. We get a profile and can see that her buttocks are rising up and coming down. It mimics the movement of the male during coitus. I really do not understand why a lady journalist described it as a woman having an orgasm. During a successful intercourse a woman’s thighs goes out and comes in, out and in.

Later on the movements become rapid strokes, as man discharges his semen at the height of ecstasy. The women on the stairs, who are watching this scene and are obviously menopausal, are envying the bride her success at last night’s performance.

Indeed brilliant! And our killjoy minister has the gall to wipe this Ad from the network! Is the minister too menopausal? Here indeed is the idealizing of womanhood. The lady in question is fantasizing an erotic commerce with her husband. She has had the experience the night before and to her it had been simply divine.

But the twist is elsewhere. It is a rare glimpse of a woman fantasizing about the sexual pleasure of a man during intercourse. Men are known to fantasise about the woman of their dreams when having sex but the fantasy of a woman is closely guarded, as if women do not have sexual desires.

When will the blockhead of a Minister will ever understand?

THEODORA:The juryis out!

Members of the jury, look closely at the woman in front of you. Do not be misled by her status, by her glamour, by the Imperial halo that surrounds her and by the perceived nonchalance of her composure. She should belong where she rightly belongs: the very dustbin of history.

Was woman ever so depraved as we have here? The very stones she treads and the ground she walks upon tremble at the weight of her sins.

Forget for the time being she is the Empress of Rome, ruling the Eastern Empire along with her husband, Justinian. Forget also that she is a formidable member of the Church of Christ and a benefactress of Christianity.

But let us begin at the beginning.

This lady, members of the jury, started her life in humble circumstances. She was born to a bear handler of the circus, the second of three daughters. As he died pretty early his widow remarried and thrust her daughters on the amphitheatre. The eldest daughter Comito had become a prostitute of repute before Theodora entered the stage. Initially she assisted her sister in her profession and as she was too young to satisfy a man properly, she pleased her perverted customers in an abnormal fashion. After menarche, her mother made her talents available to the desirous and soon she mastered the art of pleasing men by using each and every part of her body. The circus goers were indeed delighted to have a woman exposing her front and behind to their lewd and raucous approvals. Beardless boys were her favorites and she took a wicked delight in initiating these novices to the mysteries of fornication.

On many occasions she satisfied ten of the more important citizens of Constantinople in a single night and after wrenching them dry she had commerce with their servants in waiting, about thirty in number. But even after this heavy tryst she remained unquenched.

It was about this time that she made her famous lament of Mother Nature that though she was quite capable of receiving men in the three orifices of her person yet she was not provided with a suitable passage between her breasts to accommodate the male organ.

She frequently became pregnant and had recourse to abortionists to rid herself of so undesirable a state, for her trade would have suffered. Her special act on the stage was to lie nearly naked and her slave used to sprinkle grains on her private parts, which a gaggle of geese would peck to everyone’s wildest gestures. Furthermore her facial muscles were so well trained that men preferred her mouth to her more feminine parts.

Imagine for the moment such a Woman let loose on society. Would any decent man remain free from the grasp of such a vile predator? At the height of her fame she accompanied the man designated as governor to Pentapolis in Africa. But he soon got rid of her, as her sexual desires were too demanding. Left to fend for herself she again took recourse to prostitution and on her way back to Constantinople plied her trade in all the cities she passed through. Truly an international whore!

On her return to Constantinople her luck changed remarkably. Who would have dreamt that a mere prostitute would become the favourite of the most powerful man in the city? It is one of the ironies that Providence occasionally has in store for a man who could have had a chaste and cultured virgin with delightful breasts untouched by male hands, from a noble family of Constantinople, as his wife, fell head over heels in love with a filthy harlot. Justinian, the nephew of the emperor Justin, was deeply involved with her. Initially he had intercourse with her as befitted her trade but later on he raised her among the nobles by which she could visit the forbidden places: the palaces and the imperial gardens.

During her longevity Justinian’s aunt, the Empress Euphemia refused to allow her nephew to marry such an unwholesome creature. But after her death the Emperor Justin, in his imbecility, repealed the long-standing law that forbade a prince to marry a prostitute. It was indeed a matter of time before Theodora and Justinian were united in matrimony. Soon after, Justin passed away and Justinian was declared Emperor.

One of the first acts of Justinian on becoming the Emperor was to establish Theodora as the Empress, having equal power as the Emperor. Ladies and genlemen, never before in the history of Rome had a woman ruled officially. There were innumerable instances of strong women, wives and mothers of Emperors, but they never had any official say in state matters. Imagine a woman who was previously a prostitute sitting in majesty on the throne and a procession of venerable judges, formidable generals, learned divines and worthy foreign ambassadors bowing their heads to her. Could any scene be more ludicrous?

Once exalted to the throne this woman became a despot and it was her favourite pleasure to humiliate and terrorise the nobles and the few that saw through her guise. Pity the man who performed any state duty as entrusted by Justinian without Theodora’s knowledge. She contrived to disgrace him and, occasionally, he just disappeared from sight.

Members of the jury, there indeed is a mitigating factor. Emperor Justinian, her husband, was also a despot and, if some reports are to be believed, he was the Devil incarnate. But they were strongly united in their love of wealth, love of falsehood and an insatiable appetite for revenge.

During her more promiscuous days she had borne a child to one of her lovers in spite of trying an abortion and this child had now grown to manhood in the company of his father who was residing in distant Arabia. On his deathbed, the father informed his son of the story of his birth and the son, after performing the last rites of his father, challenged destiny by visiting Theodora in Constantinople. Theodora gave him a patient hearing in private and recognizing the fruit of her womb, took him into the palace. He was neither seen nor heard again!

The vengeance, the savage vehemence of her spite and anger, knew no bounds. A magistrate who had dared to uphold the law and execute two malcontents on charges of murder faced the full fury of Theodora’s wrath, as they were her henchmen. This worthy man was crucified on the same spot where the murderers were executed, on trumped up charges.

Ladies and gentlemen, should I say more? Volumes can be written on her misdemeanors. But let us not forget that Theodora breathes even today. Some we know of and some we do not. The late Duchess of Windsor, Wallis Simpson, who was the aunt of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth and the wife of his Majesty King Edward the Eighth, was in many ways a similar woman. No, she never prostituted her flesh for money but she was a remarkable performer of the most ancient of acts and her sexual prowess was held in esteem on either side of the Atlantic. Her mouth, too, was more precious than the business end of her birth canal.

We have not assembled here to deliberate a verdict on a woman long since dead and gone. We have gathered in this august hall of justice to understand a vile creature in the garb of a woman who was the empress of Rome and to see how disgusting and catastrophic was her reign. Members of the jury, we shall welcome your verdict with all humility.

ZARANJ-CALCUTTA

Zaranj


What better way to celebrate the 10th of May this year than a dinner at Zaranj’s? It was our anniversary and to remember our thirty years of togetherness, we drove over to the National Museum and Zaranj was just across the corner. A liveried doorman, dressed like a Maharaja of yore, ushered us in. Two cavernous halls greeted us; the Chinese-Thai-Japanese bonanza straight ahead and the North Indian- North West Frontier Mahal just to the right. We opted for the Indian section. No it was not a bazaar not even a shopping mall but a cosy nook to relax and contemplate on the fleetingness of time.

Two smartly dressed stewards ensconced us in our seats, which were adjacent to an ersatz waterfall. It was rather early in the evening and the space wasn’t crowded. We asked for Fish Begum Bahar to start with along with a beer for me and an almond drink for my better half. Succulent bhetkis skewered over fire and then cooked in butter were a delicacy. Indeed a kebab worth the memory and with beer being served in a silver jug the ambience was simply supraterrestrial.

"What do you think
The bravest drink
Under the sky?"
"Strong beer," said I.

"There's a place for everything,
Everything, anything,
There's a place for everything
Where it ought to be:
For a chicken, the hen's wing;
For poison, the bee's sting;
For almond-blossom, Spring;
A beerhouse for me."
-Robert Graves

After doing full justice to the Bhetki we chose chicken. The waiter suggested Murgh Omar Khayyam and sure enough it was a delight. Omar Khayyam has an undying reputation; be it his divine poetry, his passion for wine or his mathematics. The dish was none of these three but something equally celestial. Chicken drumsticks barbecued in a coal oven tasted like ambrosia with a dollop of curd-pudhinara sauce. Moonlight dancing was not on the menu but it was the next best thing.

Three decades is certainly a long measure of time. Raising children takes its toll; and the daily grind of existence leaves us with little scope for appreciation of our contributions. Her voice, very silent, very shrill, still evokes the same responses as it deed that summer of 1977.
I've counted the miles to Babylon,
I've flown the earth like a bird,
I've ridden cock-horse to Banbury Cross,
But no such song have I heard
-Robert Graves

The evening was no longer young and the place was filling up fast. There was very little of bustle and the diners were sober like a Jesuit. There were paintings hung on the wall: robust tribesman of the Frontier, majestic farmers from the land of the five rivers and many more. The chef behind a glass cage was busy roasting the kebabs, for all to see and admire.

We were keen to proceed to the main dish of Surkh Korma and Lacha Tawa Paratha. This needed some waiting but it was the crème de la crème. It was boneless mutton, well cut, well cooked and well served with circular ghee- fried bread. We ate to our heart’s delight. Full marks Zarang! The Emperor was not only fully clothed but in State Regalia.

It was time to take our leave and my wife had a Tutti-Frutti for the road. Stepping out we saw the stars were shining in all their glory.

THE OFFAL AND ORDURE IN HERODOTUS. NOT REALLY.

Herodotus is the doyen of historians, the patriarch of Western history. Along with Homer and Hesiod he formed the venerable Trinity [the three Hs] of Greek literature. His history of the Persian Wars is not only enchanting but also a stunning portrayal of gender and sexuality and, not to mention the sexual deviations of that era. Strange as it may seem, the sexual perversions depicted in his history had quite a lasting impact in the rise and fall of the fortunes of various nations at that time. At certain places Herodotus’ narrative verges on the absurd; but for an understanding of our vanished yesterdays, specially the long forgotten Ionia and Golden Greece, there is nowhere else to look.

In book one, also called Cleo, there is the story of Canduales, King of Lydia. Candaules was passionately in love with his wife and considered her the most beautiful woman on Earth. Being bewitched by her beauty he spoke of her to his close confidante and bodyguard, Gyges, extolling the various features of her body and requested him to view her naked. Aghast at so unseemly a proposal, Gyges politely turned down the offer but the King persisted. At last Gyges relented and following his master’s advice hid in the royal bedchamber at night. The Queen, who suspected nothing, disrobed herself before retiring to bed and Gyges who had seen the Queen in her nakedness slunk away. The Queen however had seen Gyges and chose to remain silent for the time being but understood that it was her husband who was behind this mischief. On the morrow she called Gyges to her presence and told him that he had seen what was forbidden for another man to see and now only two courses remained in front of him. He had either to kill the King or to kill himself. With a heavy heart Gyges chose the former, and, aided by the Queen, he murdered the King with a knife while he was sleeping in the Royal bedchamber. Later on Gyges married the Queen and possessed the kingdom of Lydia.


At that time the tyrant, Peisistratos, who had been driven out of Athens earlier by the commons, ruled Athens. He had regained his despotism with the help of a prominent citizen Megakles, and as per the agreement he had to marry Megakles’ daughter. Peisistratos was already married and had grown up sons and not desiring to have any further issue he had commerce with his new wife but not of the usual kind, a fact that infuriated his father-in-law. Peisistratos fearing for his life fled Athens once again but this charismatic individual regained his despotism by guile. Sodomy was not unknown in Athens then.

The Prophetess at Delphi called Cyrus, the founder of the Persian Empire, a mule. A mule is the hermaphrodite offspring of a mare and a male donkey. It signifies a hybridisation; the ovum of a superior female uniting with the sperm of an inferior male. The production of the ‘human’ mule is abhorrent to many. During apartheid in South Africa it was not only unthinkable but also illegal for a black man to marry a white woman, the ‘Othello phenomenon’. The great Mughal Emperor Akbar had legislated that no woman born in the royal family could marry, as she was superior to all other men. Now the mother of Cyrus was a Medean Princess while his father was a Persian nobleman and at that time Persia was a subject nation to the Medes. Thus the Prophetess of Delphi considered Cyrus a mule.


In the Second Book also called Euterpe, where Herodotus describes Egypt in considerable detail there is the strange story of the ‘Deserters’. These deserters were originally soldiers of Egypt, two hundred and forty thousand in number, and were manning a garrison in the remotest southern tip of Egypt bordering Ethiopia. They were on duty for three consecutive years at a stretch and yet they were not relieved. Ultimately they all revolted and transferred their allegiance to Ethiopia. When the Egyptian king personally requested them not to do so which would tantamount to deserting their country, wives and family, one of the deserters approached the King and displaying his virile member assured him that wherever this member stayed they would always have wives and family. How touching and true: for certainly if a man is in possession of youth he can invariably have a wife and family wheresoever he may be.

Herodotus mentions that in Egypt the women passed water standing and the men crouching. I am not sure if he was writing with his tongue in cheek or he had personally witnessed a woman doing so unnatural a thing. Or perhaps, Mother Nature specially endowed women of Egypt in those bygone days and I believe, if such rumours can be believed, one woman of more recent memory was able to do the same. She is a former Prime minister of England; but that is simply preposterous if, indeed, not a calumny.

Elsewhere he states that during his sojourn in Egypt a male goat had intercourse with a woman publicly! Must have been a very interesting sight.

The corpses of the rich and the aristocrats were embalmed soon after death and then stored in a sepulchral chamber. But in cases of women the corpses are handed over for embalming after four or five days lest the embalmers perform an unholy act on the dead body. Thunder of Jupiter! Necrophilia was not unknown to the ancients.

The Egyptians were the first to forbid commerce with women in the precincts of a temple and also to perform proper ablution before entering a temple after intercourse with a woman.

Herodotus mentions the wondrous tale of the Egyptian king Pheros who was struck blind as a divine punishment for arrogantly shooting a spear into the river. For ten years he was tormented by his disease and when the time for his deliverance came he was asked to wash his eyes with the water of a woman who knew her husband and no other. First he made a trial of his wife’s and finding no improvement he tried with all the ladies of the court and after many endeavours he regained his sight. Adultery has never been out of fashion it seems!

Another Egyptian king, Amasis, had married a Greek woman Ladlike but was unable to consummate his marriage. He was however able to have commerce with his other wives. At last, being exasperated, he told her that she was practicing magic on him and would certainly face his vengeance one day very soon. Ladlike, seeing the predicament she was in, prayed to Aphrodite for succour and that very night Amasis was able to have intercourse with her much to his liking. From then on whenever he lay with her he was mighty pleased and Ladlike dutifully sent the votive offerings to Aphrodite.

Cambyses was the son of the illustrious Cyrus, the founder of the Persian Empire. On being King after the death of Cyrus, he wished to take his sister as his wife. As marriage between brother and sister was unheard of, he asked the Royal Judges for opinion. The Judges were in a tight corner and chose to reply diplomatically. They answered that such a marriage was not a custom among the Persians but the King of the Persians was above the Law and was free to do anything. Now Cambyses was free to marry his sister! The Roman Emperor Caligula who had commerce with all his sisters must have read his Herodotus aright.

Reckon no feathers will be ruffled and no eyebrows will be raised when Herodotus’ account of how Darius {Darieous in Greek} became King of the Persians after Cambyses death is narrated. Cambyses, although having numerous wives, died issueless. A non-Persian usurper, Smerdis, seized the throne by treachery. Seven Persian nobles conspired to oust Smerdis. Smerdis and his bodyguards were assassinated in the uprising and power once again returned to the Persians. Who among the seven nobles would be the King was to be decided by lots. The nobles were to ride their horses at sunrise on the morrow and the horse that neighed first would be honoured as carrying the King on it’s back. Darius had an ostler, well versed in the tricks of the trade. Darius confided in him the wager and the ostler readied his act. At daybreak he rubbed his hand on the private parts of the mare that the stallion of Darius was enamoured of and when the seven nobles commenced their ride on horseback the wily ostler brought his hand to the nose of Darius’ stallion. The horse smelling the hand sneezed and neighed, and Darius was proclaimed King!


Herodotus narration is remarkably wonderful and highly meticulous of details. A study of his history not only invigorates the mind but also reminds us the plenitude of human follies that have always accompanied the march of man.

HELEN OF TROY

Can anyone tell me why Helen of Troy and for that matter the whole of Homer’s immortal classic ‘The Iliad’ is depicted so shabbily in films? The story is invariably turned roundabout and one wonders if the filmmakers are illiterate or even analphabetic. Take for example ‘Troy’ starring Brad Pitt as Achilles. There is the impossible, or shall I say the ridiculous, scenario of Hector killing Menelaus almost at the beginning. Could there be anything further from truth? The other evening I watched ‘Helen of Troy’ on the prestigious ‘History Channel’ on T.V. Achilles, the ultimate Greek hero, the leader of the Myrmidons, is depicted as a bloodthirsty monster who offers his services to the High King Agamemnon docilely and kills Hector by fraud. What happened to the celebrated quarrel between Agamemnon and Achilles? Furthermore to add insult to injury, Helen was shown being ravished by the victorious Greek soldiers in full view of the aghast Menelaus. Homer did certainly not mention any unholy traffic with Helen’s vulva during the sack of Troy.


Helen was the most beautiful woman on Earth and was happily married to Menelaus, the king of Sparta. Menelaus was the younger brother of Agamemnon, the Commander-in-chief of the fleet that sailed for Troy. The Greeks, at least the aristocracy, led an easy carefree life much like the Kennedys of the nineteen sixties. Paris, the Prince of Troy, stayed in Menelaus’ palace as a royal guest. But it was preordained that Paris shall have Helen as a bedmate. Long ago he had judged who, among the three immortals, Hera, Athene and Aphrodite, was the most beautiful. Aphrodite bribed Paris that if he chose her the winner she will see to it that Paris would marry the most beautiful woman on Earth. The seeds were already sown and only the harvest remained to be reaped. Paris eloped with Helen for Troy: Helen was a willing accomplice, an adulteress.

The Greeks assembled in strength under Agamemnon’s command and a mighty flotilla sailed the seas for Troy – a thousand ships in all. Achilles, the son of King Peleus and the sea goddess Thetis, was the greatest warrior of his day; he was vulnerable only at his heels. This war would have been over a lot sooner had it not been for the quarrel between Agamemnon and Achilles, the two headstrong men. It was this quarrel that made the war linger for ten years. The quarrel, otherwise known as the wrath of Achilles, was over a woman. The Greeks camping on Trojan soil had gone on marauding raids on nearby Trojan countryside. The war booty was divided among the Greek champions. Breisis, a ravishing virgin fell to Achilles’ lot and Chreisis, daughter of a priest of Apollo, was given to Agamemnon. However Apollo was furious with the Greeks for showing disrespect to his priest and harrowed the Greek army. A meeting of the Greek chieftains was called and in the highly emotional atmosphere of the assembly Agamemnon snatched Breisis from Achilles after returning Chreisis to her father. The sulking Achilles refused to take any further part in the battle. He called his mother, the goddess Thetis, to influence Zeus to plague the Greeks in the war so that Agamemnon will be forced to see his mistake and return Breisis to placate him. Zeus kept his word and the Greeks lost all hope of returning victorious. Hector, the Trojan general, simply ran amok and the Greeks ran helter skelter from his assaults. The Greeks were in dire straits to save their ships. Patroclus, the friend and nephew of Achilles donned Achilles divine armour and led the Myrmidons against Hector. There was a massive change in the fortunes of war as the Greeks once again fought with vigour when they saw Patroclus leading the army of Achilles’. The Greeks mistook him for Achilles.

Hector confusing Patroclus for Achilles joined battle and it was soon over. Patroclus was slain and the Trojans denuded his body of the armour of Achilles. The embattled veteran of the Greeks, Odysseus, somehow brought the corpse back to the Greek camp.

Achilles was full of remorse and he arranged a grand funeral for his close friend. His mother went to the divine smithy Hephaestus to make Achilles new armour, which Hephaestus promptly complied.

The morrow saw the battle royal. The single combat between Achilles and Hector commenced in front of the gates of Troy. Hector knew his days were over and he thrice made an attempt to head for the gates and thrice he was pushed away by the pursuing Achilles. At last Achilles drove his javelin through Hector’s chest and the Trojan general lay spread-eagled on the soil of Troy. Achilles next split Hector’s tendons at the ankle and tied a leather thong to it, tied it to his chariot and dragged his corpse thrice round the walls of Troy and headed for his tent on the shore.

The whole battle was watched by the royal house of Troy from the ramparts and Andromache, the widow of Hector fainted at the sight. As night fell Agamemnon, in disguise, approached Achilles in his tent and ransomed Hector’s body and took it to Troy for a decent funeral.

A truce was declared for seven days when the Greeks arranged fore the funeral of Patroclus and the Trojans did the same for Hector.

When the war resumed Achilles was shot by an arrow by Paris [some say it was the god Apollo] and the arrow hit the only vulnerable part of his anatomy, that is his ankle, and Achilles perished in glory and eternal fame.

Later Paris met his end when he was killed by the Greek chieftain, Philoctetes, a son of the fabled Hercules. As Helen lost her paramour, she was now wooed by the two remaining sons of King Priam: Deiphobus and Helenus. Helen was not keen to marry any more but she was forcibly married to Deiphobus [a rape probably].

The fall of Troy was soon to follow. One fine day the Greeks sailed away in their ships leaving a huge wooden horse behind. What it stood for no one knew. Some said it was a dedication to Apollo or Athene, others claimed it was a memorial for the slain Greek soldiers. The Trojans dragged the horse within their city by partly dismantling their gates. It was a night of celebration as they thought the war was over. But as night fell the hidden trap door of the wooden horse was opened by the Greek soldiers hiding inside and they promptly signaled their comrades sheltering in a nearby island. And the massacre began. Almost everyone of fighting age was put to the sword.

Agamemnon raided Priam’s palace and dispatched Priam with a javelin thrust. He took Priam’s daughter Cassandra, a prophetess of some merit, as his concubine and sailed for home. Menelaus killed Deiphobus who was distracted by Helen, for which Menelaus forgave her. He took Helen and reached Sparta safely and ruled for a long time. They were still there when Odysseus’ son Telemachus went to Sparta to enquire about his illustrious father and they gave him a royal welcome.

So where do we get the highly improbable story of Menelaus’ death in the Trojan War? Where indeed do we find Helen being violated by the Greek soldiers at the sack of Troy? Surely many women were debauched as it happens in any war and many were carried away as war booties. But Helen being ravished by the common Greek soldier is simply fantastic.


Helen died a natural death in her beloved Sparta, and as far mythology goes she was married afterwards to Achilles who was reposing in the Elysian Fields on the Black Sea. Many mariners vouched for the fact that they had seen the two immortals making merry and singing ‘The Iliad’ to the relentless waves of the sea.

THE STATESMAN KOLKATA 26 JANUARY 2007

MY LETTER TO THE EDITOR
NOT PUBLISHED BY THE EDITOR
THE STATESMAN
KOLKATA

I am first writing the mother letter and then writing my crticism on it. My criticism The Statesman DID not publish




Very late realisation Sir, ~ Addressing the Democratic Youth Federation of India’s Brigade rally on 7 January, chief minister Mr. Buddhadeb Bhattacharjee thundered against 8 January’s Bangla bandh called by the Trinamul Congress-led Opposition saying: “Nobody wants Bangla bandh, nobody likes work stoppage... what message will these bandhs send to investors, particularly foreign investors?” A million thanks to Mr Bhattacharjee for his very very late realisation. But what message was sent by the Citu-called Bharat bandh on 14 December, 2006? The response can be heard from the British Deputy High Commissioner, who denounced the Bangla bandh culture only the day before. The fact remains that since 1948 communist-led Leftists have called 63 general strikes or Bangla bandhs. Pramod Dasgupta called a 48-hour Bangla bandh in July 1966. He used to thunder that the Congress should be brought to its knees through a series of strikes and bandhs. He loudly advocated militant trade unionism ~ maar ka badla maar hai, khoon ka badla khoon hai ~ gherao, etc which destroyed the state’s industry which was once a glory of India. Leftists opposed computerisation tooth and nail till 1995, but now they want to become No. 1 in IT in the country. It is the Leftists who institutionalised the bandh culture, but now the CM is opposing it. It is a typical case of Frankenstein’s monster destroying the creator. ~ Yours, etc., Abani Kumar Das and Jahar Das, Kolkata, 8 January.








To
The Editor
The Statesman
Kolkata

Sir

Abani Kumar Das and Jahar Das have simply put the cart before the horse in their letter ‘Very late realisation’ in yesterday’s Statesman. It is certainly not the CPM’s fault that the Bengalis are docile, subservient and indolent but it is surely the Bengali’s fault that the CPM is so devious and Machiavellian. It is a well-known dictum that a political party, like organized religion, soon assumes the character of its votaries and adherents. One just has to cross the State border and enter Jharkhand, Bihar, Assam or Orissa to understand how much we Bengalis are loved, or otherwise, in these States and for what reasons.

Thanks

Sincerely

YUDHISTIR CHOUDHURY 26 01 2007

NATIVITY:FROM A NON BELIEVER'S EYES

That a woman could conceive and give birth to a child without congress with a man, an idea seemingly contrary to our intelligence, is the very cornerstone of Nativity or the birth of Lord Jesus. Virgin Mary, the mother of Jesus gave birth to her Son in a stable at Bethlehem and remained a virgin, is the teaching of the Holy Gospels. Of all the books written on the life and times of Jesus, only four, those of Matthew, Mark, Luke and John are accepted as infallible by the Church. There were others, which were rejected and are known today as the Agnostic Gospels or the Suppressed Gospels. All the four accepted Gospels were written by Jewish converts to Christianity except that of Mark’s who was a Roman convert and none of them were contemporary of Jesus. They were written about seventy to a hundred years after Jesus’ Crucifixion.

The Church of Rome with a hallowed history of over two thousand years, the longest uninterrupted institution of mankind, has been persistent in its teaching of the Immaculate Conception. Mary, the mother of Jesus, is portrayed as a woman of incorruptible virtue and although she was married to her husband Joseph she had no carnal knowledge of him. She was fecundated by the Holy Spirit, which the theologians have explained as the Spirit of God, our Father in Heaven. One of the pivotal concepts of Christianity, that of the Holy Trinity, the unity of the Father, Son and the Holy Spirit is rather difficult for a layman to comprehend. The Father is of course the God in Heaven and the son is Lord Jesus. The Spirit is the essence of God pervading and permeating the whole cosmos.

In due course of time she gave birth to her Son, a human being of normal flesh and bones, in an apparent painless labour. She remained a virgin with an intact hymen even during the actual time of her delivery, analogous to sunbeams passing through glass. This has been glorified in the Bible as the Immaculate Conception. We are led to believe that Mary, although a normal healthy woman, was able to conceive and deliver a child without experiencing the pleasures of sexual intercourse; nor did she suffer the discomforts of pregnancy and the pain of labour. According to the suppressed Gospels, a midwife doubting the strange phenomenon of Parthenogenesis wished to verify, and was instantly paralysed. Incidentally Mary herself is portrayed in some books as being a product of Immaculate Conception but that is a different story.

Thus was Jesus born without the taint of Original Sin, a unique concept of Judeo-Christian Theology. Adam and Eve, our first parents living in primal innocence in the Garden of Eden, transgressed the command of God by eating the fruit of the Forbidden Tree and indulging in sexual intercourse thereafter is the Original Sin of Bible. This resulted in their fall and expulsion from Paradise.

The sex act has somehow been mired in controversy. The male’s, at least those of the ruder ages, incomprehension of the normal physiology of females, the passage of blood during menstruation and the flow of vaginal fluids during intercourse has had some strange effects on the mind. It was an anathema to believe that Adam and Eve did indulge in intercourse before the Fall. The established Church still denies it. However the English poet John Milton, a staunch Puritan, unequivocally asserts in ‘Paradise Lost’ that our first parents did copulate before the Fall, as a mandate from Heaven, obeying God’s command ‘Go forth and multiply’ and it is sheer hypocrisy to think otherwise.

Milton is guilty, according to the elders of the Church, of holding the heretical views of Arianism. Arianism, a theism that held sway in the early years of Christianity, affirms the supremacy of the Father over the Son and that They were not one and the same, has been proscribed by the Church, which upholds that the Father and the Son are one and of the same ‘substance’.

In the early years, when Rome was gradually turning Christian, the esteemed Fathers of the Church were much concerned with the ideas of virginity and chastity. Virginity was not only praised to high heavens but also deified. Pre-Christian Rome, also known as Pagan Rome, did have an institution of virgins consecrated to the services of Vesta but it could hardly boast of six virgins at a time doing the temple duties. The ingenuity and the motivations of the Fathers of the Church were such that many women, even those from the noble families were more than willing to devote their lives to the Church and live as nuns, devoid of any contact with men and practicing rigid celibacy. The nuns were considered to be the spouse of the God. An esteemed Father, later canonised, St.Jerome, with characteristic naivety addressed a mother of a nun with an embarrassing sobriquet ‘Mother-in –law of God’.

The zeal for self mortification and self abnegation among the theologians and Church hierarchs was carried to such ridiculous levels that a most distinguished and learned Father, Origen, had himself castrated to be free from the pleasures of the flesh. Following his example, castration became a rage, sometimes voluntary, sometimes forcible until the obnoxious practice was forbidden by the saner elements of the Church.

To the Church, Lord Jesus on earth was the same as God in heaven. It was only natural then to believe that the body of Jesus, Corpus Christi, was unique and it was never defiled by the excretion of stool and urine and the ejaculation of semen. That the Son of Man, born of a woman, who lived among his contemporaries and shared his meals with his disciples, did not suffer the ‘impurities’ of the flesh is a strange centaur to behold. What are the Church’s views on this point, at present, is not known.

The much-debated stories of the ‘Shining Star’ and the ‘Adoration of the Magi’ are, unless proven to the contrary, symbolic. It emphasizes Divine approval to the birth of Jesus as per the opinion of the devout believers. The Magi, also known as the Wise Men of the East, were possibly Zoroastrians from Persia and were well versed in the esoteric arts of astrology, necromancy etc. They came bearing gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh to the infant Jesus. The gifts were certainly expensive in the material sense, as befitting an Emperor. That an infant born in a humble stable to parents of modest means should be worthy of adoration by men, rich in years and erudition, is an uplifting story of redemption.

All said and done the teachings of Jesus, initially meant for the Jews only but later spread far and wide by the genius of St.Paul, metamorphosed the tribal God Jehovah, a god of strict uprightness and capable of extreme vengeance, to a God of mercy and compassion. The old Testament, pregnant and heavy with the Ten Commandments which were more often obeyed in the breach, gave way to the New Testament of Jesus Christ with only two Commandments: Love thy God and Love thy neighbour. And what a sea change it brought about in human history.

SHIKAR HYDERABAD

SHIKAR, HYDERABAD



It was a delightful evening and my daughter, the perfect hostess, desired to give us a treat. What could be more romantic than to have a gala dinner to celebrate our Independence Day [evening?] in one of the famed restaurants of our cyber city, Hyderabad, with the weather playing a perfect goddess? Not too hot and not too cold. But the problem lay elsewhere; no autos were available for quite some time and the one that was available was reluctant to take us there as it entailed an uphill climb. After some persuasion he was willing to take us provided we paid him something extra for his troubles. Are all the Indian auto drivers invariably menopausal?

So we headed for ‘Shikaar’ on road number 2 on Banjara Hills. Being absolutely novices or shall I say ‘innocents abroad’ we were undecided to turn left or right from the crossing. My daughter told me it was near Melting Women, [or so I heard] an ice-cream parlour. I asked a lady who was walking with her husband on the footpath where Melting Women was. She made a face which was certainly not amusing, which I was unable to fathom [as if women never melt, all have gazed upon Medusa’s face], and corrected me that it was Melting Moments and gave me the proper direction. Thus fortified we made it to Shikaar before you can say hello.

She opted for the Mexican Section and guided her mother and me to a secluded corner of the restaurant. And true to form she refused to sit until her mother and I were comfortably ensconced in our seats. The starched and moustachioed waiter, who could have easily doubled for Amir Khan, the Bollywood hero, produced the menu. It was all Greek and Latin to me, but my daughter was more resourceful. No, she doesn’t know Spanish but she had been there before and she was keen to have seafood. She chose Nachos, which happens to be crisp corn tortilla wedges splashed with refritos, melted cheese, tomatoes, onions and a choice of toppings. Surely a musical dish. The waiter rose to the occasion and promptly served us with aplomb. I asked him why he didn’t have a Mexican hat and carried no guitar and could he do us a Salsa to which he was modestly evasive. The dish was delightful and we did justice to it with relish.

We next had Mixed Fajitas. More used to mixed fried rice and mixed chow mien, mixed Fajitas was altogether a novelty worthy of a champion
Epicure. Fajitas is a style of cooking handed down for generations [which style of cooking is not?] made of marinated strips of tender lamb or chicken or fish, grilled with sweet peppers, tomatoes, onions and spices. Sancho Panza would have been delighted; specially when served sizzling on your table with salsa fresca and fresh hot tortillas. The lamb was tender and succulent, which a Dubliner would have approved, and we ate to our hearts fill.

Now we were feeling hot and the waiter promptly upped the A.C.

Then was the time when an old woman sat cross-legged at the crossing of Dharmatolla Street and Chowringhee in Calcutta, as only an Indian can. She was massive, really massive, as the mountains, and as old as the Vedas. She was facing west toward the Ganges and her eyes were shut, contemplating. She had a white wrinkled sari on and nothing else and her ponderous breasts were exposed to the elements. A herd of cow-elephants could easily have played on one of them and her arms, which hung limply by her side, resembled the boulders that Polyphemus the Cyclops hurled at Odysseus’ ship. Her feet looked like the Twin Towers of Word Trade Centre of New York. Her face remained the ultimate enigma: serene, benevolent and full of piety with a smile worthy of Socrates. Her locks were whiter than snow. Then was the time when all our heroes came to her bearing presents and to pay their respectful obeisance to this eternal mother. There was Subhas Bose who offered her his sword and Rabindranath Tagore who gave her his manuscript of Gitanjali. Satyen Bose, Acharya Mahalonobis, Khudiram Bose, Matangini Hazra, Satyajit Ray, Chaitanya Mahapravu, Mother Teresa, Bankim Chandra Chatterjee, Sarat Chandra Chatterjee, Bidhan Chandra Roy, Chuni Goswami, PK Banerjee, Bhaichung Bhutia, Saurav Ganguly, Sailen Manna, Uttam Kumar, Suchitra Sen, Chhabi Biwas, Bhanu Bandyopadhaya, Bikash Roy and host of others waited patiently for their turn. Then was the time when her fame had spread beyond our borders. Jawaharlal Nehru, Lal Bahadur Shastri, Indira Gandhi, Atal Bihari Vajpayee, Amitabh Bachhan, Maulana Azad, Lokmanya Tilak, Jamshedji Tata, C.V.Raman, Ramanujam, Homi Bhabha, Sachin Tendulkar, Babasaheb Ambedkar, Homi Sethna, Rani Laxmibai, Chatrapati Shivaji, Sam Maneckshaw, Alama Iqbal, Kalidasa, Maharaja Ranjit Singh, Jalaluddin Akbar, Mumtaj Mahal and Kapil Dev sought her benediction. Then was the time when her fame had soared across the seven seas and over the mountain ranges. Abraham Lincoln came carrying his log cabin and Mao Zedong brought his Red Book. Winston Churchill, William Shakespeare, Henry the Eighth, Nelson Mandela, Leo Tolstoy, Czar Nicholas, Vladimir Lenin, Victor Hugo, Michelangelo, Charles De Gaulle, Pablo Picasso, Albert Einstein, Rabelais, Haroun Rashid, Vivien Leigh, Richard the Lionheart, Diana Windsor, William The Conqueror, Isaac Newton, Somerset Maugham, Patrice Lumumba, Enid Blyton, Orson Welles, Agatha Christie, James Joyce, George Washington, Babe Ruth, Washington Irving, Confucius, Gustav Flaubert, Timur the Lame, Elizabeth Tudor, Frank Worrell, Captain Cook, Sophia Loren, Marilyn Monroe, Donald Bradman, Chengiz Khan, Marlon Brando, Wallis Simpson, Mae West, Papa Hemingway, John Steinbeck , Charles Dickens, Santa Claus, Alfred Nobel and a host of others made haste to her side.



Chic Macho Mam was our last port of call. Not exactly; it was the conjuror’s last trick, as the saying goes. It is grilled chicken served with Mexican rice and potato fries. Very delightful, very refreshing. A far cry from the grilled chicken we have in Kolkata. These were free ranging chickens that were well cut, well dressed, well and truly seasoned. I could spot a twinkle in my daughter’s eyes when she put the succulent pieces in her mouth.

The tables all around us were occupied but there was no din and bustle to rob us of our serenity. We relished our dinner as the occasion demanded with a song in our hearts and a smile on our lips. We simply could not expect more. Time to say goodbye and step out into reality.

The waiter brought us our bill and we appreciated his effort with a generous tip. The night was black as black can be, and the stars, shining brightly, showered their benedictions on us. We had ice creams from ‘Melting Moments’ as we strolled down Road number 2 of Banjara Hills. We did not have any problem on boarding an auto on our way back.


Merci Beaucoup Shikar.

AN ODE TO JAMES JOYCE:SAGE OF JUDAPEST

Yes Poldy still loves to eat the inner organ of beasts and fowls which saves him from erectile dysfunction although he still receives plenty of emails from gonorrheal ladies with outlandish names such as Fresh Nelly
Marlene Barnacle not to mention Pussy Galore advocating the use of various penile enhancement techniques although we have not done it ever since Milly had her Catamenes but I have noticed that Poldy gives a sly look when he sees Gerty Macdowell passing by possibly he remembers the time when he had seen her lower drawers and had experienced a certain wetness there and even nowadays he goes walking the length and breadth of Dublin with Stephen Dedalus who is presently the Lecturer in French Letters to the youth of Dublin but men are never to be trusted yes as our bonny Prince Harry was recently caught on camera squeezing the ample breast of a blonde in a night club who knows what mischief they will be upto when their wife’s back is turned but Poldy knows that if I ever find out I will cut off a certain part of his anatomy so that unlike Lord Nelson the one handled adulterer he will become man noman but that is neither here nor there for English bottoms are different from Irish bottoms as any bottompincher bottomkisser bottomgrabber bottomhandler bottomcleaner knows we are devout the way we take care of our bottoms but Stephen could have slept here last night yes no trouble for me for Stephen still has a nice and clean mickey and always takes the care of washing it before going to bed and iam sure his woman will never grow mustache but a woman needs to be cuddled atleast 20 times a day no matter by who as long as she is in love it makes her feel and remain young and I always say yes to Poldy when he comes to me with that thing of his hard and strong but so calm and smooth to touch and play and imiss him but he can stay in millis room as for long noone has slept there and iwill give him his breakfast in bed and he can tell me allabout the history of different nations and poldy dear can again come at blueoclock in the morning without putting his body through the window O and iwish poldy takesme out to the lakes where we can enjoy a nice summer day with the flowers blooming and the swans swimming and the children playing and we can have a delicious boatride and ican show poldy my old drawers and make him salivate but what dress shalli put on O ican remember the time when we first kissed an cuddled and poldy fondled my breasts it was so heavenly not like the time in gibraltar and thalatta thalatta and yes he puthis hands all around me and asked me and isaid yes and ikissed him yes isaid yes

315 UP to BANKURA

Come Sunday evening, Howrah station beckons us once again to her ample bosom. After having the customary dinner of rotis and vegetables with a fish occasionally thrown in, I leave for the station by 8.30pm, availing myself of public transport. Some of my colleagues are already assembled there by the time I reach and some follow me. By 10pm we are all assembled for our journey and we while away the time discussing any topic this side of Jupiter.

Mr. S. also nicknamed ‘the manager’ is a jovial pathologist of some fifty summers. It was he who informed us that the Professor of Pathology, Mrs. K.M. has developed a new stain which is identical to Gentian Violet but called Genital Violet instead! Mr. A.G., who continuously chews ‘paan’, nods his head approvingly to all manner of ambiguous propositions; it is difficult to decipher what exactly are his views on any question. Once while discussing the immortal passage from Kalidasa’s ‘Meghdoot’ where the forlorn lover remembers the time when he had laid his wearied head on the naked thigh of his mistress after a vigorous bout of love-making, Mr. A.G gave the rather recondite analysis that a woman’s thigh was a much better resting place than anything farther north. Talking about women’s thighs, wasn’t it Hamlet who was desirous of laying his head on Ophelia’s thigh?

Our resident humour-monger, the slattern Sabitri, who earns her livelihood by begging, drops in to ask of the manager about his latest matrimonial conquest. She habitually teases him of his polygamous behaviour [not true of course] and the hapless manager has no other recourse but to send her off with a one rupee coin. The rest of us simply relish and devour the manager’s discomfiture.

Its time now to board the train 315UP and our convoy proceeds toward platform number 11. All of us are accommodated in coach S3 and we head for our respective berths. By 10.40 pm our train is on the move
and we make our beds to lie down. Very little is required for our comfort but winter necessitates woolens to keep ourselves warm. Our journey is more or less hassle free except on those occasions when a political party holds a rally in Kolkata on a Sunday. Then the rabble of ticketless travellers tries to get in our compartment and we labour to keep them out. We are ably helped in our endeavour by Mr. Choudhury, the T.T.E.
Mr. Choudhury, very dear to us, rather short in height but wide in the midriff [like Caesar we do not favour “lean and hungry” T.T.Es] is a veritable Good Samaritan and never fails to wake us up at Onda, which is a ten minutes traveltime from Bankura. That reminds me of the occasion, when, during my absence, most of my colleagues were carried beyond Bankura. Mr. Choudhury was not on duty that evening.

There is a bit of excess rush in winter when many board the train for an excursion to the hills of Purulia. Youngsters from college go as a group and keep us awake the whole night singing songs and making merry. It happened once when a bumpy jolt forced a traveller on the middle bunk to tumble down. Mercifully he was unhurt. On the 25th of December last, only three of us were travelling by train, the others were having their annual vacation; and the train was as punctual as usual. We reached Bankura at a quarter to four in the morning. There were no taxis available on that frightfully chilly night with the wind biting and blowing, and the three of us had to walk the whole distance to our quarters braving the scrotumtightening cold.

Bankura is indeed pleasant in winter but summers are horrible. In the nacreous morns of winter, when sunlight and shadows dapple the city, Bankura is at her pristine best. It is a thousand pities that very few venture out for a morning walk; the cold, it seems, is formidable and forbidding. But for those bold enow to face the elements there is no time like a wintry morning to seek inner solace and to stand upright in the sight of our Maker. We are rewarded adequately; we are able to experience the tectonic shift occurring in our lives between the drudgery of our existence and the sublime bliss that awaits those who keep the covenant; the fast approaching andropause of the flesh and the long delayed andropause of the mind. Summer is an altogether different kettle of fish; a sizzler, if indeed there be one, and there is water scarcity to boot.

The other day I had a lesson in humility. It was early in the morning, at daybreak; I was up and about taking a morning walk, as is my custom, when I felt like having a cup of tea from a roadside stall. Few stalls were open then and in only one someone was fanning the flames of his coal oven. The shopper- keeper’s assistant brought out a dish containing the previous night’s leftovers of potato fries [known locally as Aloo Chop ] which he scattered to the pigs and dogs scavenging the ground in front of the stalls. There was a mad scramble between the dogs and the pigs for the leftovers with a murder of crows pitching in. I can hardly believe my eyes now, for I saw a woman emerging out of nowhere, as if a psychopomp, shooing away the birds and mammals alike and partaking herself of the food from the ground however besmirched with dust they might have been. She put them to her nose, sniffed it, found they were not all that putrid and promptly wrapped them in the folds of her saree and vanished from where she came. She never came to me begging for alms and I am not certain if she was not in the Lord’s mind when He said “I was hungry yet you did not feed me.”

An early morning walk before the crack of dawn is invigorating, refreshing and rejuvenating. There are very few vehicles on the street at that hour; only a few bullock carts and buffalo carts ply loads of hay. I really pity these magnificent beasts, the mainstay of our rural economy. Underfed and underkept, they are made to lose their ballocks to our cupidity and ungrudgingly carry out their master’s service till their dying breath. Shall Maneka Gandhi do something? The word ballocks reminds me that Hitler had only one, which is neither here nor there; but just imagine what would have happened if he had the customary two?

Near the Bankura Police Station I often come across a robust, auburn haired he-goat rummaging the dustbins who stinks horribly of a provocatively erotic stench. Quite a fine specimen he certainly is and must have sired innumerable progeny by now; a cheeky Satyr that would have given Casanova a run for his money.

The free ranging pigs are everywhere goring the earth for juicy tubers and occasionally harrassed by the mongrels. Being chased by a vicious canine, a pig once bumped into me and was bewildered at the impact: he raised his face and the moon shone brightly on him. I realized I had seen this face before; in fact his was the most recognisable face of my childhood: the face of Albert Einstein. I had a feeling he understood the mystery of the universe, he knew who built the pyramids, but alas! If only he could talk.
Bankura like all cities surely has its vices but unlike Kolkata there is very little extortion. Street smart thugs do not approach house builders for donations nor do they insist on supplying the building materials however of poor quality they may be. This is in stark contrast to the browbeaten Kolkatan who is left to fend for himself and who has no freedom to choose his own hardware store. I only pray that Bankura keeps alive her undefiled virtue for all eternity. During the Autumn festival, Durga Puja, there is hardly any arm twisting or furburger tweezing by the roving gangs of subscription collectors. Even the small transport operators, men who run aoturickshaws and trekkers, are courteous with modest auri sacra fames.

In the field of education Bankura is a shining beacon. The students do exceptionally well in the school leaving examinations. The Christian Mission Schools for boys and girls have a reputation to keep and they do their job sincerely. The Christian College with its sylvan surroundings is a landmark in Bankura and I was delighted to know that they impart education to a significant number of tribal children at concessional rates.
The Pricipal Mr. Richard Bajpaie, is a self-effacing gentleman [no stiff upper lip, no putting on airs] and also a minister of the church. No, I did not ask him his views on the doctrine of trans-substantiation, gays in church service or same sex marriages; reckon, I shall ask when I meet him next.

There is a laid back lifestyle, reminescent of the early 1950s, and the men and women are not glued to their idiot boxes as is common in Kolkata. People do pay courtesy calls and there is much time for a tete-a tete and a family get-together. Come to think of it, home grown Bankuraites are very civil in their approach to strangers and the aged are shown due respect and decency.

It is a marvellous fact that though a district capital, Bankura does not boast of any redlight area. It doesn’t have a proper brothel, in a manner of speaking, although a few savvy whores can be had for the asking in the seedier areas of the city. I am informed by my dermatologist friend that the incidence of sexually transmitted diseases is unbelievingly low in this jewel of a city. The answer certainly lies in the rather simplistic reason that Bankura is far from the National Highway and the floating population of truck drivers and fellow travellers is remarkably scanty.

Bankura is a strong contender for the last bastion of innocence in West Bengal. I was astonished to learn from quite a few women that the nearly-vanished Edwardian art of coitus-interruptus is still practised as a method of family planning : “he always withdraws in time, he is such a sweet darling”.

CIRCE:AN ETERNAL ENIGMA

At the very onset I must apologize to the shade of Ms. Virginia Woolf for writing on a woman without being the least qualified to do so: I am not a woman, I am not a feminist and I have never immersed myself in anthropology. Not that I am a misogynist but I have seldom come across an article on Circe written by a man or a woman who depicts her without horns and a broomstick.


It was in the early 1960s when Nirad Choudhury wrote an award winning non-fiction called the Continent of Circe that aroused my interest in this charming lady. Not that I understood much of what he wrote but I gathered from my English teacher, who always donned a three piece suit even in the torrid summer, that Circe was an enchanting woman in Homer’s Odyssey who made animals out of men and held them in captivity. Like other school boys in quest of esoteric knowledge I asked some of my forward looking seniors what Circe was all about and the inevitable reply was “Don’t waste your time on that bitch, read ‘Lady Chatterley’s Lover’ instead”. I was in junior high school then and the hormones of those pubescent days had stirred inquisitiveness in me to the opposite sex; what girls did in their spare time, what books they read at leisure, how they did their coiffures, who were their heroes etc: in short what was it to be a girl. Like many boys of my class I had a crush on my mother, which I later understood to be a quasi-fatal manifestation of Oedipus complex and I imagined Circe to have bountiful breasts, not necessarily pendulous, delightful to behold and more delightful to play with and the nipples oozing milk and honey. As years rolled by, Circe remained deep in my brain and on reading E.V.Riew’s translation [in Penguin Classics] of Odyssey; I once again forayed back in time to the magic moments of my childhood to pay homage to this fascinating enchantress.


Odyssey is the story of the Greek hero Odysseus who is homebound after the fall and sack of Troy. Next to the great Achilles he is the most charismatic of the Greeks and Homer describes him variously as the resourceful, of the nimble feet and the nimble wit, the sacker of cities, the favourite of Zeus or in other words he was the quintessential male: bold in spirit and daring, and master of stratagems. For those of us who hardly ever brought any prizes from the school games he was all that we wished to be. His travails across the sea, hopping from one island to another, surviving encounters with cannibals and standing up to the very wrath of gods were all heady wine to the awe struck neophyte.

Circe, Κϊρκη in Greek, is mentioned in book 10 [chapter 10] of the Odyssey and also in book 12. Odysseus and his crew land in Circe’s island Aeaea after narrowly escaping the cannibals of Laestrygonian land. Only a solitary ship remains of the mighty flotilla that left Troy. Homer introduces Circe as the beautiful goddess with a woman’s voice. She is the daughter of the Sun, sired on Perse, offspring of the Ocean. On the third day Odysseus sets off to reconnoiter the island when he descried smoke arising from Circe’s house which stood in a clearing of the forest of oak trees. The colour of the smoke is relevant; it is red, which prompts Odysseus to return and send a team to investigate the house. Why the smoke is red in colour, Homer does not explain but surely it has something to do with Circe’s enigma: sorcery.


Next day Odysseus divided his crew into two parties and by lottery it fell on the party led by Eurylochus to explore Circe’s house. Eurylochus and his team of twenty-two men approached Circe’s house which was built of stone and were surprised to see mountain-lions and wolves roaming freely about. But instead of attacking the men, the ferocious animals came fawning to them, wagging their tails like pet dogs greeting their masters. They heard Circe singing inside the house while she was working on the loom and the music must have been seductive.


One of them called out to her and Circe appeared at the door and invited them in. Only Eurylochus, the sceptic, suspected a trap and remained outside. Circe offered the visitors chairs to sit on and then prepared their victuals. To this she added a drug she had prepared and served her guests. The unwary Greeks devoured the food with relish and promptly lost all memory of their native land. Circe took a stick in her hand and goaded them to the pigsty: the men were all turned into swine with bristles and snouts; however they retained their human intelligence. Here lay double tragedy: a human mind in an animal’s body.


Eurylochus had observed everything from the outside and he rushed back to the ship and narrated his dismal story. Odysseus and the remaining members of the crew were deeply troubled by what they heard. Odysseus girding his mighty sword on his shoulder decided to visit Circe’s house to rescue his comrades but least knew how to do so. Here Providence or, as the Greeks say, Almighty Zeus helped him. On his way he met Hermes, the messenger of the Gods, walking the other way and looking a lot younger and attractive. [Incidentally Hermes is remembered in mythology for fathering a child on Aphrodite- Hermaphrodite, a child of dubious genitals.] Homer does not mention where Hermes was coming from but the description alludes that Hermes was heading back from Circe’s where he might have shared her bed.


Godsend Hermes cautions Odysseus about Circe’s bewitching powers and gives him a potent antidote: the herb ‘moly’ which is forbidden to a mortal to pluck but Hermes being a god is empowered to do so. Furthermore Hermes tells Odysseus that on escaping transmogrification he will be invited by Circe to share her bed which he must not refuse if he wishes to bring back his fallen comrades. But Circe will have one more trick up her sleeve; that on stripping him naked she will rob him of his courage and manhood. He must immediately unscabbard his sword and rush at Circe who will then fall at his knees and plead mercy. Odysseus should make her promise by the very gods of high Olympus not to play any more tricks and to liberate the captives from her bondage.


Thus forewarned and forearmed, Odysseus reached Circe’s house and called out to her. As foretold by Hermes, Odysseus is entertained by Circe and offered a wholesome repast which the antidote moly renders harmless. Circe is astounded and she recalls a prophecy that one Odysseus returning from Troy will be proof against her ministrations. She now invites Odysseus to share her bed and understand each other better during the intimacy. Odysseus sees through Circe’s plan and as urged by Hermes rushes at her with his naked sword ready to strike. A terrified Circe falls on her knees and pleads mercy to which Odysseus agrees provided she promises not to play any more tricks and to release her captives to which she promptly consents. Circe is now a changed woman, she uses her stick and herbal paste to make the captive swine humans once again and there is a happy reunion of the crew of Eurylochus and the remaining men.


Odysseus spends one whole year in Circe’s company; Homer says ‘as noted by the change of seasons’. Odysseus the champion at Troy is treated majestically by Circe and sleeps with her during his stay at Aeaea. After a year he is reminded by his crew to return to their native Ithaca. And Odysseus sought Circe’s help for his onward journey. Circe does not hesitate to render help; she is not annoyed nor is she sad but wishes well of Odysseus and his tempest-tossed crew.


Homer’s book on Circe raises many questions the primal one being ‘was she really a witch? Witchcraft as we understand today was unknown to the ancient Greeks. A woman dabbling in decoctions and concoctions was said to possess magical powers, the power to rejuvenate the old and infirm and also bewitch unsuspecting humans. The appearance of Hermes as he passes Odysseus is that of a young boy when the beard first darkens the face. Homer does not tell us whether Hermes ate at Circe’s table or he also bedded her but as Hermes cautions Odysseus about Circe’s guiles, it may be understood that Hermes had his carnal knowledge of her.


Odysseus first has a feel of the supra-natural on seeing red smoke billowing from Circe’s house. Why the smoke was red, remains unanswered. Could it mean to symbolize something definitely Primaeval? Odysseus was no novice to blood, having fought at Troy and partaken in its sacking. Or Odysseus thought it had something to do with ‘katamene’, the blood issuing from the female without violence and said to possess mystic properties which the ancients in their innocence understood so poorly. Homer the master story-teller does not elaborate.


Why should Circe ensnare humans and turn them into animals remains a mystery. She was a goddess, a lot more powerful than any mortal and had nothing to fear from anyone. She lived in a lonely island and had only three maids for company and was totally destitute of any masculine
attention. However to those whom she was pleased to offer her sexual favours, Odysseus for example and possibly Hermes too, she bestowed an invigorating youth. It is quite possible to believe that she found most men unworthy of her bed, or to say it in plain terms, unfit to fertilize her and produce an offspring of her choice. Homer does not mention it but some other Greek playwrights tell of a son of Circe by Odysseus.


Let us look at it from another angle. Circe symbolizes the eternal woman, created at the very beginning of life, ever vigilant and ever patient, waiting and watching, relentlessly, over the shifting sands of time, like some silver crested mountain, to produce the perfect ovum which on mating will form the Super Male, the ultimate conqueror and benefactor of the Universe. What else can explain her mischievous propensity to turn men into swine or to castrate those who escaped her first attempt at bewitchment? She was searching for the perfect man, the alpha male of modern terminology, whose seed would fecundate her to produce a Son she was hoping for all these millennia.


Homer was indeed in love with this beautiful woman and like all men he was unable to understand the woman he loved. His infatuation is evident when he fails to give us any idea what Circe looked like: the shape of her head , the colour of her hair, the angle of her nose, the rondure of her breasts, the flatness of her abdomen, the music of her voice, the serenity of her eyes or the silkiness of her alabaster thighs. He gives himself away when he makes Circe do a redoubtable about turn, from being viciously evil to being simply divine and benevolent. Odysseus was no novice to the charms of a woman and had spent ten years in the tumult of a camp; he had partaken in the sack of Troy where the vanquished women were taken as war trophies. Yet he was destined by Providence to guard against the wiles of a woman who chose her bed-mates with maturity and caution. He was born to the gore and to the wanderlust as Circe was born to produce the unimpeachable offspring. Circe later on advises Odysseus to make the dangerous journey to the under-word ‘Hades’, from whose bourne no traveller returns, to seek out the soul of the prophet Tieresias and to know his destiny. She knew the answer to Odysseus’ questions yet she sent him on an arduous journey. She wanted him to see for himself the outcome of war: its total futility, its misery and its rapacity. For Circe indeed was immortal; she belonged to the past, she is in the present and she will be in the future. She understood that the male principle will, throughout its tenure on earth, be bent upon destruction of the species whereas she, the very epitome of the female principle, will be called upon to produce the perfect man who will be the repository of empyreal wisdom, [LOGOS in Greek] and our saviour. Her womb will be given the pride of place: it shall nurture and nourish Him who will recall humankind to sanity and prevent the world from utter destruction.

MAINLAND CHINA, CALCUTTA

January the sixth being my birthday, my daughter Ananya, a soft ware techie invited us for lunch at Mainland China, a premier restaurant in Kolkata specializing in Chinese cuisine. My wife and I along with two of my uncles [both octogenarians] and their better halves, my cousin sister and my sister –in- law and her daughter made up the team.

The restaurant is quite a groovy place and at lunch time is rather crowded. We were ushered in by smartly attired waiters to our table and on sitting down everyone sang ‘A happy birthday to you’ to me. Not that it was embarrassing but I would have appreciated a quieter welcome. The ambience was sophisticated but not stifling. And who is bothered when one is among one’s very own, the few, the very few whom one loves dispassionately.

Ananya advocated a buffet to which all of us agreed. The waiter served us chicken soup along with mou-mou, both steamed and fried. It was simply divine. Afterwards we lined up for the main buffet. There was a wide range of choice and dish in hand we helped ourselves to each item.


``Oh, Tiber! Father Tiber!
To whom the Romans pray,
A Roman's life, a Roman's arms,
Take thou in charge this day!


Baby corn in sauce, ladies fingers with mushrooms, two types of noodles, rice with shredded chicken, two preparations of chicken, fish in whitish sauce and crabs. Yes crabs; and they were the main attraction. Forgive me, I am not much of a connoisseur of Chinese delicacies and I am unable to give an exact description of the dishes, but the food was indeed delicious. Aditi, my niece, is quite at home with chopsticks and she used them with delectable élan. The rest of us used fork and spoon but when it came to the crunch we had to use our fingers. Yes your guess is right; for the crabs, especially to get at the claw-meat there was no other way. And the crabs, both the corpus and the claws were exceedingly succulent. The elder of my uncles did not try it; his dentures would not permit. Time and again we went to the long table and refilled our dishes and the conversation that flowed was congenial.

There were two ladies, both Indians, in their late fifties dressed in European style eating with chopsticks sitting immediately behind me. Nothing unusual in that but suddenly one of them felt unwell and was comforted by the other. I approached her and thought of saying ‘ete vous malad?’ mistaking them to be well versed in French. However she spoke in chaste Bengali that she was allergic to ajina moto [sodium glutamide] and the food in the restaurant had a generous sprinkling of the same. I further gathered from her that ajina moto was banned in the hotels of Europe when I politely informed her that it was in regular usage in India as an essential ingredient of Chinese cookery. Anyway her vitals were well maintained and I informed the maitre’d who had come running by then to offer her some brandy. She gulped down the drink and quickly recovered and her spirits soared.

Time slipped by as we did justice to our fare. My cousin informed me that ajina moto was indeed banned in Europe; I wasn’t all that certain though. Aditi, the sweet darling, regaled us with tales about Switzerland which she had visited last year. I was intrigued to know that the second and third piercing of her ears were a Swiss affair! Ananya later recounted her life in the information industry at Hyderabad, the pranks they play and the dressing down they receive from the project manager.

My sister–in–law Sharmila, who is Aditi’s mother, is a many splendoured lady. A product of Presidency College, Calcutta, she has an excellent academic record, and wonder of wonders, is a superb cook to boot. Her forte is ice-cream and soufflés. But the drudgery of a home-maker is taking its toll; she says she no longer makes ice-cream on her daughter’s request, on the contrary she hands over the money for ice-cream to her daughter and tells her that all the ice-creams in her repertoire are available in the City Centre. There is wisdom somewhere in this but it overshot me.

Talking of ice-creams, its time to describe what we had for desserts. There were fried crispies dipped in syrup and ice-cream. We had an over generous helping of the dessert.

We ate and ate is if there was no tomorrow, my better half making innumerable bee-lines to the ice-cream table. Talk about watching the calories; its ‘gone with the wind’.



And how can man die better
Than facing fearful odds,
For the ashes of his fathers,
And the temples of his gods.


It was time to say goodbye; but wait a minute. No we did not sing ‘Auld Lang Syne’. The waiter brought a cake and a tumbler with an electronic cracker to me and I had to do the honours to blow out the candle. We all shared a piece of cake before we left.


It was an experience worth the visit. Mainland China is indeed a place where good food can be had for the asking at competitive rates. And believe me the clientele there, as it appeared, are well behaved and do not flaunt their wealth and N.R.I manners if any.

CATO THE YOUNGER

Was it a conspiracy of fate that Republican Rome in her dying throes produced such men of eminence the likes of whom the world has seldom seen, leave alone seen holding the centre stage? Like some ethereal apparition they appeared in brilliant effulgence and then faded away heralding a period of universal gloom.

When the civil wars of Marius and Sulla were over, when the banks of the Tiber were breathing the draughts of relief once again, there emerged men of exceptional caliber to guide the destiny of Rome. The names of Julius Caesar, Cicero and Pompey the Magnus reverberate today with awe and splendour across the long corridor of time. What was it in the Roman psyche, in the Roman ethos and in the Roman upbringing that gave us these men of indomitable spirit and lustrous mind which lesser mortals throughout the ages have tried to emulate and only a few have succeeded?

Cato the Younger, named after his great grand father, Cato the Elder, was no exception. He has gone down in history for his stubbornness and incorruptibility. There were many exceptional facets to his character and his whole life upheld the ennobling qualities that Providence bestows upon her favourite. He was born in Rome in 95 BCE, of Patrician parents and was orphaned at an early age. His maternal uncle brought him up along with his siblings. Even at an early age he showed his mettle when he refused to be bullied by elder students, his teacher or by any political big-wig.

On coming of age Cato left his uncle’s house to live independently and studied philosophy and moral and political questions. In his day he was the greatest practitioner of Stoic Philosophy. He tempered his body to withstand the extremes of heat and cold and could do with a minimum of food and clothing. He used to avoid the luxury of riding a horse and often traversed long distances on foot when his compatriots and juniors sat on the saddle.


Cato saw military service in Macedon where he commanded a legion. He shared with his soldiers their work, food and living quarters. He was a frontline leader of his men and was strict in discipline and punishment. He enjoyed the undiluted love of his legionaries. Later on he visited the Roman colonies in Asia and conversed with the famed Philosophers, especially the revered teachers of the Stoic school.

On his return to Rome he was elected a quaestor which entailed supervision of the treasury. Cato made a thorough study of the taxes and kept a close watch on functioning of the tax collectors. He did not hesitate to punish those guilty of embezzlement and extortion.

Afterwards he became a senator and he never missed a single session of the house. He was the first to arrive and the last to leave after the day’s business was over. Cato publicly rebuked them who shirked their senatorial responsibilities.

The women in his life

His relations with women were to say the least, strange, if not downright confusing. He was initially betrothed to Aemelia Lepida who was earlier engaged to Cornelius Caepio. This suitor had declined to marry her and Cato was free to make his proposal which he did as per custom. Matters were progressing amicably and the marriage was destined to take place in the not too distant future when Cornelius reappeared on the scene, proposed to Aemelia and ultimately married her. Cato was infuriated and insisted on dragging the pair to court for breach of faith but was prevented by his friends. A distraught Cato gave vent to his ire by penning some vitriolic poems.

Cato later on married Atilia. She bore him a son and a daughter, the famous Porcia who was to have the legendary Brutus as her second husband. At the height of the Cataline conspiracy when Rome was engulfed in tumults and chaos everywhere, when her very existence as a sovereign republic was precarious and the conspiracy was being passionately discussed threadbare in the Senate, there happened an unseemly incident that forever riveted the hatred of Cato for Julius Caesar. A letter was brought in the Senate to Julius Caesar which Julius read. Cato lambasted Caesar for ignoring the affairs of the state and indulging in frivolous pursuits. He further alleged that Caesar was in league with the conspirators and was indulging in clandestine activities. Caesar handed over the letter to Cato to read aloud which was a love letter from Cato’s sister to Caesar. Cato was humiliated and disgusted. For Caesar had a notorious reputation of sleeping with and debauching his political opponent’s wives. Later on Cato divorced his wife Atilia for adultery with the same Julius Caesar.

He then married Marcia Phillipa and was happy in her company. Cato had an admirer, Quintus Hortensius, matured in years, a renowned orator and a man of great virtue. Quintus desired to have an alliance with Cato by marriage and proposed to marry Cato’s daughter Porcia. "For," said he, "though this in the opinion of men may seem strange, yet in nature it is honest, and profitable for the public that a woman in the prime of her youth should not lie useless, and lose the fruit of her womb, nor, on the other side, should burden and impoverish one man, by bringing him too many children. Also by this communication of families among worthy men, virtue would increase, and be diffused through their posterity; and the commonwealth would be united and cemented by their alliances." Cato answered, that he loved Hortensius very well, and much approved of uniting their houses, but he thought it strange to speak of marrying his daughter, when she was already given to another. Then Hortensius, turning the discourse, did not hesitate to speak openly and ask for Cato's own wife, for she was young and fruitful, and he had already children enough. Neither can it be thought that Hortensius did this, as imagining Cato did not care for Marcia; for, it is said, she was then with child. Cato, perceiving his earnest desire, did not deny his request, but said that Philippus, the father of Marcia, ought also to be consulted. Philippus, therefore, being sent for, came; and finding they were well agreed, gave his daughter Marcia to Hortensius in the presence of Cato, who himself also assisted at the marriage. This caused a massive scandal in Rome but Cato, the stoic, remained unperturbed. Modern feminists may scream ‘murder’ that in this rather peculiar affair Marcia was never consulted but such was the genius of those times that Marcia dutifully consented to her husband’s and father’s requests.
Stranger it may seem that after the death of Hortensius, during the consternation at Rome on account of Julius Caesar crossing the Rubicon, Cato remarried Marcia.
En passant it may be relevant to mention that the great Octavius on being made Augustus Caesar and Emperor divorced his wife Scribonia and hastily married Livia who was then big with her husband’s child, after first compelling her husband to divorce her.

The Cataline conspiracy

Now we come to the Cataline conspiracy. Cataline a noble youth of Rome led a dissolute life and had dissipated his patrimony quite early. He planned to take over the Senate and the administration by force with the help of his associates and colleagues, brothers in profligacy all; in short a revolution. However this conspiracy was detected and Cataline fled from Rome fearing retribution. Two of his co-conspirators were arrested and their fate was being deliberated in the Senate. Cicero and Julius Caesar spoke in favour of exile and their speeches bear testimony to their clarity of thought and nobleness of spirit. Cato spoke last and a truncated portion of his speech is being presented to have a glimpse of the capacity of a brilliant mind.

"My feelings, Conscript Fathers, are extremely different, when I contemplate our circumstances and dangers, and when I revolve in my mind the sentiments of some who have spoken before me. Those speakers, as it seems to me, have considered only how to punish the traitors who have raised war against their country, their parents, their altars, and their homes but the state of affairs warns us rather to secure ourselves against them, than to take counsel as to what sentence we should pass upon them. Other crimes you may punish after they have been committed; but as to this, unless you prevent its commission, you will, when it has once taken effect, in vain appeal to justice .When the city is taken, no power is left to the vanquished. But, in the name of the immortal gods, I call upon you, who have always valued your mansions and villas, your statues and pictures, at a higher price than the welfare of your country; if you wish to preserve those possessions, of whatever kind they are, to which you are attached; if you wish to secure quiet for the enjoyment of your pleasures, arouse yourselves, and act in defense of your country. We are not now debating on the revenues, or on injuries done to our allies, but our liberty and our life are at stake.

Often, Conscript Fathers, have I spoken at great length in this assembly; often have I complained of the luxury and avarice of our citizens, and, by that very means, have incurred the displeasure of many. I, who never excused to myself, or to my own conscience, the commission of any fault, could not easily pardon the misconduct, or indulge the licentiousness, of others. But though you little regarded my remonstrances, yet the republic remained secure; its own strength was proof against your remissness. The question, however, at present under discussion, is not whether we live in a good or a bad state of morals; nor how great, or how splendid, the empire of the Roman people is; but whether these things around us, of whatever value they are, are to continue our own, or to fall, with ourselves, into the hands of the enemy.

In such a case, does any one talk to me of gentleness and compassion? For some time past, it is true, we have lost the real name of things; for to lavish the property of others is called generosity, and audacity in wickedness is called heroism; and hence the state is reduced to the brink of ruin. But let those, who thus misname things, be liberal, since such is the practice, out of the property of our allies; let them be merciful to the robbers of the treasury; but let them not lavish our blood, and, while they spare a few criminals, bring destruction on all the guiltless.

Do not suppose that our ancestors, from so small a commencement, raised the republic to greatness merely by force of arms. If such had been the case, we should enjoy it in a most excellent condition; for of allies and citizens, as well as arms and horses, we have a much greater abundance than they had. But there were other things which made them great, but which among us have no existence; such as industry at home, equitable government abroad, and minds impartial in council, uninfluenced by any immoral or improper feeling. Instead of such virtues, we have luxury and avarice; public distress, and private superfluity; we extol wealth, and yield to indolence; no distinction is made between good men and bad; and ambition usurps the honors due to virtue. Nor is this wonderful; since you study each his individual interest, and since at home you are slaves to pleasure, and here to money or favour; and hence it happens that an attack is made on the defenseless state.

But on these subjects I shall say no more. Certain citizens, of the highest rank, have conspired to ruin their country; they are engaging the Gauls, the bitterest foes of the Roman name, to join in a war against us; the leader of the enemy is ready to make a descent upon us; and do you hesitate; even in such circumstances, how to treat armed incendiaries arrested within your walls? I advise you to have mercy upon them, they are young men who have been led astray by ambition; send them away, even with arms in their hands. But such mercy, and such clemency, if they turn those arms against you, will end in misery to yourselves. The case is, assuredly, dangerous, but you do not fear it; yes, you fear it greatly, but you hesitate how to act, through weakness and want of spirit, waiting one for another, and trusting to the immortal gods, who have so often preserved your country in the greatest dangers. But the protection of the gods is not obtained by vows and effeminate supplications; it is by vigilance, activity, and a prudent measure, that general welfare is secured. When you are once resigned to sloth and indolence, it is in vain that you implore the gods; for they are then indignant and threaten vengeance.

In the days of our forefathers, Titus Manlius Torquatus, during a war with the Gauls, ordered his own son to be put to death, because he had fought with an enemy contrary to orders. That noble youth suffered for excess of bravery; and do you hesitate what sentence to pass on the most inhuman of traitors? Perhaps their former life is at variance with their present crime.

In conclusion, Conscript Fathers, if there were time to amend an error, I might easily suffer you, since you disregard words, to be corrected by experience of consequences. But we are beset by dangers on all sides; Catiline, with his army, is ready to devour us while there are other enemies within the walls and in the heart of the city; nor can any measures be taken, or any plans arranged, without their knowledge. The more necessary is it, therefore, to act with promptitude. What I advise, then, is this: that since the state, by a treasonable combination of abandoned citizens, has been brought into the greatest peril; and since the conspirators have been convicted on the evidence of Titus Volturcius, and the deputies of the Allobroges, and on their own confession, of having concerted massacres, conflagrations, and other horrible and cruel outrages, against their fellow-citizens and their country, punishment be inflicted, according to the usage of our ancestors, on the prisoners who have confessed their guilt, as on men convicted of capital crimes."

Ultimately Cato’s view held sway and the conspirators were summarily executed.


The death of Cato

It goes without saying that Cato led one of the most exceptional of lives. His death or rather the manner of his death surpasses all that he did in his life. Rome was then facing civil strife [49 BCE-46BCE]. Julius Caesar was demanding his pound of flesh which the Senate was reluctant to give. Cato, who harboured a visceral loathing for Caesar, since the Cataline affair, was most vociferous in condemning the excesses and rapacity of Caesar. But when the dye was cast and Caesar crossed the Rubicon with his legions, the hapless city was all turmoil; those inside rushing out and those outside rushing in. The Senate’s sole defender Pompey the Great was old in years and his best was behind him. Caesar led Pompey a merry dance all the way and at the decisive battle at Pharsalus, Macedonia, defeated him round and square. A fleeing Pompey sought refuge in Alexandria, Egypt, where he was slain by the Ptolemies. Cato had accompanied the Senatorial army to Pharsalus and after the rout Cato settled in Utica, Africa [near present day Tunisia]. Caesar with single minded determination landed in Africa and decimated the remnant of the Senatorial army at Thapsus.


Cato on hearing the news was unwilling to live in a world ruled by Caesar. It was not for him to seek clemency from any one, least of all from Caesar, and live the rest of his life in peace. Cato committed suicide by falling on his own sword and disemboweling himself.

Thus ended the life of Cato: a man uncompromising in his beliefs, who stood alone and unrepentant in the face of formidable adversity and who was the foremost champion of liberty.

Seneca, the philosopher and tutor to Caesar Nero, wrote: but lo’ here is a spectacle worthy of the regard of God as he contemplates his works; lo here is a contest worthy of God- a brave man matched against ill fortune. I do not know, I say, what nobler sight the Lord of heaven could find on earth, should he wish to turn his attention there, than the spectacle of Cato, after his cause had already been shattered more than once, nevertheless standing erect among the ruins of the commonwealth.”




The summing up

That Cato was the foremost stoic of his day is needless to mention. Zeno of Citium was the first to establish the Stoic School of Philosophy at the ‘Stoa Poikilos’ in Athens at about 308 BCE. However the concept of Stoicism was first adumbrated by the great Socrates and trickled down to the later generation through his student Antisthenes the Cynic.

Stoicism has now come to mean indifference to pain but initially Stoicism taught freedom from passion by following ‘reason’. The Stoics knew that human flesh is heir to passion and hence unavoidable; but they sought to avoid emotional troubles by the practice of logic, reflection and concentration.

The very kernel of this philosophy was to be free of suffering through ‘Apathy’ as the word apathy was then understood i.e. objectivity or clear judgement. To the Stoic, ‘Reason’ not only encompassed logic but was a votary of that celestial wisdom which the Greeks called logos. The four cardinal virtues of the Stoic Philosophy are wisdom, courage, justice and temperance.

The peculiar marital arrangement of Cato which caused a lot of confusion and scurrility at Rome has never failed to raise indignation in the later ages. To get a proper understanding of the institution of marriage in ancient Rome one must seek refuge in the sterling essay of Professor Ferrero ‘Women of the Caesars’ [1911]

‘The individualistic conception of matrimony and of the family attained by our civilization was alien to the Roman mind, which conceived of these from an essentially political and social point of view. The purpose of marriage was, so to speak, exterior to the pair. As untouched by any spark of the metaphysical spirit as he was unyielding--at least in action--to every suggestion of the philosophic; preoccupied only in enlarging and consolidating the state of which he was master, the Roman aristocrat never regarded matrimony and the family, just as he never regarded religion and law, as other than instruments for political domination, as means for increasing and establishing the power of every great family, and by family affiliations to strengthen the association of the aristocracy, already bound together by political interest.’

Elsewhere he writes ‘More important still were the woman's dower and her personal fortune The Romans not only considered it perfectly honourable, sagacious, and praiseworthy for a member of the political aristocracy to marry a rich woman for her wealth, the better to maintain the lustre of his rank, or the more easily to fulfil his particular political and social duties, but they also believed there could be no better luck or greater honours for a rich woman than for this reason to marry a prominent man. They exacted only that she be of respectable habits, and even in this regard it appears that, during certain tumultuous periods, they sometimes shut one eye.’


Cato was the last obstacle to Julius Caesar toward absolute dictatorship. The death of Cato has been panegyrised by innumerable authors and poets. Reckon it will be in the fitness of things to mention the name of Joseph Addison, the English politician and litterateur, who wrote the play “Cato- a tragedy’ [1713].

Here are some nuggets from the play:-

‘Tis not in mortals to command success,
But we’ll do more, Sempronius; we’ll deserve it’

‘A Roman soul is bent on higher views:
To civilize the rude, unpolished world,
And lay it under the restraint of laws;
To make man mild, and sociable to man;
To cultivate the wild, licentious savage
With wisdom, discipline, and liberal arts
The embellishments of life; virtues like these
Make human nature shine, reform the soul,
And break our fierce barbarians into men.’

‘To strike thee dumb, turn up thy eyes to Cato!
There may’st thou see to what a godlike height
The Roman virtues lift up mortal man.
While good, and just, and anxious for his friends,
He’s still severely bent against himself;
Renouncing sleep, and rest, and food, and ease,
He strives with thirst and hunger, toil and heat;
And when his fortune sets before him all
The pomps and pleasures that his soul can wish,
His rigid virtue will accept of none.’

‘Better to die ten thousand thousand deaths,
Than wound my honour.’


George Washington was highly enamoured of this play and had it played to his troops in America during the American war of Independence. Furthermore he often paraphrased some quotations from this play while writing his letters.


References:-

Project Gutenberg
Sallust The Cataline Conspiracy
Plutarch The Life of Cato
Ferrero The Women of the Caesars
Addison Cato- A Tragedy