The play was about a sculptor, who had gone crazy towards the end, still at a young age, in trying to perfect the statue of a woman he loved. Piyali looked thoughtful after coming out of the theatre. Mukundo led her to coffee shop. After they had ordered, he asked her, “What are you thinking?”

“What is in a statue? Why go mad for a statue?”

“He was trying to find meaning in his art and his love, wasn’t he?”

“Meaning! Yes – why is it that some people have this impulse to find meaning in their lives – usually resulting in much unhappiness and misery, while most people just go about theirs happily, without bothering with such stuff.”

Mukundo thought for a moment before speaking, “It may not be much of an answer, but my conjecture is that everyone wants to find meaning. Those who go about their lives happily, as you put it, have perhaps managed to find it in simpler, even trivial, things. The restless souls yearn for more.”

She gave a slight start, then appeared to ruminate over it. After a while she said, “That makes sense. And I suppose when we stop finding meaning in simpler things, we become restless souls.”

“You are talking about something specific now. What is it?”

“Promise me you won’t freak out.”

“Depends on how scandalous the revelation is going to be. Come on, now. You can tell me.”

“I didn’t think about the question of meaning until a few years ago. Somehow learning more and more itself seemed to give meaning to life. But–”

“But?”

She sighed and leaned forward, supporting her forearms on the table and staring into her coffee cup, “But at some point of time I started realizing that all that learning had led me to extreme faithlessness. I don’t mean in religious sense. But in the sense of believing in something, believing in anything at all. A political system, a value system. Anything.”

“But that’s a good thing, isn’t it? Questioning the existing belief?”

“It is good when you expect to get to some higher truth at the end of it. In your faithless questioning, what you really aspire to achieve is something higher on which you can finally place your faith.”

“Like?”

“Like think of people who questioned the divine rights of kings, who questioned the feudal systems, who questioned the practice of slavery. What were they doing? Putting their faith in a republic or a democracy, putting their faith in a world where your birth doesn’t determine who you are, putting a faith in a world where human dignity is upheld for all. But what happens? Democracy becomes another tool in the hands of powerful to oppress the weak, capitalism leads to even more inequality and erases those mechanisms that could have supported the poor in a feudal society, and in the free societies we still have people living worse than slaves, with even lesser hope for their betterment because their slavery is not even acknowledged. And once you read enough history, you can’t help seeing that this is repeated again and again. The labels change, the actors change, the accepted principles change, but the society doesn’t change. It always has masters and slaves, oppressor and oppressed, bigots and victims–” she realized she had been talking for a while and chuckled in embarrassment, “Please tell me you are not freaked out.”

“Any person with an iota of thinking power should be asking these questions. I would freak out if you hadn’t been asking these. But what you have done is taken them to their logical conclusion.”

“Which is?”

“That there may be no meaning in life.”

“What does one do then?”

“One still lives, Piyali. We still live.”

She flushed on hearing that. It was just a coincidence that he should say something like that, wasn’t it? He couldn’t have known!

“Of course,” she said and took a big gulp of her now lukewarm coffee.

—

Mukundo had made a deliberate attempt to include her in his social life. A few of his friends had gathered in his house that evening and he had invited Piyali too. She wasn’t talking much, but he noticed contentedly that she was listening with interest and didn’t look bored or excluded.

He returned his attention to Subodh, a new convert to Vedic ideals, who had been going on and on for a while about how everything, every piece of knowledge know to humans today was already contained in the Vedas.

“There is a complete description of how aeroplanes are made in…”

“Subodh!” he interrupted, “People who make those claims really need to read Vedas. Vedas say nothing about these things.”

“And how do you know? Have you read Vedas yourself?”

“No. But I have read people who has read Vedas and…” suddenly he remembered Piyali’s presence. He looked at her expectantly.

She cleared her throat and spoke, “I have read Vedas. In translation, of course. It is good poetry. Not that I have a particular taste in poetry. But those who do say so. It definitely doesn’t talk about aeroplanes, quantum mechanics or relativity.”

“It is not literal. You have to go deep into it.”

“Aeroplanes, quantum mechanics and relativity are already difficult to understand concepts. Why would one make it even more obscure? What purpose does it serve?”

“This knowledge was to be transmitted orally. They couldn’t have done it if they created equations like our modern scientists. They had to put everything in memorable verses.”

Piyali sighed and leaned back. She wasn’t going to indulge in this foolishness any more. But Mukundo was bolstered by her support of his argument.

“That brings up an even more curious question, Subodh,” he said grinning, “Our divinely inspired ancestors had discovered aeroplanes, but not writing?”

Everybody burst out laughing at that. Subodh used the opportunity to make light of the situation and change the topic of conversation. He knew he was losing the ground.

After everybody left, Mukundo decided to walk with Piyali to her house. He was in a good mood.

“That was so much fun, Piyali,” he said, laughing, “You should have seen Subodh’s face when you said – I have read Vedas. It is good poetry.”

“I was afraid if people would take offense.”

“Oh, you need to stop being so self-conscious. I, for one, am very happy to have a walking and talking encyclopedia at hand.”

She chuckled. Then asked, “But do you think your friend has changed his opinion?”

He sighed. “No. I don’t think so. But hopefully he won’t spout them when I am around.”

“Why are people so blind? Information, knowledge, learning can be staring in their face, but they turn the other way.”

“I don’t know, Piyali. Perhaps they are also on a quest for meaning. But it has gone horribly wrong. They search for meaning has gotten stuck on a search for some golden identity, linked to a golden past that doesn’t exist.”

“What is one to do in face of such stubborn stupidity?”

“What is one to do? One continues living, Piyali. That’s what one does. One still lives. And sometimes laughs.”

They had reached her house. Her parents were sitting outside.

“There she is. Pihu! We got Pronab’s number. You put it in your phone. He has said he would call you tomorrow. You should talk to him to your heart’s content, okay? And then decide. His job is in Bangalore too and I see no problems at all.”

Beside him Piyali had gone completely still.

—

To be continued