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"I suppose this extreme violence rules out any chance for a Dalit candidate ever being elected," I commented.
"Or surviving, after being elected," Indira added. "Some Dalits have actually had the courage to stand for election to village councils and municipalities. They merely contested the seats that have been constitutionally reserved for them. Usually, those who dare to stand for election are threatened continuously until they withdraw. Those are the wise ones. A few summers ago, in the village of Melavalavu, a Dalit candidate who had ran for office had the misfortune to be actually elected to the village council presidency. What a tragedy this turned out be! The man was brutally murdered by a higher-caste vigilante group, together with six other Dalits. They pulled them all out of the bus on which the village President was riding. According to an eyewitness, the leader of the attackers yelled to the Thevars to kill all the 'Pariahs,' as they called the Dalit people. They pulled them off the bus and stabbed them right in the open, right on the road. Then five of the Thevars joined together and grabbed the elected village President. Some grabbed his hands, others grabbed his head, and the fifth one beheaded the man. They took his head and poured the blood from it onto all the other dead bodies, then threw the emptied head into a well half a kilometer away. That is the face of democracy for our people, the Dalits, the untouchables. In time this wound will heal, just as America's wound of the Ku Klux Klan did heal, if indeed it has. But for now, that time seems to be far in the distant future."
She paused and began to smile. "Now tell me about the universal marriage of mankind! Tell me about the singularity of the human Soul! Tell me about the humanity that we all share! Where is the evidence? All that I see is gore and killing, and oppression and abuse."
I fell silent. I became ashamed. Still, there was that truth to the contrary, which I came to her to speak about.
"Picture yourself standing in a beautiful garden," I said. "The garden is filled with a profusion of flowers. Picture it as a delight of delicate shapes, gentle hues of color and fragrance. That garden is totally real. But of what value is it if one can't open ones eyes to it? And so, it appears to be the hardest thing for society today, which has lost its ability to open its eyes, to see the reality of its own being. People behave like a herd of elephants in this beautiful garden. Still, the garden exists, and it is beautiful in real terms. I am also certain that it will be seen as such one day, especially by those who dare to embrace its truth."
Indira nodded and answered with a smile. She then shook her head, as if to ask; have you come all the way to India to entertain me with fairy tales? She didn't say it, but her looks did.
To break the silence I told her that she was wrong to be so terribly angry and hurt by what she has witnessed in terms of great tragedies. I suggested that the perpetrators, who have no power otherwise, might have intended this very revulsion. "The gore that you saw was not a demonstration of their strength," I said to her, "but an admission of their weakness. The Thevars are scared to death, Indira. They are scared to death of the unquenchable Spirit of your people's humanity that threatens the legitimacy of their imperial rule. It's always been like that throughout history, Indira. You can take this back into history as far as you want. The pattern is always the same. What you have experienced is definitely not unique to India, to the Thevars, or to the Dalit people. Look at ancient Rome. The same thing was done there on an enormous scale two millennia ago."
"Rome?" Indira repeated. "Do you mean the gladiators?"
I shook my head. "No, I meant the Christians."
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