Every time I visit a supermarket or a mall to buy something, I come away with a sense of guilt because invariably I am holding a plastic carry bag like a dead rabbit.
I say dead rabbit because a rabbit is one of the cutest little animals I have ever seen in my life. I still remember the little white rabbit we used to have at home in Kerala as a pet, and when I came to know people would eat it as a delicious dish, I was aghast. But I think my revulsion was a bit out of place because people must eat to keep themselves alive and there is a saying in our language that the sin you incur in killing is washed away in eating. So there is a natural and symbiotic relationship between the hunter and the hunted; the prey and the predator. It is the natural order.
But why describe this ubiquitous plastic carry bag as a dead rabbit? Because like the dead rabbit’s carcass, these plastic carry bags keep proliferating, clogging our sewage systems and endangering the ecology of our planet. Go to the remotest parts of Pacific Ocean’s islands or the most inaccessible parts of Amazon’s evergreen forests, and you are sure to come across abandoned water bottles or plastic food containers.
Even the dead are not safe from plastic menace. Some time ago I have been to an ancient south Indian temple of Thirunelli, on a steep hill in Nilgiri Biosphere, off Mananthavady in Wynad, where people go to carry out the final rites for the deceased ancestors. The Hindu belief is that once you go and carry out the rites in sacred waters, the soul comes to its final resting place, or kaivalyam; it would not wander again in purgatory.
When an elder is dead, his or her bones are collected from the ashes and kept in an earthen pot to be carried off to Thirunelli (or any other sacrd locations) for immersion in the sacred waters in the steam there. The river in Thirunelli is called Papanasini, or the destroyer of all sins, evoking a beautiful imagery of a person’s soul being washed clean of all her worldly sins for her final journey to the Almighty’s presence.
So I was there in Thirunelli to do the final rites for a close relative who had died. We had taken the ashes and a few bits of bones in an earthen-ware to be broken for immersion in the waters.
As I reached the river ghat for the rites I was aghast that times have changed and even ancient customs have changed. Many had brought the ashes in plastic containers which were of course very convenient and they had the added advantage that they would not break to have the ashes and bones accidentally spill out. But what was heart-breaking was that people, instead of breaking earthen pots, were shedding out the bones and ashes into the water and then to ensure that all the remains did get immersed, simply throwing the plastic containers into the stream.
Papanasini is a small stream in the hills where wild animals roam about for food and water. I saw these containers in muddied pools of water everywhere in summer and they were seen even on the branches of huge trees downstream as during the monsoon when water level rises, they float about wildly and end up even on tree tops. The poor ancestor’s soul, trapped in a plastic container, then hanging on the branches of a tree like an orphaned bat!
Local people told me they do much more harm than that. These containers often carry bits of food like pieces of coconut and other articles and foraging animals devour them and die. They said even elephants had been killed that way. A fine example of a soul on a murderous spree on its march to the heavens… Good heavens!
That is why I feel guilty every time I purchase something in a plastic container. Often one has no option, of course. But the other day I was thrilled as I was offered a new, beautifully designed paper-and-yarn carry bag at a super-market, which weighed only a gram or two and looked elegant. The girl in the shop apologetically told me it would cost me one rupee extra. I said I am glad to pay that because I do not want my ancestors hanging from a tree like dead crow with their souls trapped in a plastic bag.
How many times have we all felt this way but who could have guessed that a plastic bag would evoke a ritual and spiritual journey!
I have been to Thirunelli and the thought of the undying plastic bags hanging around in that remote part of the world makes me angry.
And, not only is it ugly but it will change the metaphorical meaning of the river itself. One would be condemned to roam the world. Plastics have no death and so no final journey!