The Grave in the Middle of the Road

When I’m driving from the “Millennium City” of Gurgaon (exploding with residential and I.T. office high-rises) to the megacity of Delhi (already exploded with a population of 18 million) on the Mehrauli-Gurgaon Road, I see a small grave under a tree.

Years ago, tree and grave rested to one side of this once eerily quiet two-lane (one going north, one going south) avenue. Now that it’s a busy expressway with four lanes in each direction, the tree and grave — both placed on a platform about a meter high — are stranded in the midst of traffic.

Most times, like most Delhiites, I simply go around it without thinking and continue on my way. But sometimes, I wonder.

I wonder whose grave it is. There are no signs or markings. It’s most likely not a Hindu’s, a Sikh’s or a Jain’s because their bodies are usually cremated. It could be a Christian’s or more likely a Muslim’s. Since the grave has been preserved, it may be that of someone holy.

And now that it ironically stands at the head of a long avenue of temples, I’d like to think it’s actually not irony at all but rather that the grave is that of an enlightened elderly sage who saw through different religions to a common path of spirituality.

Or perhaps it’s the grave of a commoner, a traveler who fell ill at this spot. Or, trying to cross the road, died at the hands of an ancestor of one of today’s rash drivers with a callous disregard for pedestrians. The size of the grave seems small so it may have been a child.

I also wonder if, given the growth and traffic on and around the road, the grave should be moved. I can imagine that a grave is sacred, but the ground beneath it need not be. Moving the grave off the middle of the road and to one side would definitely clear the road, enable smoother flow of traffic, and remove a potential cause of accidents. It may also please the occupant not to be sitting in the midst of noisy polluting vehicles, but in a more peaceful and sheltered location.

Some may say this just reflects my more occidental perspective, interested more in the practical than the religious, more in the new than in the old, more in progress than in tradition, more in preserving the lives of those still living than those already dead.

Should the grave be moved? As with real estate and restaurants, is it all “location, location, location”? Or is it possible to move the grave off the road, to one side or to a quieter location, without altering its meaning and significance?

For me, the grave in its current location serves several purposes. It forces me to reflect on my mortality and reminds me of that old Italian proverb, “When the game is over, the king and the pawn go into the same box.” It also shows me that once I’m gone, life will proceed to flow on all around me, as though I had never existed; traffic stops for no man.

With such thoughts, I then tend to proceed more slowly and carefully. For some people though, it seems to have the opposite effect, causing them to drive even faster to reach where they’re going quicker, not waste time, and live their limited life to the fullest. The grave in the middle of the road acts as a speed-breaker, always useful before the major Chattarpur intersection, where small children weave between cars begging. Of course, it could also act as a life-breaker; with no warning signs, it’s only a matter of time before one night someone crashes headlong into the site to join the first occupant.

It’s a difficult transition as India wrestles with the old and the new, and tries to find a middle path that will allow it to progress without losing important aspects of its traditions. As we continue down the road of development, we’ll encounter many such roadblocks — literal and figurative. And yet, they may not all be without value, to be blindly pushed aside. Some will cause us to pause and think.

Part of India’s charm is in its lack of segregation. Cows are not just found on farms; they are found wandering the roads. Slums are found in expensive neighborhoods. Mosques are found next to temples. And sometimes death next to life.

One day last week, when I was returning home, I saw that someone had covered the grave with a sheer orange cloth with a border of zari. And there were marigolds scattered all around, a sign that prayers had been done. Perhaps it is serving another purpose I don’t know or understand.

Ranjani Iyer Mohanty is a writer and editor based in New Delhi.

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