It seems to me that the formation of a lobby between one or two religions (as the article seems to suggest), in order to do combat with a third or fourth or fifth, ignores the spirit of ecumenism. Looking to theological similarities, it seems to me, is fraught with peril and, indeed, spurns a chance to genuinely open doors instead of closing them.

Let me provide a wider context. My spouse, who teaches at a small school, invited me, as part of her history lesson, to address her diverse class of 11�14 year olds on the topic of �Christianity�. While I admit the pleasure of taunting her instead with the more provocative assignment of stating quite bluntly why I was not a Christian, I must confess to being somewhat startled by her willing acceptance that I do precisely that! In fairness, however, I thoroughly enjoyed the assignment. I spoke to myself on the topic of God and religion after years (not a bad exercise at all, actually!), consulted a few books on the sly and steadfastly refused to divulge to my spouse what I was going to speak on.

The class of young learners bowled me over. They listened with rapt attention, as I traced for them a bird�s� eye view of Christianity from the days of Jesus Christ (Jesus, from the Hebrew Esau, as my professor of philosophy, Rev. Dr. Albert de Mendonca, told me, Christ from the Greek Kristos - �the enlightened�). My narrative flowed freely, and thanks to Dr. de Mendonca, was very focussed indeed.

I did a few innovative things Dr. de Mendonca would have heartily approved of. I played a tape of Coptic chants from Ethiopia, for instance, and sang snatches from the Kyrie to show them where the Gregorian chant came from and how it was, so obviously, more European.

One of the group, a teacher from the school, pointed similarities in Coptic rhythms and beat, with a sloka in Tamil which she promptly intoned. Talk veered to music, and in particular rhythms and intonation in Algerian and Senegalese music. With whatever facts I could garner (or remember) I sought to explain that pre�colonial Christianity, in all probability, was an entirely different phenomenon from what we know of today.

At least one of them, therefore, perked her ears up when I narrated how Prophet Mohammed, forced to flee the holy city and pursued by greedy merchants, sought refuge and was granted asylum by the Christian emperor who ruled Abyssinia at that time. The emperor, in fact, refused to hand the prophet over to the merchants despite their pleas and eventual threats.

Young persons were shocked by the senselessness of the Crusades, but equally, fascinated by the cultural mixing that now exists between Morocco, for instance, and Southern Spain, and horrified by other infamous inquisitions I wove into the story. Almost all, as only to be expected, were totally stunned to realise that Christianity itself was not a single, all�encompassing religion, but, in fact, thanks to human interventions, different and often opposing variants of the same.

They shook their heads in disbelief, for instance, at the trivial things (mostly a total lack of dialogue) that actually lead to the protests of Martin Luther and other reformers of his time. They found Henry the VIII, I suspect, a little odd. With distaste on their faces, they requested me to stop when I spoke, quite bitterly, about the senseless violence in Northern Ireland and a civil war between Muslims from the North and Animists and Christians from the South which is killing thousands of children in Sudan. I also dwelt, not as part of my presentation but because it does eventually impinge on wider issues of religious belief, on the sheer incongruity of Sunni fighting Shia, Sikh fighting Hindu, Hindu fighting Muslim, Christians fighting each other, and human killing human in the name of God!

Before the questions came, I told them there were certain things, on principle, I would refuse to answer. One was that I would not tell them whether or not I believed in God. I felt that this was something extremely private, and I had not divulged this to anybody for maybe something like 34 years. The second was that I would refuse to tell them whether or not I pray, because this too, I felt, was a matter of great privacy and nobody�s business except mine.

I did also, I frankly confess, say, that in my own opinion, I felt there ought to be a law decreeing religion a private affair and banning its worship in public. I also added that I would be nothing if not pleased if every church, temple, mosque, synagogue or other building of �public� worship were converted to hospitals, cr�ches, day�care centres, homes for the aged, primary schools and community arts centres, in precisely that descending order of priorities.

The questions were sharp but nothing to match the piercing focus of young Neha: �Are you a Roman Catholic?�

�I think I said I was born in a Roman Catholic family.�

�But are you a Roman Catholic?�

�No, I am not.�

�Do you believe in Jesus Christ?�

�I�ve told you already, I can�t answer questions like that.�

�But you know so much about Christianity,� Prasan interjected, �all these things that you told us, you must be believing in it!�

�I read it in a book, I learnt it in school like you are doing now, it doesn�t follow that I have to believe in it!�

�Did your parents believe in Jesus Christ?� Neha, not to be put off, asked.

�My mother prays every day from a book she has had from the time I was born, my father was like me, we discussed God and religion, like we have just now, but never actually told each other what we believed in or, for that matter, did not.�

Neha was not to be satisfied. �So what are you then?� she asked impatiently.

�I guess you could call me a �retired� Christian,� I replied, quickly ending the class.

The story is not over, though, and the lesson, really, quite incomplete.

Some weeks later Prasan walked up to my spouse in class. Neha happened to be standing by. �Is Hartman really a �retired� Christian?� he asked, �how can be �retired� from a religion?�

Before the answer could be forthcoming from the teacher, Neha was quick to respond. �Hartman is not really a �retired� Christian,� she said, �there�s no such thing, he�s an agnostic!�

�What�s an agnostic?� my spouse asked her.

�An agnostic,� Neha replied with great simplicity, �is a person who is not sure whether or not God exists, my father told me.�

Neha�s father, Salim, is a friend; his spouse, Banu, teaches my son. I have never asked either of them (and neither do I have reason to) whether they too are �retired� from religion in the sense I have, but I sincerely hope so.

It will never be too late in the day for Neha (and my children) to discover a conundrum: �If a person is to be more, he or she must become less�. Implying thereby, that the temple, church or mosque, in fact, provide at the very best, a sense of fleeting sanctity, precious and supreme in the immediate present but woefully absent the very moment you step outside.

Needless to say, this is an extremely difficult step to make for those whose narrow beliefs (Christian, Muslim, Hindu or otherwise) are given scope and encouragement to cloud their compassion and veil their reason. At the end of the day, I have made my peace and I have no reason to explain myself to anyone. Hinduism, for instance, I am convinced, is not the narrow, bigoted view propagated by the saffron brigade, and I will sit in a temple on my own terms, therefore, irrespective of what they or their founding fathers may want to rant and rave about. This is my democratic right and nobody can take that away from me!

Why should I not have grieved in private, for example, that the first casualty of the sickening bombings of Iraq was a Coptic shrine in Basra, believed to be the oldest in Christendom. Who the hell can stop me feeling, in private, that that bomb was not better placed on some old cardinal driving in a Mercedes�Benz 600, and living a life aeons removed from an enlightened Palestinian fisherman?

Believers in Islam on the subcontinent, I feel, must make their own peace with themselves. They must ask themselves whether they wish to adopt the better�known hegemonic models of faith associated with West Asia (and now Afghanistan); once seeded by the slave trade in Africa and fuelled in the present, like the merchants of old, with the wealth of oil.

Perhaps they will need to beckon to other cultures and climates to see how, equally well, Allah can be worshipped. Indonesia, for instance, where almost every Muslim knows the Mahabharata better than most Indian Hindus; Senegal, Nigeria, Morocco, Tunisia, Turkey, places where religious belief, against huge pressures, is not given room to dampen the accompanying and necessary quests for modernity.

Till those enlightened days (when Communalism Combat can heave a sigh of relief and close shop!) I firmly believe � and will teach my children and all children who wish to discuss it with me � that the world will be an extremely happy place when more and more people �retire� from their religions.

HARTMAN DE SOUZA
(The writer, a journalist and a theatre activist, lives in Bangalore)