Ramkrishna Bhattacharya
The Concise Oxford Dictionary (on CD-Rom, 11th ed. 2004) defines
rationalism as “the practice or principle of basing opinions and actions on
reason and knowledge rather than on religious belief or emotional response.”
This is not the only meaning of the word. In philosophy the same term suggests
“the theory that reason rather than experience is the foundation of certainty
in knowledge” (ibid.). But we are not concerned with such technical meanings here.
It is the first meaning that is generally known today and that is how I am
going to use the word in this paper.
Rationalism is not a property exclusively of the West. Every
civilization, at one point of time or another, witnessed a struggle between faith
and reason, instinctive or emotional response and knowledge. Even during the
darkest period of the history of any people, the lamp of reason could not be
totally extinguished. It is as much true of Europe during the Middle Ages as of
India during the long stretch between the twelfth century and the nineteenth
century. There were sceptics, agnostics and atheists even during the Vedic age.
The Charvaka / Lokayatas had absorbed all such previous traits and finally
produced a system of philosophy that was uncompromisingly rational and opposed
to all dictums that were not founded on sense perception. Inference drawn from
unverifiable premises and word or verbal testimony, even though coming from the
works of Manu and others, according to Madhavacharya (Sayana)’s Sarva-darsana-samgraha,
were unacceptable to them (249, 251).
The Charvaka / Lokayata, however, seems to have completely
disappeared before the fourteenth century. Blind faith in the authorities,
secular or religious, was the guiding principle of Indian social life, both of
the Hindus and the Muslims, throughout the pre-modern period. Only in the
nineteenth century reason made its presence strongly felt, particularly in
Kolkata (then Calcutta in English), thanks to Rammohun Roy, H. L. V. Derozio
and the Derozians (the Young Bengal), Iswarchandra Vidyasagar, Akshaykumar
Datta and, last but not least, the Positivists.
Rammohun Roy in his First Conference between an Advocate
for and an Opponent of, the Practice of Burning Widows Alive (1818) upheld
reason in the following way: “the Sastras, and the reasonings connected with
them enable us to discriminate right and wrong. In those Sastras such female
murder is altogether forbidden. And reason also declares, that to bind down a
woman for her destruction, holding out to her the inducement of heavenly
rewards, is a most sinful act” (English Works 3 : 95-96). The English
translation of the Second Conference (1820) was dedicated to the Marchioness
of Hastings, Countess of Loudoun, etc. with these words: “The following tract,
being a translation of a Bengalee Essay, published some time ago [1819], as an
appeal to reason in behalf of humanity…” (3 :101. Emphasis added). The
Bangla original had no such dedication.
This is for the first time in the history of Bengal, perhaps
of India, that reason was harnessed along with humanity in the service of
social reform. Iswarchandra Vidyasagar, on the other hand, knew full well that
the Bengali people would never agree to listen to reason; to them religious
texts and local customs were the final arbiter (II : 21-22). Hence before
launching the movement demanding the enactment of widow remarriage, he relied
exclusively on the interpretation of the Smriti texts rather than appealing to
reason. In an earlier tract on the evils of child marriage (II : 3-9)
Vidyasagar, however, had based himself on reason rather than religious texts, presumably
because all major Dharmasastras were in favour of early marriage, the earlier
the better. So any pre-emptive move by way of harnessing Sastric adages was out
of the question.
One sure way of judging the radical role of Vidyasagar in the
field of education is to look at the reaction of John Murdoch, an arch bigot
whom even Gandhi could not tolerate (104). This is how the Christian missionaries
found fault with Vidyasagar who had based his school primer, Bodhodaya
on Chambers’s The Rudiments of Knowledge. John Murdoch in his Education
as a Missionary Agency in India (Madras, 1872) quoted a passage from Bodhodaya
in translation:
The senses:–
The above five senses are the
avenues of our knowledge, by which we can get all sorts of knowledge, and
without which we should be ignorant of every thing. By the exercise of those
senses we gain experience, and experience produces the power of judgment of what
is right and wrong, of what is good and bad. Therefore the senses are very
advantageous to us.
(extracted in
Indramitra, Appendix 30, 720-21. All italics in the original)
On this materialist theory of knowledge Murdoch remarks in
annoyance:
The above… seems to teach rank
Materialism. (italics in the original)
It has been asserted that it is
“misleading” to characterize such books as “Secularist.” The autour (sic,
meaning Vidyasagar) is described as “the well known Hindu reformer.” But this
is no proof to the contrary. His reforms are purely social. So far as the
writer (sc. Murdoch) is aware, he has kept himself entirely aloof from the
Brahmo Somaj (sic) movement. Robert Owen, the Secularist, was also a reformer
in his way.
The writer described the above
books, not simply as prepared by a Secularist, but as Secularist.
He did so because the author deliberately stuck out the injunction to
worship God; because his moral teaching has no reference to God’s will, but
simply to what people around would think or do; because he omitted all passages
[in The Rudiments of Knowledge published by Messrs. Chambers’] teaching
the immortality of the Soul, the responsibility of man and the
difference between him and the brutes that perish. If it is “misleading” to
describe such books as “Secularist”, the writer confesses that he does not know
the meaning of the term.
Murdoch concludes his condemnation of Vidyasagar as follows:
It is very lamentable that such
books should have been prepared by the most distinguished writer in Bengali,
formerly Principal of a Government College, and that they should be those which
have by far the largest circulation throughout the country.
It is earnestly hoped that soon
such books will be excluded from Mission Schools….”
Let us go back to Rammohun Roy. He made his debut in
religious controversy in a tract written in Persian (1804) called Tuhfat-ul
Muwahhidin (A Gift to then Monotheists). After going through the small book
one feels that it could be named with equal justice A Gift to the Atheists.
The aim of life, Rammohun declares, is to live in peace without doing harm to
anybody. He speaks neither of liberation (mukti) nor of realizing God as
the end of life. He does not believe in the virtue of prayer as a means of
getting rid of troubles (durgati) or cure from diseases. He has no faith
in any revealed text. Nor does he feel any need of a Paigambar to mediate
between God and humans (Racbanavali 717-29). In short, by rejecting both
Brahminical creeds and Islam, Rammohun tacitly rejects all established
religions. Everything being eliminated, only two entities remain – God Himself
and Rammohun Roy (or someone who is a theist but has no faith in any
institutionalized, established religion). The position is akin to that of the
European deists of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, although Rammohun
himself in later days had no respect for deism (Sastri 2:284). Some Europeans,
however, used to consider Rammohun as a deist (Pauthier 697).
Another small dialogue, Dialogue between a Missionary and
Three Chinese Converts (English Works 4:77-79), is worth noting. The
original Bangla version was written in the same year, 1823. Rammohun expanded
some of the points in the English version (or the Bangla version was an
abridgement of the English). The setting of the dialogue is as follows: A
European Missionary, intending to examine his converts, said to them, “How many
Gods are there, my brethren?” The first convert answered, “Three”, the second,
“Two”, and the third, “None”. The Missionary was astonished. But the converts
struck to their own grounds. The third convert, for example, replied: ‘Our
minds are not like yours in the West, or you would not have asked me [why I say
there is no God]. You told me again and again that there never was but one God,
that Christ was the true God, and that a nation of merchants living at the head
of Arabian gulf [the Bangla version specifically names the Jews], put him to
death upon a tree [that is, crucified him], about eighteen hundred years ago.
Believing you, what other answer could I give than “None”?’
(4: 77-78) The Missionary lost his composure and declared that all the three
would without doubt perish everlastingly. The first convert gently rebuked him,
“Cong-foo-tse [Confucius], our revered master says, that bad temper always
turns reason out of doors, and that when men begin to curse, the good Spirit of
the universe abandoned their hearts” (4:78-79).1
Brajendranath Seal suggests that Rammohun read David Hume and
John Locke. Yet it seems that Rammohun had learned more from the works of
Persian and Arabic writers of the Middle Ages than from any modern Western
thinker. Regarding the “formative influence” of Rammohun, Seal has mentioned
“Islamic culture” first, “the culture of Baghdad and Bassora (Basra), filtered
through an Indian Madrassa” (3). Several years after this Rammohun learnt
Sanskrit and got to know the Jain and Buddhist traditions as well as the views
of the North-Indian sants such as Kabir, Dadu, Nanak and the Ramayets.
It was only during his sojourn in North Bengal, in the early years of the
nineteenth century that Rammohun acquired the elements of English. At Rangpur
he ‘cultivated the literature of empirical philosophy and scientific thought
from Bacon to Locke and Newton, as well as the propaganda of free thinking and
“Illumination” in Hume, Gibbon, Voltaire, Volney, Tom Paine and others…’ (6).
As Seal writes: “He (sc. Rammohun) drank eagerly from the fountainhead of
modern freedom and was inspired by the spirit of the Age of Illumination” (6).
Yet, Seal asserts, these studies did not cause a sea-change in Rammohun’s outlook.
They ‘only confirmed him in his rejection of miracle, dogma and ritual to which
he had already been led by his own reflections on the religions and scriptures of
his country as well as by the teachings of the Mutazilas, the Sufis, and the Uttara
Mimamsa. In fact, he became sceptically minded as to the claims of all
“Sastras” and all historical religions’ (6-7).
Even though Rammohun never lost faith in the existence of God
and never condoned polytheism, his faith was grounded on logic; he would like
to adduce reasons for his monotheistic conviction rather than declare that
devotion was enough and arguments vitiate the mind. His polemics against the
Christian missionaries on the one hand and the Hindu polytheists on the other,
remain permanent sources of both entertainment and edification.
It needs to be re-emphasized, as D. Biswas has rightly done
(59), that Rammohun’s rationalism was not derived from the West. When he
wrote his first Persian tract in 1804 (or 1805), he did not know English or any
Western language well enough to read the works of the European sceptics or the
Enlightenment thinkers. His mindset apparently had already been made up before
he learnt English. What Western education (learnt privately, not in any
academic institution) taught him only reinforced his conviction in the power of
reason.
If Rammohun Roy the monotheist found his worthy successor in
his friend’s son (and also his son’s friend) Debendranath Tagore, Rammohun Roy
the rationalist had his successor — and a very able one at that — in
Akshaykumar Datta. Akshaykumar was a self-taught polymath. He began his career
as an Adi Brahmo Samaj activist (he was one of the editors of the Tattvabodhini
Patrika) but proceeded slowly but steadily first towards agnosticism and
then to uncompromising atheism. His stand did not endear him to the Adi
Brahmos. Debendranath felt that there was a gulf of difference between him and
Akshaykumar. It was Akshaykumar who had convinced Debendranath that no sacred
book can be apaurusheya, that is, not composed by any being, human or
otherwise. Akshaykumar’s terse equation:
Labour = Crops
Labour + Prayer = Crops
∴ Prayer = 0 (qtd.
A. Chakraborty 411) 2
created quite a sensation among the students in the then
Kolkata. Besides writing two bulky volumes on the Indian devotional
communities, he also produced a large number of primers on basic sciences such
as astronomy, geography, geology, physics, etc. He coined new Bengali terms for
modern science and many of his terminology are still current in Bangla. He was
a Baconian through and through and considered the works of Bacon and Comte to
be “our sastra”, as much as the works of ”Bhaskara and Aryabhata as well
as Newton and Laplace” were (M. Roy 95). Akshaykumar had the greatest reverence
for Rammohun and criticized the Brahmos who were antipathetic and antagonistic
to science (2: 30-33). His study of the ancient Indian philosophical systems is
a marvel of scholarship.3 His sole intention was to prove that most of the philosophical
schools, such as Samkhya, Old Nyaya, Mimamsa and even Vedanta, not to speak of
the Charvaka, were atheistic (2: 1, 23, 29, 54).
The impact of Western education is to be found in the next
generation of youths who had H. L. V. Derozio (1809-31) as their teacher at
Hindu College. Ramgopaul Ghose, his pupil and one of the august members of the
so-called Young Bengal (Peary Chand Mittra even narrowed it down to Young
Calcutta) declared the motto of his master in this way: “He who will not reason
is a bigot; he who cannot is a fool; he who does not is a slave” (qtd. in S.
Sarkar 101). Words like these should be inscribed in every school and college
in letters of radium. Then there was Madhub Chunder Mullick who wrote in the
college magazine, “If there is anything that we hate from the bottom of our
heart, it is Hinduism” (Sastri 2:290). Russic Krishna Mullick, while attending
the court of law as a witness, refused to take oath by touching a copper
vessel, Tulsi (Ocimum sanctum) leaf and holy water (as was customary),
because, he said, “I do not believe in the sacredness of the Ganges” (Sastri
2:315).
Needless to say, Derozio and his worthy pupils drew
inspiration from British thinkers like David Hume, not from any Oriental strand
of rationalism as Rammohun had done. Derozio in his letter to H. H. Wilson
declared: “Entrusted as I was for sometime with the education of youth,
peculiarly circumstanced was it for me to have made them pert and ignorant
dogmatists.... I therefore thought it my duty to acquaint several of the
college students with the substance of Hume’s celebrated dialogue between
Cleanthes and Philo [Dialogues concerning Natural Religion, posthumously
and anonymously published in 1779] in which the most subtle and refined
arguments against theism are adduced” (qtd. in Mittra, 26).
Yet Derozio was not trying to substitute one set of faith by
another, that of atheism, both based on verbal testimony (aptabakya). It
was not a case of brainwashing to be replaced by counter-brainwashing (what
some ultra- rationalists in present-day Bengal have tried to do, with no
perceptible result at all). In the same letter Derozio added that side by side
with Hume he had also furnished his students with “Dr Reid’s and Dugald
Stewart’s more acute replies to Hume, — replies which to this day continue
unrefuted. This is the head and front of my offending” (Mittra 26). He further
stated: “That I should be called a sceptic and an infidel is not surprising, as
these names are always given to persons who think for themselves in religion…”
(Mittra 29).
The seeds that Derozio had sown continued to bear fruits even
after his death in 1831. “The stormy petrel of our renaissance” (as Susobhan
Sarkar (104) has called him) had set a trend that was not to wither away with
his death. His students were active in social and intellectual life. They read
Tom Paine’s Age of Reason even by paying black-market price of Rs. 8 per
copy. One publisher sold one hundred copies of this book at Rs. 5 each. The
Englishman complained that the students of Hindu college were “all
radicals, and the followers of Benthamite principles.” Their shortlived journal,
The Enquirer and a bilingual periodical, Gyananaeshun, in which remarriage
of Hindu widows had been strongly advocated before Vidyasagar did it, reflect
the spirit of revolt as well as keen intellect.
After Derozio, David Hare became the president of the
Academic Association. He was a philanthropist also known as an atheist. Then
there was the Society for the Acquisition of General Knowledge and the
Epistolary Association for exchanging opinions among themselves. The
contribution of Peary Chand Mittra and Radhanath Sickdar to Bangla prose is
universally recognized. The former in particular is to be commended for
introducing the low or plain style in his novel and sketches. In short, the
Young Bengal were both path-breakers and path-makers at the same time.
I have already mentioned two distinct sources of rationalism
in Bengal: the first, indigenous or Indian, the second, exogenous or foreign.
Rammohun and Vidyasagar first learned their rationalism from indigenous
sources, which can be traced back right from the sceptical and agnostic hymns
in the Rigveda down to the medieval authors of astronomy, civil law and
philosophy. Many scholars have mentioned such works and noticed the similarity
between Rammohun and medieval Arab thinkers (D. Biswas 47-48, 56,72, 84 n141).
Let me here digress a little and adduce several more instances of rationalism
in practice in the ancient and medieval Indian tradition. These would, I hope,
suffice to refute the misinformed postmodernist view that rationalism is a Western
phenomenon that appeared only during the eighteenth-century Enlightenment in
Europe and came to India in the wake of British colonialism and was embraced by
the babus (as Kabiraj (35-58) would have us believe).
Now to the examples. The Anusasana Parvan of the Mahabharata
speaks of rationalists (hetukas) who claimed that there was no truth
beyond what can be directly perceived (logically inferred) , but they admitted
the possibility of doubt in respect of perception (and inference) as well
(147.5). The same source also states that truth transcends formal logic
(147.7). Three and only three instruments of cognition (pramanas) are
mentioned, namely, direct perception, doctrines proposed by the scriptures, and
the practice of the sishta-s (eminent people) (147. 9, cf. 147. 17-20). Inference
is not accepted as a separate instrument presumably because all inferences need
to be preceded by perception.
The Charaka Samhita states, “Everything falls into one
or the other of the two categories – true and untrue. The method of investigation
is fourfold: authoritative testimony, direct observation, inference and reason
(yukti)” (1.11.17).
Bhaskaracharya (born 1036 Saka = 1114 CE) continues the same
rational tradition by rejecting agama (scripture) and declaring: “In the
astronomical department scripture is authoritative only when it is supported by
demonstration” (qtd. in Muir 2:161 n183).
Jimutavahana of Bengal (between eleventh century and
fourteenth century CE) in his digest on the law of inheritance categorically
declares that those who know nothing but the authority of old teachers (acharyas)
would not be able to appreciate his work, which is meant for those whose
intelligence is guided by logical proofs (15.1; 232-33).
Similarly, Suryadeva Yajvana in his commentary on the Aryabhatiya,
the seminal work of Aryabhata, rejects the innovation of one acharya
called Prasastidhara, for, he says, “We rationalists (yauktikah) cannot
approve of it” (qutd. in Aryabhatiya III: xlv). He further declares that when
several works (Sastras) on astronomy disagree or vary, he has resorted to
(astronomical) instruments for testing which view is right (Commentary on Laghumanasa
of Munjala, 3. 6-7, quoted in ibid. xlvi).
Such open minds, though rare, were not altogether absent in
India at any point of time. They had no need for modern European science or
logic to arrive at their conclusions, irrespective of and indifferent to what
the religious authorities might have prescribed. The appearance of Rammohun and
Vidyasagar does not signify a total break in the tradition but a continuity of
a barely noticeable (and hence largely ignored) trend. The intellectual
ambience in nineteenth-century Bengal was of course a little more congenial for
them than it had been for their predecessors.
Nevertheless it cannot be denied that rationalism came to
Bengal, nay India, in a totally new garb with Derozio and the Derozians. They
drew their inspiration from the Renaissance and Enlightenment thinkers of
Europe and burst vigorously upon the stagnant pool of Bengal. In spite of the
serious reservations on the part of some of them, some others held Rammohun in
great esteem (D. Biswas 416-96). It is therefore in the fitness of things that
they would lend their support, not merely verbally but actually, to the widow
remarriage agitation initiated by Vidyasagar.
One distinction, however, is to be made between the impacts
of the two strands of rationalism: the first, represented by Rammohun and
Vidyasagar, proved to be more powerful and long-lived than the second. The
Young Bengal petered out after the 1850s without leaving any successors. The
move for social reforms led by Rammohun and Vidyasagar was continued by both
enlightened Hindus and Brahmos (first by Keshub Chandra Sen and his followers,
and then by the Sadharan Brahmo Samaj). The social reformers were not
rationalists in the absolute sense of the term. They did not preach or practise
a totally secular attitude to life. But the positive aspect is that they dared
to swim against the current and through words and deeds challenged the status
quo ante, which the religious fanatics, conservatives and no-changers of both Hindu
and Muslim communities persisted in upholding. The Young Bengal formed an elite
group of their own, hopelessly alienated from the masses of the people. Our social
reformers, on the contrary, succeeded in reaching the village as much as the town.
Admittedly, their work was confined to the so-called upper castes of the Hindu society.
In spite of this limitation, commoners of Bengal could take sides either for or
against the proposed reforms. The campaign of Young Bengal simply went over the
head of the generally educated people. Hence, somewhat frustrated to see the
zero effect of their attempts, most of the Derozians ultimately turned
dipsomaniacs, alcohol being the only refuge left. Aurobindo Ghose (later Sri
Aurobindo) later• described them as follows: “They were giants and did
everything gigantically. They read hugely, wrote hugely, thought hugely, and
drunk hugely” (8). An unkind judgment, but how true! Compare with this his
eulogy of Vidyasagar, Akshaykumar Datta and others (6-7), and the soundness of
his observation will be crystal clear. Consider also how Michael Madhusudan
Dutt portrayed the Young Bengal in his brilliant farce, Buro Saliker Ghare
Ro (1860).
Another, exogenous source for rationalism is to be found in
the introduction of positivism in Bengal. We need not go here into the details
of its formation and its impact on the Bengali society. Suffice it to say that,
unlike the youthful Derozians, the positivists in Bengal were a sober lot,
seldom going against the customs of the Hindu society.4 Most of them were well-established lawyers,
landlords and teachers. Interestingly enough, in a list of contributors to the
Indian Positivist Society we find, besides the expected names of Jogendra
Chandra Ghosh, Nagendra Nath Ghosh and Krishna Kamal Bhattacharya, the names of
Janakinath Ghoshal, brother-in-law of Rabindranath Tagore and a moderate
Congressman, Hemchandra Banerjee, presumably the well-known poet, and W. C.
Bonnerjee, first president of the Indian National Congress. There is another
name, Iswar Chunder Bannerjee, who contributed only once in 1887 (Forbes
113-14). Could this be our very own Iswarchandra Vidyasagar (or Eshwar Chundra
Shurma, as he used to sign his letters)? Most probably he is. He was a friend
of Dwarika Nath Mitra, a famous lawyer who learned French in order to read
Auguste Comte in the original. Shibnath Sastri records how Vidyasagar used to
discuss the doctrines of positivism with Mitra and once gave a thorough
exposition of this philosophy to the great admiration of Mitra and other listeners
(Sastri in Biman Basu (ed.) 22). There is still a copy of Comte’s The Catechism
of Positivism in Vidyasagar’s much depleted private collection now housed
in the Bangiya Sahitya Parishat, Kolkata. It may also be noted that Akshaykumar
Datta considered Bacon and Comte as the two suns in two regions [England and
France] (2: 53).
Another name to be remembered in connection with positivism
in Bengal is Bankim Chandra Chattopadhyaya. Before turning a devotee of Krishna
in or around 1874, he had been, as Dwijendranath Tagore once branded him, “a
pucca positivist” (Gupta 290). There are references to Comte, with approval, in
Bankim’s early writings. Even in his later works Comte seems to cast his
shadow. Benoy Kumar Sarkar once offered an equation:
“Dharmatattva” (“Krishnacharitra”) = Gita X Comte (48)
which is quite appropriate.
So great indeed was the influence of positivism on the
English-educated Bengalis that Kenneth M. Macdonald, the Rev. professor, had to
write against Girish Chandra Ghosh whose journal, The Bengalee, promoted
the cause of Comte. Macdonald made use of Nabagopal Mitra’s National
Magazine in his polemics against The Bengalee. He also delivered a
speech, “Comte the Positivist” at Canning Institute, Howrah. The speech was
translated into Bangla as Dhrubabadi Agast Komt and published from Calcutta
in 1281 BS (1874 CE). The positivists all over the world, including those of Bengal,
were called atheists, as Comte himself had set out “to examine, on rational principles,”
the form of catechism for the exposition of his homespun “religion of humanity”.
I propose to end this brief survey by pointing out that
although the positivists, like the Young Bengal, were no better than a small
elite group, having little or no connection with the masses, they contributed a
most spectacular character to Bangla literature – Jethamasai in Rabindranath’s
enigmatic novel, Chaturanga (Four Sections).
Notes
1 The Bangla version, “Padri o Sishya Sambad” (Rachanabali 262-63),
does not contain the name of Confucius; the last speech is allotted to all the
three disciples.
2 The equation is reproduced somewhat differently in N. Biswas
( qtd. B. Bandyopadhyay 30), A. K. Bhattacharya (27) and D. Chattopadhyaya
(112).
3 For a detailed analysis see R. Bhattacharya (2003) 158-71.
4 A comparison of Jogendranath Bhattacharyya’s Hindu Castes
and Sects (1896) with Akshaykumar’s Bharatbarshiya Upasak Sampraday
will reveal that Bhattacharyya was not prompted by any desire to study “the
mental disease” of the people who founded the sects. Datta on the other hand
clearly states that he considered these religious sects to be work of mental
aberrations (2: 316; Lahiri 140-42).
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This article was first published in Psyche and Society (Kolkata), 10:1, May 2012,43-51.
Ramkrishna Bhattacharya taught English at the University of Calcutta, Kolkata and was an Emeritus Fellow of University Grants Commission. He is now a Fellow of Pavlov Institute, Kolkata.
Those who claim that their should not be special
rights for those belonging to backward castes..and they should be for
poors.."This is how the 'Higher Castes' treat a Schedule Caste/Scheduled
Tribe no matter what his financial state is". You talk about equality
and a fight with equal stature..where is that equal stature now? If
those rights are not fair, which are meant for them to lift them up from
their low status, to give them a right to stand at 'equal' within a
society, then is it fair that those so called "Savarnas..Higher Caste"
are pushing them back in a deeper pit of backwardness, of social
negligence, underdeveloped, poverty, and a state from where no one even
gives a damn what will happen to that particular group of society...Is
that Fair? Is it human?"
