Once
we were discussing the play Arms and the Man in English class. Before I get
into this post, let me give you an overview of Arms and the Man. It’s a play
written by George Bernard Shaw (my idol, after Groucho Marx of course) set
during the Serbo-Bulgarian War in the 1800s. Now, Shaw was a satirist, so
contrary to the glorified and romanticised image of war, he held that it was a
farce, that it was futile. He ridiculed war and unveiled the fissure between
romanticism and rationalism. So being a satire aficionado, I naturally got
transfixed by Shaw’s candour.
Now
coming to the discussion, we were scrutinising the practicality of war, which
has always been a serious bone of contention. “What is the true purpose of war?
Is it an exhibition of one’s patriotism?” My head was ruminating on these
questions. After a bit of brooding about, I raised my hand and said, “When it
comes to war, patriotism is just a euphemistic expression of fanaticism.” The
silence it ushered from the class confused me as to what they inferred from my
opinion. One boy clapped, but I surmise it carried a heavy tone of sarcasm, or
maybe not. Whatever the case may be, my teacher found it too close to the bone
and disagreed. She said “What about the Indian freedom struggle? Can you call
trying to liberate one’s country as fanaticism?” I wasn't prepared to answer
this since I didn't even think once before making my contentious statement.
I
made my fleeting affirmation in the context of the likes of the World Wars. I
have always opined that they were not wars between countries, but between
power-hungry leaders who could go to any lengths to fulfill their imperialistic
ambitions. Does love for one’s country demand hatred for the other? I have
always been fascinated by Adolf Hitler’s ideas. A charismatic leader, a
terrorising dictator, so driven by his demonic hunger for
power that failure to achieve supremacy led him to believe that it held more
importance than his own life. We are always so insecure, the fear of insurgency
corrupting our minds. No matter what noble intentions a war is fought with, is
the outcome as gratifying as expected? When blood is shed on both sides, the
world is reduced to ashes and families torn apart, is there a winner after all?
And if there is, is the victory satisfying? A war never ends. Ask the soldiers
who wake up every night haunted by memories of the battlefield, trembling and
sweating. When cannonballs explode, swords clash and you’re heaving through
lungs filled with gunpowder, is it worth the pain?
