THE first time I heard this question was in 1964 when I was 11 years old and in Primary 5. Since then, I have read or heard several variations but to this day the first one remains the clearest in my mind.
I remember we were in school that day. In the afternoon, as one of our co-curricular activities for the boys, we played football. As there were too many pupils, the teachers divided the field into two so that 44 of us could play all at once.
Unfortunately, partway through the match, we had to stop to allow a funeral procession to cross the field which was between our church and the village graveyard.
There were paths at both ends of the football field leading to the graveyard, but for some reason, funeral processions tended to cut through the middle of the pitch. Be that as it may, football matches must stop on all such occasions to show respect to the decedents and their families.
With the match interrupted, several of the players decided to play in the river behind our house before going home.
We had a great time jumping or diving into one of the deep parts of the river until we were so out of breath that we had to rest while sitting neck-deep in the water.
Playtime would have resumed after the break if one of my cousins had not suddenly asked, “Are dead people happy being dead?”
That was the darnedest thing I have ever heard in my life. I was about to scold him when another cousin (who was one year older than me) interjected.
“Why would you ask such a question?” said Lopin.
“I don’t know. It just entered my mind when I saw the funeral just now,” said Ratum.
At this point, the rest of the boys lost interest and went home, leaving four of us behind — me, Lopin, Ratum, and Surad (Lopin’s younger brother).
“Maybe they are happy,” Surad chimed in and giggled. He was the funny one and was always clowning around.
“Don’t be silly! Dead people are neither happy nor sad,” I said.
“Our priest said when people die, their souls go to the other side,” said Ratum.
“I think you misunderstand him,” said Lopin.
“Maybe, but I still wonder if the dead are happy that they are not alive,” said Ratum.
“I say they are happy,” Surad insisted.
“Why?” I was a little annoyed.
“Well, they are awfully quiet, aren’t they? They never complain, so they must be happy.”
That got me stumped. I wanted to say something clever to shut him up, but nothing came to mind.
“So, okay, let’s imagine they are happy,” said Lopin. He was often the wisest among us and I paid attention to him because he was older. “Why are they happy? Happy about what?”
Now everybody got stumped. Nobody said anything for several moments while we threw little pebbles at the water. As we were getting cold, we got out of the water and sat on some rocks.
Just when it looked like we were about to give up for lack of ideas, Ratum suddenly blurted, “I know why they are happy! They don’t need to wash the dishes anymore.”
We all stared at him for several moments before bursting out laughing so hard till our sides hurt. Ratum was not offended by our laughter, though. He knew that we were not making fun of him.
“Come to think of it, Ratum has something there,” said Lopin after we had stopped laughing. “No eating, no cooking, no dishes to clean … happiness!”
All in all, we came up with several reasons why dead people were happy being dead. Among them were:
• No mosquitoes.
• No need to go to the loo.
• They don’t worry about falling asleep in class.
• They don’t worry about the weather.
• They don’t need to brush their teeth.
• They can burp or fart anywhere, anytime.
• Nothing itches.
• No hot or cold.
• No need to work.
• They don’t have to be nice to people they don’t like.
• They don’t get pimples any more.
This list is much shorter than the one we came up with that day, but you get the point. The seven items at the top were our favourites and so for me are quite easy to remember.
• No mosquitoes.
In those days (even today, I would think), mosquitoes were the bane of our existence. It was impossible to get away from them even for a little while. They were especially nasty at night, so we must sleep inside mosquito nets. We thought the dead must be very happy that they were free from the pesky insects.
• No need to go to the loo.
Indoor toilets were non-existent in my village when I was a kid in the 1950s and 1960s. Every household had an outhouse, which was a small structure that covered a toilet. It was typically separate from the main house. The toilet inside was just a hole in the ground.
Every kid that I knew hated using the toilet at night, especially those who were afraid of the dark. I was not afraid of the dark but I hated the mosquitoes. Can you imagine doing your business while the horrid insects attack your butt?
• They don’t worry about falling asleep in class.
We were all primary school pupils and every one of us had committed the sin of falling asleep in class at one time or another. In those days, the ‘sinners’ were often punished and the punishments were meted out at the discretion of the teachers. Hence, we declared that dead kids were happy not to be in school.
• They don’t worry about the weather.
We tolerated the hot weather. The rain, on the other hand, was hard to like because it prevented us from going out. Surely the dead had no such problem, so they must be happy about it.
• They don’t need to brush their teeth.
In the absence of toothpaste and brushes, many villagers used fine river sand to clean their teeth. It was quite easy. We were taught to rub the sand gently on our teeth and rinse. Repeat as many times as necessary. Away from the river, it was quite difficult, of course. We figured the dead were better off in that regard.
• They can burp or fart anywhere, anytime.
The village had a taboo — don’t burp or fart in the presence of other people after eating a durian. Those who disregarded the taboo tended to get scolded or reprimanded. There was even a saying that if a few persons who ate durians burped or farted together at the same time, it would surely knock someone out. We figured the dead were happy not to smell such a terrible odour.
• Nothing itches.
Have you ever needed to scratch an itch but both your hands were dirty, or the itch was where it couldn’t be reached? If you have, then you have experienced what real discomfort means. We argued that surely the dead were happy that they had no more itch to scratch.
Looking back
After all these years I still get a kick out of replaying the river session in my head. The memory will never die because I am always reminded of it whenever I see cemeteries, funerals, and the sight of people putting flowers on the graves of their loved ones.
Speaking of flowers (and this is a bit out of topic), there are not enough words to describe their beauty. The thought of them is suddenly prominent in my mind because, in the course of the river session, Ratum also asked us why the dead seemed to receive more flowers than the living.
We did not talk about it then because the sun was setting and we were getting cold. The question never came up again and was soon forgotten.
However, while writing this story, Ratum’s words came to the fore. So, in memory of him (rest in peace, dear cousin) I feel compelled to deal with the matter though the answer is very belated.
When I see people taking flowers to the graves of their loved ones, I sometimes get the impression that they want to make the dead happy instead of paying them respect and celebrating their memories. I may be wrong and I accept that, but I can’t help having the thoughts.
Seeing more flowers being given to the dead hits the deepest spot in my heart. It’s an ugly truth of life. How come we only know the value of people when they are no longer with us? Instead of showing that we love them when they are alive, we value them after they are gone. Why do we focus so much on regrets instead of giving value to gratitude? No wonder many people say that regret is stronger than gratitude.
The views expressed here are those of the writer and do not necessarily represent the views of the New Sarawak Tribune. Also, although the persons mentioned in this article have all passed away, their names have been modified out of respect for their descendants.
