A Bengali friend writes a long letter in Bengali on
the exodus from East Pakistan. Its purport is that though workers
like him understand and appreciate my argument and distinction
between death—courageous and cowardly—the common man detects in my
statement a not too hidden advice in favour of migration. "If death
is to be the lot in any case, courage becomes of no count; for man
lives but to escape death," he says.
This argument seems to beg the question. Man does not live but to escape death. If he does so, he is advised not to do so. He is advised to learn to love death as well as life, if not more so. A hard saying, harder to act up to, one may say, every worthy act is difficult. Ascent is always difficult. Descent is easy and often slippery. Life becomes livable only to the extent that death is treated as a friend, never as an enemy. To conquer life's temptations, summon death to your aid. In order to postpone death a coward surrenders honour, wife, daughter and all. A courageous man prefers death to the surrender of self-respect.. When the time comes, as it conceivably can, I would not leave my advice to be inferred, but it will be given in precise language. That today my advice might be followed only by one or none does not detract from its value. A beginning is always made by a few, even one.