“Why do you do it?” I asked Natrajan Iyer.
A reasonable question for a man who had relentlessly taken on a builder, largely alone, while even members of his own housing society had failed to stand beside him.
According to Iyer, the society had been deprived of nearly two thousand crores through what he believes was a huge fraud. He alleged that two buildings were constructed on land promised for amenities, including a golf course.
These are his allegations, and their merits as I listened to him, seemed to be reasonably accurate. But what interested me that day was the man carrying this battle on his shoulders.
Iyer says other members had accepted, or been persuaded by, an offer of about twenty five crores. To him, that was a paltry compromise against what he believed the society had lost.
Yet there he stood, continuing his fight.
“Why do you do it?”
He gave me an impish grin.
“When I put my head on my pillow at night, I fall asleep immediately.”
I had expected an explanation about property, money, agreements or justice. Instead, he had pointed to his pillow.
Shakespeare entered the conversation.
“Sleep no more! Macbeth does murder sleep.”
Macbeth had murdered King Duncan, but discovered that the murder had claimed another victim: his own peace. He could reach for a crown, but could no longer reach easily for sleep.
“Sleep that knits up the ravell’d sleeve of care.”
What a beautiful description. The day leaves our minds frayed with worry, and sleep stitches the torn threads together. But Macbeth’s conscience would not let the stitching begin.
Later, Lady Macbeth would wander in her sleep, trying to wash imagined blood from her hands. Water could clean her skin. It could not quiet her conscience.
And here was Iyer, facing a powerful opponent, finding on his pillow something a king could not command.
Peace with himself.
Of course, sleeplessness is not proof of wrongdoing. Illness, grief and anxiety keep many good people awake. Nor does sound sleep automatically certify an honest life.
But Iyer’s answer invites a different examination.
When we lie down, can we live comfortably with the choices we made that day?
Did we remain silent because silence was profitable? Did we accept a convenient settlement while believing something deeply wrong had happened? Did we leave one man to fight because standing beside him might cost us something?
Our neighbours may never ask those questions.
Our conscience might.
Iyer’s battle will have to find its answer in evidence and justice. But his reply had already given me something to ponder.
A crown could not give Macbeth what an untroubled conscience gave this man.
Tonight, before admiring what we have gained, perhaps we should ask what gaining it has done to us.
For there are victories that buy comfort, and compromises that sell peace.
The pillow knows the difference.
And sometimes, the richest possession is the sleep we have not sold…!