Dhaka attack during Ramzan strengthens the case against God

When I was a little girl, a lady in my neighbourhood lost her husband on the day of Karva Chauth. She had fasted the whole day for her husband's long life, convinced, like many others, that god likes to see us make these sacrifices before rewarding us with what we desire, so the news at the end of the day silenced the whole neighbourhood.

This was about 25 years ago, but I still remember that day. I remember thinking: now this lady will never be able to believe in god again.

Later, in my teens, my brother-in-law's (then my sister's boyfriend) best friend married his childhood sweetheart after a long struggle with families on both sides. Or was it her side? I can't remember the details now but we all witnessed these lovers, totally into each other, desperate to marry, the kind of love you don't see at all nowadays, not even in the movies.

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Finally, after lots and lots of fights, their parents agreed and, finally, finally, finally, V and B got married. A couple of days later they left for their honeymoon to Manali. I will never forget my sister's face, white with shock, as she got off the phone - my brother-in-law had called to inform her that the two of them had got into a gruesome road accident and B died on the spot. V was left with just her hand, still in his. Though he married again eventually and has a lovely family, he has never been the same person after that.

I, who wasn't directly affected by any of this, they weren't even my friends really, lost my faith in God. When utterly senseless and ridiculously cruel things happen to totally lovely innocent people in front of you, you cannot but question a superior power that's (supposed to be) always there to protect you. No sir, no amount of happy coincidences in life has ever restored the faith in God I had before that day.

Bombings during Ramzan in Afghanistan, Turkey, Bangladesh and Iraq, Muslim-majority countries, has made me think of that day again.

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A lot has been said about how these people are not real Muslims; these Muslims who bombed Istanbul's airport, killing innocent and unarmed travellers; the Muslims who killed foreigners in Dhaka's Holey Artisan Bakery café, some too young to even consider death yet; the Muslims who killed other Muslims in Kabul or Baghdad… But, more than wondering about the faith of the murderers, I am interested in what their act does to the faith of others.

In all this darkness, I see a dim light: the hope that we are slowly, one family by one, killing faith.

When believers, who may or may not fast during Ramzan, are murdered because they are Shia or just inconveniently in your way - when you make it a spectacle that is witnessed by the world - the message you send to the world is that religion is no saviour. God is unmoved by your devotion.

When people see that the murderers themselves are Muslims, who plan to kill people during their holiest month, some people may escape the pain by pointing out that these are not real Muslims, but some others start to question: what's so holy about this month then? What have the collective prayers and goodwill of a whole community achieved? What good are prayers?

Apparently, in Dhaka, people were asked to recite the Quran before they were butchered, like that Nairobi mall attack and some others, and I found myself thinking idly that maybe I should memorise a few essential bits.

Perhaps this is what religion is going to be reduced to eventually; downsized from a way of life to a boring life-saving tool that one must keep in one's bag like a pepper spray.

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I foresee a future where families of those killed in these attacks lose their faith, one by one, and pass that faithlessness to their future generations. When Muslims kill Muslims during Ramzan, it's not just the Muslim community that is affected; every religious person across the world is affected. The believers question the power of their belief; the very point of that belief.

When devout Hindus and Christians are killed for transiting through the wrong place at the wrong time or having coffee at the wrong place - on that day, the parent of someone killed may have gone to church, on that day the brother of someone killed may have completed a Tuesday fast and returned from the temple with that yummy boondi prasad - when such a thing happens we must wonder what fu*king good is this God of ours.

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If this hasn't happened at a large scale today, it will happen tomorrow, when the hurt comes closer to more and more people worldwide.

Slowly, people are going to lose faith and stop believing. Religiosity will fade and a more pragmatic generation will emerge. Maybe then we will stop killing each other, at least in the name of God, and be more realistic.

Maybe world peace is a thing after all, except not for my generation. Perhaps this is our sacrifice, killing each other off, one city by another, and our reward will be that the future generation will be more peaceful, as fewer people kill each other in the name of the visibly absent God.