Death, echoes of a life lived…
Why do some of us fear death? Perhaps because we do not know what lies on the other side. This fear, however, often transforms over time
Death is inevitable. Perhaps it is the only common and certain experience on Earth, surpassing class, creed, and nation. It is the one certainty in life, yet its nature, meaning, and implications have puzzled humanity for millennia.
When I read Tarashankar Bandhopadhyay’s Aragya Niketan for the first time, a sombre, deep pain lingered in my consciousness for a long time. Jibon Daktar (Doctor Jibon, ironically Jibon meaning life), the protagonist of this novel, could sense death by merely touching a person’s wrist (pulse).
This extraordinary talent as a village doctor made him the most despicable, unsought, yet necessary figure in his locality. Everyone hated him as though he were the angel of death himself, yet the eternal curiosity of humans drove them toward him, especially during illness.
The vacancy, the hollowness, the abyss, the sense of nothingness, and the mountain of hypotheses—yet no confirmed theories—make death the most explored mystery on Earth. It is feared, loved, desired, and embraced by every sort of emotion because of its undefined nature. The unknown invites curiosity but also terror.
According to modern science, at its core, death is a biological process of irreversible cessation of all vital functions. However, even this biological finality is surrounded by debates. For instance, cryonics—the freezing of bodies with the hope of future revival—raises ethical and scientific questions.
Similarly, the study of near-death experiences (NDEs), where individuals report sensations like out-of-body experiences or a tunnel of light, challenges our understanding of the relationship between the brain and consciousness. These phenomena tease the edges of science, suggesting that our grasp of death remains incomplete.
We grieve because we love, and love, in its essence, is the defiance of death. It is what keeps the memories alive—an old story retold, a favourite dish cooked, a familiar melody hummed absentmindedly
Beyond science, death occupies a vast area of thought, culture, and the living practices of human history. Popular beliefs surrounding death are as diverse as humanity itself. In Christianity, death is seen as a transition to eternal life, where the soul faces divine judgment. Heaven and hell are central tenets, offering hope for the virtuous and warnings for the wicked—a concept mirrored in Islam and Judaism. In Hinduism and Buddhism, death is a process of rebirth, influenced by one’s karma. Liberation from this cycle—moksha or nirvana—is the ultimate spiritual goal.
Why do some of us fear death? Perhaps because we do not know what lies on the other side. This fear, however, often transforms over time. Franz Kafka’s protagonist in The Trial, Josef K., surrenders to death in a system so incomprehensible that resistance becomes futile. His despair echoes the resignation of those enduring long ailments, who sometimes long for death—not because they hate life, but because helplessness, reliance on others, and the absence of a visible purpose render existence unbearable.
One might recall Albert Camus’s The Myth of Sisyphus in such moments, where the absurdity of life becomes glaringly evident. If death is inevitable and certain, then life, with all its hopes and struggles, may appear irrational. Camus reflects on this absurdity through the metaphor of Sisyphus, eternally condemned to roll a boulder uphill only for it to roll back down.
Humans, too, face the inevitability of death from the moment they are born, yet they live, love, create, and endure. This paradox feels senseless, yet Camus urges us to embrace it, suggesting that rebellion against absurdity gives life its meaning.
Similarly, Camus’ Plague explores death’s randomness and cold indifference. The death of a child in the novel strikes at the heart of human fragility, forcing readers to confront the stark irrationality of existence. This tragic loss not only questions the meaning of human effort but also highlights the interconnectedness of grief.
But what about those who are left behind? The person who dies, or as modern language sanitises it, “passes away,” leaves memories, traces, and an emotional void. Metaphysically, some suggest they leave particles of their being in the world, while in our digital age, they leave behind online footprints.
Grieving is common to all, yet its expressions are as varied as human emotions. The empty chair, the untouched bed, the deafening silence of absence—all are absolute and unyielding. The feeling of someone being “no more” is as definitive as death itself. This is why we partly forgive Achilles for his uncontrollable rage at the death of Patroclus, a rage that humanises the mighty warrior by exposing his profound grief.
Death, in its inevitability, does not merely end a life; it ripples through the lives of those left behind. The empty chair at the dinner table, the unspoken words that linger in the air, the scent that fades from a pillow—all these small absences swell into an overwhelming presence of ‘no more’. And yet, in those moments of grief, there lies an echo of the love that was shared.
We grieve because we love, and love, in its essence, is the defiance of death. It is what keeps the memories alive—an old story retold, a favourite dish cooked, a familiar melody hummed absentmindedly. In these quiet acts, we carry the departed with us, keeping them alive in the only way we can.
Death, then, is not just an end but a transformation. It reminds us to hold our loved ones closer, to speak the words that need saying, and to be present in the fleeting moments that make up our lives. The inevitability of death forces us to see life more clearly, to strip away the trivial and focus on what truly matters.
Perhaps this is why death remains so enigmatic, why it both terrifies and humbles us. It is the final unknown, the great equaliser that reduces us all to the same dust. And yet, it is also a mirror reflecting back the beauty, pain, and love that define a life well lived.
* Farjana Liakat works at Prothom Alo. She can be reached at farjanaliakat@prothomalo.com