Part – II

Ire of gods and sorrow of souls

Section 2: Gods admonish

Savior Lord

A mad fellow named Christ

My conclusions for the exploration in the ONGC oilfield area were rather drastic: we had reached our target depth of drilling and it was impossible to go below this depth due to high-pressure water reservoir charged with sour gas. The oil-zone struck by us could not produce sufficient oil to meet the contract-obligation. It was necessary, therefore to wind up our show in Iraq and return home to curtail the wastage of money. My view was an anathema for those gathered in Iraq for money.  They were all behind my boss, and for them I was a red flag. My views meant doomsday only months ahead.

The administrative head of the staff in the Project visited me for solving the crisis between my boss and me.

 “Why don’t you say yes to the views of your Head when he is ready to take total responsibility about the well and oilfield?” the officer put forth his idea towing the line of my boss. His approach was purely administrative – yes boss!

“There was a mad fellow called Christ, talking about an abstract and invisible God due to a conviction within, which could well have been wrong,” I said. “It was far more easy for the chap to live and avoid carrying a cross on his shoulders to get crucified for his conviction had he stopped talking about God,” I explained to him my philosophy. “I’m a scientist and cannot talk like Christ in absence of proof. I have conviction with proof, however. I cannot change the facts in science. Neither can I alter my views due to proof,” I communicated to the administrator of the project.

There is no difference between a conviction with or without proof for an administrator. A conviction is the worst substance for him! It means stubbornness in the language of management.

 Those who cannot sacrifice their conviction for supporting administrative decisions have a singular end – end like Christ on a cross.

After the Administrative Officer had left my room, disappointed and unhappy, I recounted a passage for myself from the bibliographic account of Kishan Chander, a famous Urdu writer “For those who choose the path of truth, there is no shady tree above; they have to walk in the blistering sun for miles and miles.”

 I did not know at Basra, however, how many more years were destined for me to walk under scorching sun this way in my madness for the pursuit of truth.