The Greater Bairam: a festival of inclusivity

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Consequentialism is defined as "the ethical study of morals, duties and rights with an approach that focuses consequences of a particular action or cause". A consequentialist holds the belief that "consequences form the basis for any valid moral judgement about an action". Thus, from a consequentialist standpoint, a morally right action is one that produces a good outcome or consequence.

The Muslims observe the Greater Bairam, known as the Eid-ul-Adha, in remembrance of the great sacrifice by Hazrat Ibrahim (AS) of his son Hazrat Ismael (AS) obeying his Creator. The sacrifice of what is dearest to heart in the world was demanded as a proof of unconditional obedience. The father was ready to offer the sacrifice of his son who was the dearest thing to him as the son was born in the father's old age.

The demands of sacrifice become more poignant when the father is required to slaughter his son with his own hands. It is quite difficult to imagine feeling the agonising pain at the writhing body of one's own son being slaughtered. When the father was close to slaughter, the Creator transformed the son into a ram. The father came out victorious in the litmus test for devotion and love.

The Muslims, particularly in our part of the world, have transformed this devotional sacrifice into a worldly affair of ostentation and self-aggrandisement. The wealthier the person is, the costlier the sacrificial animal is. The purchase in hundreds of thousands is a way to showcase one's opulence, as the sharing of wealth with the poor unshowingly doesn't satisfy one's urge for self-exhibitionism. Accepted that one ought to buy the cattle at par with one's financial muscle, but the real sacrifice would be to distribute its meat among the destitute.

The children and youngsters play with their sacrificial animals in front of those who can't afford to buy one. It nurtures hopes in the poor neighbours that they would get a meal with the meat which has been unaffordable to them throughout the year, but this day, too, they wouldn't.

We must advise our children to include such children in the festivities. A religion that enjoins upon its adherents to cover the eatables being taken home lest it might tantalise the poor children in the neighbours cannot allow them to exclude the less privileged from the festivities of a religious festival.

Some families have devised a ploy to defang the pricking of conscience: They reserve mutton for the family and distribute beef among the poor. Paradoxically, the rich who relish mutton throughout the year behave as if they have never eaten mutton. As is the norm, they stuff their deep freezers with the meat for "the rainy days". The divine sacrifice demands parting with one's desires and avarice. The desire to store and avarice for more makes man the poorest of the lot.

The irresponsibility people display in disposing of the remains of the sacrificed animals goes against the spirit of the sacrifice and Islamic teachings. The offal fly-tipped along the streets and roads creates an unpleasant scene marring the beauty and sanctity of the holy tradition of the great sacrifice as these litter louts don't bother that their actions might become the cause of public nuisance.

Even if the remains are thrown away from the vicinity, they land near the slums and ghettos, compounding miseries of the dwellers twofold. First, they were not included in the joys and blessings of the festival. Second, they were reminded with the heaps of stinking offal that they are the segregated part of society. What to speak of including the minorities in the joys and blessings of the festival? The bliss of divine sacrifice is in inclusivity, not in exclusivity. It's a communal festival.

If our offering of sacrifice doesn't make us shake off all the impurities of ego – arrogance, avarice, ostentation, selfishness and the ilk – we will have to take stock of our intentions and actions. If we don't find ourselves a changed, rather a metamorphosed, person after sacrificing what is dearest to us, it means we haven't sacrificed what is dearest to us – the raison detre of the divine sacrifice.