India, 2017
As we moved off-track, the rows of shops disappeared, replaced by towering stacks of timber shoved against the city walls in endless rows. Dani coughed as the air thickened around her—hazy, luminescent, and orange. Looking to my right, I saw a gateway in the wall leading to the Ganges, inky and invisible against the night sky. We stepped through, and smoke and heat engulfed us. The air smelled of wood, my eyes burned, and I struggled to breathe all the same.
The concrete steps along the water’s edge blazed with altars of fire. I saw three of them, arranged on stone pedestals of alternating heights. Two fires simmered, empty and unattended, glowing a soft red under a mask of white ash. The third burned hot and bright, with flames licking the sky over our heads. Solemn groups of isolated men stood about watching the fire.
As I continued to look, a shadow darkened at its center, betraying the fire where its light should have burned brightest. The dark profile became clearer as it burned: a familiar elongated curve receded to a slender column ending in a human skull. The body faced upwards. Although timber and blinding light masked its form, I recognized its finger-like ribs, bared teeth, and empty eye sockets.
~
The smoke still clung to Dani and my clothes the next morning as we followed the river again, this time south, drawn once more to the fire.
As we approached, two dark-skinned men carried a body wrapped in yellow silks and marigolds to the dock, and set it on a burning pyre along the water’s edge. Dani and I sat on a bench on the outskirts to not intrude on the ritual before us and watched.
A man came and sat next to us.
“Do not worry,” he said. “I work for Mehrotra. Arrive to my store and buy silks if you like, but I don’t want your money. I come to this ghat every day during my break to pay respect to the river and share my culture with those who pass.”
“This ghat is special because it’s one of two for funerals. This is Harish Chandra Ghat; it’s open to everyone. The larger, Maharajah Ghat; have you been there? It cremates hundreds of followers every day, but there are tourists there, and it’s only for Hindus.”
We nodded in agreement, remembering our time last night.
“Ah, yes!” he said. “When Hindus die, their souls return as another life—but here, by the Ganges, they go straight to heaven. This is why they come.”
“The fire must come from Kashi Vishwanath, from the ‘Golden Temple.’ That fire always burns. Men carry her to the water. Only men can be here for cremation. No woman. Do you know why?”
I knew, but I feared answering.
“If a woman comes, she might throw herself in the fire,” he said. “This is barbaric, and we don’t allow this act, so we don’t allow women. Also, if a woman comes, she might cry, and her tears will tie the soul to Earth and stop it from reaching Brahma. Men come here to carry the fire and pray, but they mustn’t show sadness.”
He paused. “Cremation takes three to four hours to burn. See the color of the silk wrapping the bodies? Gold signifies old, red signifies women, but you can’t burn smallpox victims, lepers, pregnant, or children. They are pure and don’t need cleansing with fire. Their bodies must be weighted with stones and released to the Ganges.”
Gold clothes wrapped around the body burning now, signifying age, but they turned black and disappeared in smoke before my eyes.
“It … doesn’t smell,” Dani said.
“No, the smoke never smells. This is holy. She doesn’t take the whole body. For men, the chest will never burn, and for women, the hips. This is where the soul lives: the hips and the chest. When the soul stays, and the body is pure, we put these into the river and give to the Ganges.”
“At this ghat, cremation is for everyone, but see the different altars? These are for different castes. This (now burning body) is for Kshatriya, and that altar at the water is for Brahmin.”
“And what of that one over there?” I said, referring to an altar, built at waist-height above the others.
“Oh, that? That one is for rich people. And see those people who move the bodies? Those are the Doms, the untouchables. There is no altar is for them.”
I looked at Dani sitting beside me on the bench.
Then I looked back at the water, smoke drifting over it toward the far bank.
The river carried it away.
Leave a Reply