Death Takes On A Life Of Its Own in Varanasi
Trip Start
Jan 02, 2011
1
23
27
Trip End
Feb 08, 2011
Varanasi, Uttar Pradesh, India
Friday, January 28, 2011
First, the Mayas. For them, life is a circle--one must die to welcome others to life--like making space. And the Americans? Let's not discuss it. As for the Indians, death is an honored tradition. The rural poor die in greater numbers as they do the world over, but the difference lies in how the deceased are respected--Buddhists and Hindus being cremated, Muslims and Christians being buried, and Parsis being eaten by vultures in the Tower of Silence in Mumbai.* In fact, because land is scarce most all Indian cities have pyres where some bodies are still cremated, but modern technology has given way to electric crematoriums, not as historical for certain but technologically advanced enough to alleviate some air pollution. Maybe.
And so it was on a Friday, on January 28, that Dick and I, along with our OAT Tour group, left Khajuraho for warmer climes and times and headed to Varanasi, located on the Middle Ganges. A sacred place of pilgrimage, Varanasi hosts more than 50,000 funerals annually! It will come as no surprise then that this city is a destination for the sick and elderly to pass their final days praying at the river, in ashrams** or on the street in anticipation of death, or, if already deceased, their bodies readied for burial, for Indians know from the time of birth that dying on the banks of the holy Ganges River will "speed them through the cycle of rebirths to 'moksha' or liberation of the soul". And according to tradition there are many entrances to moksha, asking to be cremated at the Ganges or, at the very least, having your ashes scattered over the river. It's obvious that in India death has taken on a life of its own and we were in Varanasi to witness this first hand.
As we left our hotel at dusk our first evening in this old city, Dharm, our OAT guide, shuffled all seventeen of us off to be safely ensconced in our own bicycle rickshaw, propelled by an Indian of indeterminate age, whose navigational and peddaling abilities were all that mattered. We dodged scooters, cars, other rickshaws and the usual--sacred cows, goats, ferral dogs, the occasional chicken and the ubiquitous pilgrim and funeral procession, to water's edge. Varanasi does funerals. Oh, and yoga. Approaching the hand-written "No Rickshaws Beyond This Point" sign, we stumbled out of our vehicles, finding ourselves following a cortege into a packed alley surrounding the Golden Temple, squeezing ourselves into lanes which barely fit two abreast but which continually host throngs of devotees, foreheads smeared with the ubiquitous vermillion tikka, a blessing from the temple priest. Finally we are at the edge of Mother Ganga.
We are led down a ghat***to a boat not unlike an Irish dorry and find a seat on one of the wooden benches that line both sides. At the bow were two young Dalits--the lowest caste Indians--dividing boat duties, both rowing and one also acting as looker-outer to avoid any bow- or aft-benders. He succeeded. A votive candle, set in a tiny marigold wreath, was handed to each one of us, as we were encouraged to pray for someone or something as we placed it in the Ganges. I watched it until it was well out of site, praying that my hand didn't touch the water; I am not sure what Dick prayed for. Then slowly and purposefully we made our way to one of the forty-eight ghats that line the river as the site of burning pyres came into view. An eerie silence settled over us as we crept along with other tourist- and mourner-laden boats. Curiously, according to our local guide, "There is no odor of burnt flesh or hair, as the bodies have been dipped in the river to purify them." We found this ironic; the tour guide found it factual. We uncovered our mouths and tested his hypothesis. Still thinking, still smelling...
There were twelve to fifteen bodies being cremated at once, many of which had been burning since dawn. Their funeral pyres, once piled high with approximately 150 pounds of wood--sandalwood if they could afford it-- were now a smoldering heap of ash and fragmented bone, the upper castes on the upper platform and so on, leaving the lower level for the Dalit, or lower caste cremations. The most inexpensive cremation is around $50, the average cost is $200, any cost too high for the very poor who must pool their resources for the privilege. The very rich? Most of them stay as far away from the Ganges as possible. Their death traditions don't include the word "river". In fact, Sivaram and Rama told us that they have never been to the banks of the Ganges, nor do they plan on it--ever!
Finally the group of mourners that we were following made their way down to Manikarnika Ghat to lay down their burden, the long-time husband of a widow who is directed to an observation deck above the burning platform. "Women cannot come to the burning," explains our guide, "as they cry and wail and shout, and the soul cannot be released to Nirvana if someone is calling him back with tears." At this particular cremation, the eldest son prepares to light the funeral pyre. "The shroud has been pushed back from the corpse's face so he can look upon Rama, the sun. The son circles the body once and sprinkles it with ghee; he sets the dry wood alight, using live coals brought from his household's devotional fire. As the flames engulf the corpse, the adolescent turns away and covers his face with his hands." His duty performed, he joins the family for the long wait for his father's body and soul to be appropriately cared for as is their belief. After the body has been cremated, the remains of the body are wrapped in a cloth and sent down the Holy River Ganges.
We leave the area of the pyres and head back upstream to take in the elaborate Ganga Aarti ceremony, a purification blessing ceremony performed by Buddhist priests, which involves prayer, ringing of large bells, incense burning, flowers being thrown into the air, and puja or offerings of respect. There are throngs of people, Indians and tourists alike. As we pull into shore, for the first time we spy bathers in the river, in the dark, in the clenches of the sludge, muck and putridity of Mother Ganga. Warning: Cover your face as we did.
It is said that not all Indians need to be cremated before the soul is released, among them pregnant women, holy men and children, who are thought to be clean. Therefore they are simply weighted down and lowered into the embrace of the Ganges," the clean and pure river". A trip to Varanasi is not for the fainthearted! However, for those willing to risk a little discomfort and dirty shoes, this evening has offered us a raw and intimate glimpse into the Indian way of life, and death.
The following morning, very early, we follow Dharm once again to the edge of the Ganges. From our boat we watch the sunrise over the river which, to some, is a holy experience. We are able to catch a glimpse of morning activities on the Ganges--bathing, ablutions, laundry washing (!), consultation of astrologers, and buying of offerings for rituals. It is a bright and sunny day which enabled us to see more clearly the death, the dirt, the poverty and the fragments of those lives lived on the edge.
_______________________________________________________________________________
Once again I promised more upbeat and failed, but I felt compelled to finish my Mother Ganga story. Next? The beedle leaf, hooka and more dreadful habits. Definitely more upbeat!
Click on photos and make them larger than life!
*That is, until it was noted that in 1993 the vulture population had declined by 93% due to an arthritis drug used by humans and animals having gotten into the water sources and eventually killing off a majority of the vultures. Due to the vulture population decline, instead of taking hours to be devoured by vultures, today it takes close to a year, causing problems that only your imagination can conjure up, and all true. Today Parsis are looking into alternative ways to handle their loved one's bodies; others are sticking to tradition.
**An ashram is a spiritual house or studio, most often located far from human habitation, amid refreshing natural surroundings conducive to spiritual instruction and meditation.
***A ghat is a very special type of embankment that is actually a long flight of wide stone steps leading down to the river where people take a holy dip; some are used for cremations.
Note 1: Much of the background information is from research by Ramesh Chandra Trivedi, a scientist at the Central Pollution Control Board, the monitoring arm of India’s Ministry of the Environment and Forests.
Note 2: Other information is from "Death on The Ganges", by Aryn Baker, Times Magazine, June 10, 2002.
