That evening at eight
we walked the narrow trail
via the river path,
that led to the Manikarnika ghat:
Serenading us was a chilly breeze
as we doubled our speed –
once the burning pyres were visible.
There were several men and women,
mostly of foreign origin,
and rest from the crematorium –
who intently watched the proceedings
as though it were a circus game of cavorting,
with men transporting logs to blaze fire-rings:
Viewers squatted or stood on their toes
alongside the cows and buffaloes
who had the relaxed ringside view,
in between local dogs seemingly rare
but nevertheless always present there.
We crossed a large iron scale
standing tall by piles of logs they weighed,
that did abundant business here;
as for every lit pyre
350 kgs of wood was required –
to ensure the human body dessicated
with no trace of a lifetime’s existence,
to a mere handful of ashes –
whose material source is indistinguishable;
to be immersed into the Ganges below
so it be relieved from the tedious cycle
of several births and deaths
with the furore of achieving Moksh
In the chilly breeze we walked up close,
feeling the sweltering heat of fires below
to where two men sat on an elevation –
from where they kept the scale in their vision,
to supervise a proprietary system,
of allowing the pyre bearers to decide,
till what extent – they would allow to burn
if they couldn’t char the whole human form:
For if you’re in a hurry to leave the ghat
and have a train or flight to board,
or simply cannot afford more wood,
you could ask that the unburned parts
comprising the last to burn female hips
along with the naval, intestines,
and the sturdy chest bones of the male,
remain unburned – to be beaten down
so as to be taken to a holier bay or confluence
or be immersed in the Ganges with the part ashes.
One of these men who were in charge
enthusiastically invited conversation with us –
for how many – including me a woman,
care to find out what really happens
behind the scenes of a crematorium:
So he took us upstairs to meet his bosses.
Cremation in Benaras, is a family business
conducted by extended family over generations,
such that each of four real brothers
with extended ones of different fathers –
who run the Manikarnika ghat crematorium,
take ten-day turns to live here twenty-four hours,
to have their next turn come up after twenty days –
till when they go back to living in their homes
away from the constant drone of hari bol,
when even in their sleep all day and the night –
they hear the chants in the name of the lord,
that from times immemorial
remains the fine line of spiritual connect
between the Hindu living and the dead –
till they’ve been turned to ashes
with the hope they will never be born again;
as to be cremated at Manikarnika ghat
assures you that with several lives you’re done.
There’s an eternal fire here that’s kept burning,
even if it ensures that those cremated here
have completed their seven cycles of living:
on a log at the altar by the first floor window sill –
that with the owners overlooks all the proceedings
and every pyre here is lit out of this one kiln
that also views the row boats in the Ganges,
which you can use to go far out midstream
of the holy river that washes away all your sins
and immerse the ashes of your deceased kin.