From November 21 -
"This too shall pass" is one of the Buddhist phrases that really resonates with me. Everything seem like it is perfect in your life. Doing great at work, kids are best in the class, figured out the perfect gift for your wife? This too shall pass. Lose your job, kid hates your guts, heartbroken? This too shall pass.
I spent this evening feeling brave. I ate street food right in the street - samosas, fried spicy chicken, some sweet thing. Then I spent the next 30 minutes sure I was already feverish with some sort of cold-sweat-inducing Subcontinental GI bug. This too shall pass, right?
Then, I decided to walk down to the smaller of two burning ghats. This is where Hindus can be cremated right on the banks of the Ganges. It is said to bring them right to Moksha - enlightenment and escaping rebirth.
The fires are right on the bank of the river. Not surprisingly, the fire is kind of coffin shaped. Since I got here, two new families appeared carrying a loved one who is wrapped in orange cloth and covered in marigolds. One chosen family member shaves his head and dresses in an all white robe/sheet thing. The family dips the body in the Ganges, sets it atop the firewood and walked around the body five times - or four or seven. I am not sure. They pour ghee on the body and toss precious items, rings, jewels, into the fire. Then they light the fire. The fire, I am told, takes five hours to burn. This too shall pass.
And all around the fires, life goes on.
Three stray dogs are asleep by the warm fires. Another dog is sniffing through a fire pit that has burned out.
The men who tend the fire are really at work doing tough labor as much as they are in a holy place. They bring in loads of firewood and dump them noisily in piles for the next fire.
One guy clearly liked poking the fire - like I do on Christmas night. As he pokes, he pries the body into a sitting position, full of flame, and makes it fold on itself into the hot heart of the fire.
One family brings their tiny deceased family member down to the river on a stretcher. As they walk the body in, they look a little unhappy wading into a muddy river. They are trying not to fall and reluctantly letting their trousers get wet. When the come out, they set the body half in half out of the water, remove the garlands of marigolds, and then wait. After about five minutes of waiting around, one guy takes out his cell phone and makes a call.
Two men wade in the water around the burning ghat with a fine mesh net. They are not fishing. They scoop up the ash and charcoal dumped into the river and strain it. I was told they are looking for those rings and jewels that families had tossed onto the funeral fires.
I am exhausted so I go down the ghat about 100 feet to a tea stand. As I wait for it to brew, a couple little boys check out my phone over my shoulder. They want money. I say no. They want me to take their picture dancing. I say yes. My tea is ready. As I go to leave they give me a biscuit from their pack. I buy them a new pack as thanks. This too shall pass.
