Death in India

*posted by Jeet

"He whose mind is not agitated in misfortune, whose desire for pleasures has disappeared, whose passion, fear, and anger have departed, and whose meditation is steady, is said to be a sage." - The Bhagavad Gita

There are certain experiences that are so powerful, so raw, that they become impossible to describe in any meaningful way. Regardless, I'll try and give everybody a taste of what we saw and experienced on this, the day of my Pishimoni's cremation. Today's events changed my outlook on life and death forever, and made me realize the harsh realities of death in my home country. While the beginning of this journey dealt with life and new beginnings, it is clear that the end of this journey will deal with death and letting go.

My father arrived in Kolkata from the states this morning (Katie, Arny and I got here a few days ago in order to be with my Dadu, Thampu, and Kakima), and following his arrival was the final viewing of my Pishimoni's body. In Hindu tradition, the body is often brought back to the deceased individual's residence for one last time, and friends and family are able to view the body for one last time before it is cremated. It is essentially like a wake, but much more free form. Everything happened so suddenly, one minute we were picking up my dad from the airport, and the next minute we were dressed in all white kurtas, getting ready to face the death which had shattered our family's very being.

A sort of funeral car/truck held my Pishi in the back in a clear glass compartment, and stopped in our residence's parking lot for the final viewing. It was a lot to take in for all of us, and the reality of the situation finally hit me - I couldn't believe this had happened. We cried. Friends and family gathered around the funeral car to pay their respects as they looked upon my Pishi's face one last time. She was elegantly dressed in a beautiful sari and had been adorned with many flowers. Finally, it was time for the cremation, and my brother, father, and I got into the front of the funeral car to be driven to the cremation grounds.

As we drove to the Kalighat area (where we had payed our respects to Ma Kali on the first day out in Kolkata) we passed many Hindus on the road who offered pronam to our Pishi as her body passed by on the street. This was a truly amazing site to see - a simple and silent way for strangers to offer their condolences to the deceased and her family.

Arny and I could have never imagined what we would witness at the crematorium. First we helped to carry my Pishi's body out of the funeral car and into the crematorium, where we were the third in line for a cremation. There was no nice funeral home here, only a dirty, pan covered building where dead bodies were in queue to be cremated. The smell of death and ash lingered. It was pretty surreal - we watched as two other families went through the final prayers and sent their loved ones into The Fire.

At last it was our turn - again my brother, father, and I helped carry my Pishi's body onto the wooden stretcher which would be put into the cremation pit (this was an electrical crematorium, many Hindus still utilize the ancient wooden pyre for the cremation). We were helped by Pishimoni's driver Mahadev, the groundskeeper of our property Paal, and the husbands of Pishimoni's two maids, who had traveled very long ways to attend the cremation. As Pishimoni considered Arny and I her sons, we went through the final rites prayers as the crematorium brahmin walked us through a series of ancient rituals. Following these rituals it was time for the final goodbye. We all lifted her scaffold and placed Pishimoni in front of the cremation pit, each offered a final pronam to the body, and stepped back.

We watched as the crematorium workers hoisted the body up as the door to the fire pit opened up. There was a bright red and white heat emanating from the pit's coals, and our Pishimoni's body was slid inside. The door shut and we waited. We waited for over an hour as the fire consumed the body, watching as more families entered the crematorium with more deceased individuals. I thought about all the Indian mythologies and philosophies I had read and learned about and how they all place such a massive emphasis on death. This was the reality - death is a part of life.

As The Buddha said, all life is suffering, and the ultimate goal is to end that suffering by escaping the endless cycle of deaths and rebirths, to realize one's own self through detachment and spiritual devotion.

After the body had been taken by the fire, we asked for a small amount of Pishimoni's ashes to be kept in an urn, which we wanted to personally place in the Ganges with the rest of our family present (Dadu and Katie had remained home for the cremation, even Thampu wasn't traditionally supposed to attend the cremation - but our family has never been too keen on superstitions).

Before returning home with Pishimoni's urn, Mahadev drove Arny, Baba, and I to Babughat, a holy site on the banks of the river Ganga in the middle of Kolkata. It was dirty, to say the least. Mahadev led Arny and I down to the water, where we were to throw in a second urn which was said to contain the navel of the deceased. After a short prayer, we threw this second urn in the river, and returned home with the urn containing the ashes.

Durga, Durga, Jai Baba, Vigneshwar.

"Truly there was never a time when I was not, nor you, nor these lords of men; and neither will there be a time when we shall cease to be, from this time onward." - The Bhagavad Gita