Burning Ghat.

The biggest tourist attraction on the ghats is the burning ghats where families come to burn the bodies of their recently deceased relatives. A trip to Varanasi is just not complete without visiting this ghat for some time and just contemplating the impermanence of human life. I spent about an hour there one afternoon and watched the flames of around 12 funeral pyres consume the corpses of 12 people. I can hear you think that must have been hard to watch and yes it was. In so many ways, we always want to avoid anything uncomfortable but in another way once I got past the harsh truth of seeing so many dead bodies there was something almost comforting about seeing the bare faced truth; we all die and it is not a pretty site or a comfortable thing to face.

 I could go on about the awful smell of burning flesh, watching the flames turn skin black or frazzle nicely dyed hair, seeing feet, legs and arms protrude from a small mountain of wood or the dogs that fought by river side over the morsel of roasted human flesh; but I won’t. For the men who work at the ghat they face this sight every day and it is all in a day’s work for them. They build the fires, carry the bodies, place the body on the wood, make sure the fires keep burning and burn every part of the body, then they have to sift through the ashes and hand the ashes over to the family for disposal in the river.

This uncomfortable vision before me is just the top layer of repulsion that makes as all turn away from death. In the west death is never talked about and is always dressed up nicely, it is not messy at all and even in our mourning we are taught to be controlled or self composed. I had to force myself to stand and get beyond the messy, unclean, uncomfortable, unstructured and uncontrollable sight before me and take this opportunity to see and feel something deeper.

The ceremony itself (what little I could learn) is really beautiful and involves sending the body back to the elements; earth water, fire and air. The corpse is draped in clean white cloth and then coloured cloth with gold broche. It is then put on a stretcher and carried by the male members of the family down to the river side where it is then placed on the earth and then soaked for a while in the holy water of the Ganga. Once placed on the pile of nicely arranged wood, the body it then sprinkled with sandal wood and other substances. The eldest son or closest male relative of the deceased will then light the fire. He has already that day been shaved of his hair has taken a bath in the Ganga and is dressed in white clothes as is the traditional style of a Brahmin. As the wood starts to catch fire the relatives and or priest will do prayers and then watch the fire burn. The fire can last several hours and with about 12 fires going at once there are many people standing around in mourning.

 People mourned differently and were allowed to do so. Some sat alone in a corner tears, or stared trance like the flames of the fire. Many people were crying and being held or embraced by other relatives. This communal show of emotion I felt was in some ways also cleansing for the grieving relatives. A kind of purging of sadness so that they could move on with their lives. All I could do was try to feel their pain and show respect by bowing my head and covering my hair. It was in some way refreshing to see people being open with their grief.

That hour was a harsh teaching on how to fully appreciating my life and be grateful for my good health, the great people around me and all the comforts that I have. I know I have wasted a lot of time on trivial things over the years but an hour at the burning ghats make me more determined to use take every day as a gift and use it wisely and in a good way coz I have no idea how long I have got left.