chakravyuha

We set out this morning for immersing my grandmother’s ashes in the Ganges. We had to get to the river which was about a 2 hour drive. Before that though, we had to visit the crematorium to collect the ashes. Mind you, those are not ashes in the technical sense of the term. They are actually bones and, in my grandmother’s case, they were very recognizable. By recognizable, I mean that the remnants of the cremation were recognizable as bones. I do not know enough anatomy to decipher which part of the body they belonged to. The drive was uneventful and we got the car to the riverbank without incident. The only thing worthy of note was the amount of told boots we had to cross. The last one charged us 7 1/2 rupees for a dirt track. To be more precise, the road was not really a dirt track. Idle construction machinery was everywhere. My uncle and my father and uncle, who accompanied me, are seasoned civil engineers and project managers. They spent a happy 10 minutes speculating on what could have happened and, reached the same conclusion; namely, that some kind of dispute had risen and the contractor had walked away.

Once we were out of the car, we were besieged by priests and other hangers on. We had to buy some cans to take holy water in and of course try to haggle for the cost of the boat. This was not successful. The rowboat was quite large and, no ores were being used. The boatman was using a long bamboo pole to propel the boat. The priest who came on board performed a small ceremony where, we had to throw flowers into the Ganges and repeat some words he said. He of course try to find out how influential weaver, our connections and in turn, he listed his own connections. My dad had the most physically demanding task of actually scooping my grandmother’s remains out of the earthenware pitcher they were in and pitching them into the river. He had to do a thorough job and, it is difficult to do given the weight of the remains, the picture and the awkward angle at which one has to lean to over the gunwale of the boat. I cannot tell if there was an emotional component to the whole exercise.

Once we were back at the bank, we will once more besieged by crowds asking for money. Apparently, you need to feed people at the bank so; one had to shell out more cash. Just when we reached the car, the local sweepers asked us for money. We finally got away.

The drive back was smooth and, we felt it took less time than the drive to the river. This particular place, he situated in the sugar belt of India. We passed a number of sugarcane fields and sugar mills with several bullock carts standing outside their gates.

So I guess that’s that… My grandmother’s room is almost empty so, by virtue of echolocation, I am able to feel the emptiness. That however is something I will get used to in time. The healing process may have already begun.

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