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I was 12 when I first saw the lifeless body of a man. It was early in the morning, and the sun had only begun to appear from the horizon, reflecting itself on the banks of the wide river Ganges. It was a young fisherman who approached and offered to guide us. Once inside his boat, he guided us like Charon in the underworld through the dark waters. Dead and alive would travel the narrow paths, saying goodbye to their loved ones. Who were slowly devoured by the flames. A place on earth were life and death coexisted perfectly, and unlike those who wouldn't believe it, peace reigned in Varanasi. Once the bonfires were lit, the smoke would have risen through the heavens, and when extinguished, it would have gone away in the form of a last breath. Then their ashes would be thrown into the murky waters. Without the slightest trace, of having ever been there. "How quickly burns their body depends on Agni, the God of fire" began to explain the fisherman. And then he pointed the fires. "We can buy better wood to make it faster. But it is quite expensive, and only rich people can afford it" He never stopped smiling while saying this. There was no hate, no resentment in his words. Maybe just longing. "Once the ashes are thrown to the shore, the poor people dive into the waters, waiting to find jewelry with which the dead have been burned with," he said, insinuating being something extremely normal." That jewelry benefits us all." he assured us. On the nearest steps women, and children bathed and savored the sweet waters in which most India now rested. "At first the river flowed only through the sky" the young fisherman began to explain, "but then, King Bhagarathi brought it down to Earth to wash the ashes of his ancestors" he stopped for a moment and submerge his hands in the water. Then he began to move them from side to side, drawing on the surface, something I could not fully understand. "Once you are cremated on the river bank and your ashes scattered in it, then your soul will be freed from the cycle of reincarnation. Only then, can one access to paradise." Suddenly his hands stopped. He clasped his palms, now loaded with water, and he exclaimed: "One day, it will be my turn." Then he took a sip of sacred water. Once away from the smoke and the sharp odors. The fisherman took us to the outskirts of the city. That's when I saw it. The already swollen and discolored body of a man whose name I will never know. "He was bitten by a snake," said the fisherman pointing to one of his legs. Two black dots lay in his tender flesh. "Snakes are sacred to us. So he can´t be cremated. He must wait for his next life." He said now looking at the body, almost pitying him. "What is going to happen to the body?" My mother asked, still impressed after the sudden encounter. "The fish will eat it, at least that's what they have been doing for decades," he said quietly. "And then, then I will eat them." He added with a smile.