Where Death is Celebrated!

by Bikram Chakraborty (India)

I didn't expect to find India

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It was the end of nine days of festivity at Puri in Odisha. The iconic Ratha Yatra or Chariot festival has just ended for the year. The town which breaks records in terms of the number of people attending it every year during this festival now looked deserted, people looked tired. As the festive crowed leaves this popular coastal city the regular tourists slowly started flocking from all over to its shores. Here the blue waters of Bay of Bengal make the loudest roars before being tamed by its shores as if reaching its destination before rising and starting the journey all over again. Much like the way all human life reaches its final destination sooner or later. It is the only event in life that is cent percent certain after birth. It’s harsh but I think acceptance of this harsh reality is easier when one learns to deal with it and one way to do this could be to perceive the soul’s detachment from the body. According to Hindu beliefs, the soul is immortal i.e. it never dies; only the body, the physical self ends. Heaven or Hell is a direct result of Karma or the result of one’s deeds in life. Well, one is free to either believe this or not but this philosophy or belief probably guides the numerous people who carry their dead to Swarga Dwara crematorium, the Gateway to Heaven! Yes, you read it right. It is believed that whoever is cremated here reaches heaven, frees self from the cycle of life and death. In other words, his or her sufferings end here, the soul becomes free. All this sounds fantastic, in theory at least until one sees Swarga Dwara for the first time as a common traveler. The sheer number of funeral pyres in a small area protected only by a short boundary wall in the middle of a crowded market for all to see is shocking, to say the least. If this is not enough then the sight of numerous dead bodies being carried by their relatives or friends lined up for their turn to be cremated with unconcerned, sometimes curious-looking tourists and locals without any visible sign of emotions walking past them may leave one dumbfounded. Be it watching people munching on local delicacies from the eateries next to the crematorium in a constant company of strong smell emanating from burning of wood, ghee (clarified butter) and human flesh in the ash-filled smoky air or just observing innocuous-looking tourists testing conch shells by blowing it to the full before making the prized purchase or bargaining for goodies made from seashells from one of the beachside shops overlooking the crematorium; all these may feel extremely disturbing, insensitive towards the dead or the dear ones waiting there. All of these may seem too much or gut-wrenching for many but it would be very unfair if we term these people insensitive as for most of them this acceptability of the ultimate reality is unconsciously ingrained in them, by their families, by the society at large from childhood. To allow this to happen in the middle of everything is probably the tolerance of the highest order. It is like the celebration of death. For normal tourists, witnessing it for the first time could be very disturbing, shaking of one’s consciousness or an everlasting memory but for locals, it is just another day of life as nearly two thousand dead bodies come here every month for cremation. The annual chariot festival may draw people from all over to celebrate the ultimate happiness, the good things life yarns for, the Swarga Dwara just a mile away towards the shore, on the other hand, reminds the ultimate destination, where chants of ultimate truth or prayers for secrete desire to achieve salvation fills the air, daily. As for me, it took some time to come in terms of the sheer magnitude of all of these, to accept things as it is! Sometimes it is best to just go with the flow. Maybe it works or it may never!