A procession to the pyre...

Weddings and funerals are two life-cycle events that are often marked by ceremonies based largely on religion and culture. They both embody a wide range of emotions and both are celebrations of life.  As fascinating and exciting as it is to experience a wedding in a culture, religion, or region different from one’s own, it can also be fascinating to experience the various and unique ceremonies that follow death.

The other day, as I left my house, my street was blocked by a large procession of people marching, drumming, and chanting loudly. Men led the procession walking and holding hands, while a few behind them were tapping a steady, somber beat on snare drums strapped around their necks. Following the drummers was a “goods-carrier,” which is a small pick-up truck, usually decorated with brightly painted designs and tassels. Such decorated trucks are common and are another example of how the Indian culture seems to value items and belongings, or even respect them, more highly than many other cultures. This truck had women praying in the back, surrounding a body that was covered by a green blanket. Manjula, our Indian internship coordinator who was with me, explained that this was a Hindu funeral procession to take the body to the ceremonial funeral pyre. She looked away fast, telling me that it is not good to look—especially since as the first-born, her ceremony will one day be similar.  

             Yesterday, by chance, I experienced this part of the Hindu final life ritual, or antyesti, once again. Is it strange that no one else in my program has witnessed one of these, and I have witnessed two already?? I was in a rickshaw on my way home from work when I stopped the rickshaw a few blocks away so that I could walk along the “Tuesday market” of local farmers who come to our neighborhood and line the streets with their produce laid out on blankets. As I rounded the corner with my bags of tomatoes, green beans, and potatoes, I heard the steady beat of the drum getting progressively louder. This time I saw women standing on a truck, and men surrounding them on the gravel. A few men danced wildly in the center of a circle of other men, kicking their knees up high and flailing their arms in a rhythmic beat. It was much more lively and dynamic than the funeral procession I experienced a few days back. I kept my distance, out of respect, and waited for the procession to proceed. The body this time was covered in fresh flowers—white, purple, yellow, and pink—and laid on a hand-made stretcher made from large, wooden sticks. A man walking in front of the truck was carrying an oil lamp, which burns for three days following a death. When the procession stopped again and the dancing and drumming continued, I tried to pass discretely, yet was quickly signaled by a few men to join in. I hesitated for a second, but realized I had no choice and could not hide in my white skin (even with my sunglasses on, which I wear as my "invisibility cloak.") I lingered toward the side and walked along with the group for a couple of blocks until we approached my house.  People came out of their homes and shops and lined the streets to watch the procession. As they stared, I knew they were all wondering who in the world was the white girl, and why was she carrying all those vegetables…

Despite the grief and emotion that accompanies death in any culture or religion, the Hindu procession to the funeral pyre is also an uplifting celebration of life that is in a way, quite moving. I plan to travel to Varanasi, which lies on the bank of the Ganges and is the holiest Hindu city, where I expect to see many more ceremonies that will help paint an even stronger picture of the unique and fascinating traditions of Hinduism. Although I am not a particularly religious person, I am very much interested in the role religion plays in people's lives and am excited for my continued exposure to such diverse practices in both India and Israel.