Of all the questionable and otherwise disturbing images I’ve seen over my lifetime, none is more ingrained in my mind than the first cremation I witnessed at Manikarnika Ghat in Varanasi. I’ve long since given up on holding expectations of what I will see, do, and experience on my travels, but I never imagined that one day I would watch a man’s body burn to ashes before my very eyes. After my trip to Auschwitz a few months ago, I was curious what a cremation was like since I only knew about it in theory. It was merely a passing thought at the time, but here in Varanasi, my wish was unexpectedly granted and it’s an experience I will never forget.
I suppose you could say it was burned into my memory! (get it?)
Oh, come on! How could I write a post like this and not include such a pun? It would be a pun-ishable offense!
…okay, I’ll stop now.
The Manikarnika Ghat is one of the oldest and most revered sites in all of Varanasi (map). For many Hindus, it is believed that death here at Varanasi brings salvation, and that cremation is the act of liberation. Nicknamed “The Burning Ghat,” the fires here run 24 hours a day, 7 days a week and there is an endless procession of corpses paraded down to the banks of the Ganges for cremation. Prior to my arrival, I heard chilling stories from other travelers on what to expect (all of which turned out to be true), but for Hindus and travelers alike, the Manikarnika Ghat is a must see stop in Varanasi.
Moving up from the banks of the Ganges, the Manikarnika Ghat consists of three tiered cremation platforms designated for the different castes of Hindu society. The first platform, located just above the waterline, is reserved for the lowest caste, while the middle caste has a designated space a meter or two higher up the banks of the river. The cremation site for the highest caste is located on the roof of a nearby building that houses the sacred fire used to light the individual wooden pyres. Immediately to the left of the sacred fire are three dilapidated high-rise hospices overlooking the Ganges River and the cremation sites below where the elderly and sick patiently await their death. Behind the hospices lie a number of smaller temples for worship and the streets are lined with vendors selling giant piles banyan wood and sandalwood stacked 20+ feet in the air.
Hindu women are not permitted to enter the ghat while male family members and volunteers are instructed not to cry while on the premise, even if they are watching a loved one be cremated. I honestly don’t know how people are able to abide by the latter rule. I saw a few people begin to cry during my visit, but they quickly wiped away their tears in an attempt to hide their true feelings. Both male and female tourists are allowed to visit, although they are asked not to take pictures, and there are many guides that are happy to show you around and explain everything - for a price of course.
A young man volunteering at Manikarnika Ghat took it upon himself to give me a “tour” of the complex even though I didn’t ask for it. At the end he berated me for money indicating it would be used to buy wood for those who could not afford it and support the hospices, but sadly I've lost trust in anyone who asks for money in India. I gave him a few rupees even though he requested over ten times what I offered on the grounds of "good karma," but I figured if I can't trust people at one of the holiest sights in all of India then there is really no hope for me whatsoever.
I still marked it as a “bribe” in my own budget though.
Once the “tour" concluded, I stood along the edge of the main walkway for over an hour watching the day’s events unfold at Manikarnika Ghat. It was an unforgettable sight to behold. Below me was a mess of activity full of people and animals going about a seemingly “normal” day. There were never less than four simultaneous cremation fires burning at any given moment and each served to amplify the already scorching heat under the intense April sun. Within minutes, I was covered in sweat from head to toe and within a half hour I was physically and mentally exhausted. The combination of the view, heat, smell and smoke made it difficult for me to breathe, but there was no way to avoid it especially as the erratic winds blew smoke to all corners of the ghat. Throughout the complex I found the usual oppressive Indian smells that can only be achieved by combining a drastically overcrowded (and horribly unhygienic) populace with unrelenting heat. This time around, however, noticed a new and unfamiliar scent that permeated the air...
Burning flesh.
High above, an endless procession of corpses and firewood were hauled by volunteers down a narrow alleyway leading from the dense labyrinth of buildings at the top of the banks down to the Ganges. Each of the bodies was tied to makeshift stretcher fashioned out of bamboo and carried to the Ganges River for the final ablution. The bodies were veiled in bright golden yellow ceremonial cloths that shimmered under the bright sky and adorned with multi-colored ribbons that gave a uniquely festive air to an otherwise morose scene. There were several ceremonies going on simultaneously, but I watched one to experience the entire process from start to finish.
Standing on the ledge of the main walkway overlooking the middle caste cremation platform, a group of men carefully laid the body of an individual wrapped in a white cloth on a wooden pyre. A group of men encircled the pyre and performed the last rights and prayers as they sprinkled various flowers, wood chips, and unidentified liquids on the body. A small ember was brought from the sacred fire in the center of the facility, carried around the pyre three times, and used to kindle a flame below the structure.
The small fire quickly grew into an intense conflagration thanks to the large pile of bone-dry logs and the light breeze in the air. As the fire spread, the first thing to burn off was the white cloth on the body revealing a man’s face and toes. It was in this instant that the reality of what I was witnessing became very personal, very unnerving, and very real. This was not just a regular fire - there was a human being in there!
I'm rather happy they prohibited pictures.
I’m sure most people at this point are already sufficiently disgusted and/or uncomfortable with this post as it stands, so I’ll dispense with the specific details of what I saw that afternoon. While I’m a fan of trying to “paint a mental picture” of my adventures on the road, I think in this case it would push a few people over the edge. Suffice to say, it was one of the strangest experiences of my entire life and in that moment I simultaneously felt abject horror and peaceful serenity. I stood there and watched the man burn, regardless of how I felt because I knew this was something I should experience at least once in my life. Like I outlined in my very first post from India, you have two options when you visit this country: either accept things as they are or suffer the consequences, but once you see something as unsettling as a cremation in Varanasi it cannot be “unseen.” At the time I wondered if it was a moment of growth or an experience that would haunt me for the rest of my life.
Arms crossed, I stood there deep in thought as the chaos of the day’s activities continued unimpeded. Much like in meditation, I simply let the thoughts and feelings come and go without attempting to judge or repress them. The mere sight of a burning corpse was extremely unsettling, but in reality there was no inherent difference between the man burning on the pyre and me at that very moment; the only real difference as that my body still functioned. Going off that fact, I also could feel there was really no difference between the man and logs below him, both were being consumed equally by the flames and turned to ash and smoke. Following the logical sequence, if the man was no different than the logs or the fire then neither was I. In that instant I imagined myself as the body on that pyre and visualized what it would be like to watch my own body be cremated. Terrifying as it was, the realization brought about the feeling of serenity and an innate understanding of what I had long since only rationally understood - there is absolutely no difference between the me and the world around me.
This may sound like a stupid realization to have, but trust me when I say that there is a difference between thinking it and feeling it.
Moreover, I realized that afternoon just how much one’s identity is tied to their face. Once the man’s face burned away, it was impossible to distinguish him from every other person out there that afternoon, and after a few minutes I couldn’t even delineate between the man and the logs underneath him! Before my very eyes I watched as the man slowly transitioned from a person to a corpse, to a skeleton, and then to ashes, but the moment his face disappeared it turned from personal experience to simply a biology lesson. As long I saw the man’s face, I remained uncomfortable, but once it disappeared I lost all connection to the person in front of me; he became just another unmarked body. As uncomfortable as it was to watch a man burn in front of me, what truly scared me is how quickly and easily I dissociated myself from this person. How superficial are we as a species?
From my spot along the ghat, I looked up at the hospices further up the riverbanks and wondered what it must be like to live there. Elevated several stories up in the air, the residents have a perfect view of the terraced cremation platforms below where the fires that would inevitable consume them burned all day and all night without interruption. Every day they would look out from their balcony over a field of burning pyres containing their peers or possibly family members as they waited for their turn in line. They would live in abject poverty and be surrounded by the ever-present smell of charred wood and human remains. I wonder if such an environment brings quiet solitude or nervous anxiety for the residents of the Manikarnika hospices. Personally, I can’t think of a more terrifying, and realistic, vision of hell that one could subject themselves to during their final moments on earth, but then again I’m not Hindu. I find it remarkably fascinating that a scene many Christians would consider “eternal damnation” could very well bring happiness to Hindus who view death at Varanasi and cremation at Manikarnika Ghat as the most sacred way to depart this world.
It just goes to show that everything in this world is relative, even one’s deepest held beliefs.
Under the hot sun, I watched as the man slowly disintegrated into a pile of ash; I saw his skin whither, wrists detach, stomach contents boil, and legs crumble into nothingness before my very eyes. Just like that, this person who I’d never met before evaporated into thin air never knowing the impact he had on this lonely foreigner who just happened to stop by. When I finally left Manikarnika Ghat, I was encrusted with a layer of ash, dust, and dirt that mixed together with my perspiration to form a thick film on the surface of my skin. As I walked out I realized that the ash I was covered in could very well be the remnants of the people who I watched being burned that afternoon. The thought sent a chill down my spine and to say the realization was “extremely unsettling” would be an understatement.
I’m glad I sat through the entire cremation ceremony; it was really a once in a lifetime kind of experience and while I do not think the memory will haunt me; it will definitely stay with me. While it may be unsettling for readers to go through this post, a visit to Manikarnika Ghat offers Westerners like me the opportunity to grow and see life from a different perspective as long as you are open to the experience. More than anything, I can already tell you that Varanasi will forever rank as one of my all time favorite cities in the world, but for reasons that I’d never considered. I can’t believe a city like this exists in the world.