COLORFUL PROCESSION DOWN IN SATAN’S BOTTOM
Pashupatinath Temple during dry season. It’s filthy; it’s rancid, it’s gut-wrenching, it’s Kathmandu. To say the place is merely special is to say Stalin was simply a dictator. If you are on the lookout for life-changing experiences, Pashupatinath is for you. But then, so is walking into a Ku Klux Klan congregation wearing a Star of David.
Yet, amidst the desolation, stench, and decay, something rather beautiful managed to captivate me. No, it’s not the Gaudian-colored Sadhus priests. It’s something much smaller and more intimate. This is the story about it.
Nepal is a beautiful country, and the Nepalese are beautiful people. Their capital city, Katmandu, on the other hand – isn’t. It’s a heap of un-checked urban explosion gone horribly wrong. I wrote about it some time ago in this blog and called it “The world’s worst city”.
Was it really that bad? Oh yeah! And Pashupatinath Temple won the dubious title of being the worst place in the worst city. How can a temple be so bad? Glad you asked!
I see dead people
Pashupatinath Temple lies on the banks of the sacred Bagmati River, which in dry season is not much more than a foul trickle of raw sewage. Raw sewage or not, what happens to the stream when it passes through would make even raw sewage seem compelling. You see, the Pashupatinath is a Hindi cremation site. Where Kathmandu’s dead are ceremonially burnt at the stake (partly, most often than not) and their remains are then shoveled right into the thick, grayish stream below. Kids armed with flip-flops try to make the half-burnt remains move slowly downstream. Others wallow in the squalid mire in search of valuables, such as rings and gold fillings.
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Further down few boys play soccer barefoot on the dry and exposed riverbed – littered with bones and other rotting human remains. Yep – I kid you not.
If the macro is too hard – go micro
I’ve seen lots of things in my life, but I have to admit this place takes 1st place in the “Stomach-challenging” experience trophy. So, instead of coping with the enormity of the scene, I decide to go small instead and choose to follow one single procession.
It starts with one grieving family and one dead body. I am not familiar with either, but a quick look uncovers the essence of the unfolding story. The body of an elder matriarch – her eyes open shut, lies flat on a stone slide, feet touching the semi-stagnant water. She’s wrapped in a bright orange shroud – a Hindi sign that her husband is still alive. A quick look reveals an older grieving gentleman crouching next to her, touching, caressing her cold face.
The numerous kids – in their 20s, 30s, and early 40s, circle the patriarch, as if protecting him. Soon her body will be washed with the holy waters of the Bagmati River (The brackish liquid can kill anyone, but not the deceased). By local ritual, water is then put in her mouth to make sure she’s dead (Honestly, you just cannot make up these things).
On a different note, observing the family intimacy from afar, one can almost forget the impossible setting it takes place in.
Antyesti is the Hindu funeral ceremony in which the deceased body is burnt in a Ghat. A Ghat is a specially designed platform on the banks of a holy river (The mighty Ganges in Northern India, or the somewhat less mighty Bagmati here in Nepal). When the deed is over, the deceased’s remains are shoveled – not so ceremonially – into the below “water” to make room for the next guest.
But we’re not there yet.
“our love become a funeral pyre”
After washing time is complete, the procession carries the body, still wrapped in bright Orange, to a nearby Ghat – already prepared and equipped with a platform of dry wood. Placed on top of the pyre with feet facing south the body now is ready for the final stage of the ceremony.
Four men – I can only assume to be her sons – led by the older of the four, circumambulates the body. They recite some hymn, place sesame seeds and rice in her mouth, and sprinkles the body and pyre with oil. The mourning husband stands aside. The women excluded from the ceremony watch from an upper vantage point.
I didn’t see it happening. At a certain point, I cannot help notice a small light coming up from the corpse’s mouth. The cremation has started.
The four men continue to circle the now burning body as the chief priest/mast arsonist covers the body in wet straw to control the fire and start additional flames in the wood below. From there, things progress rapidly, and gruesomely. In a few minutes all that would be left are white bones and dark materials (which I’d like to think is leftover wood).
And off to the Bagmati, it goes.
Next one in line, please.
I was so lucky to visit Kathmandu before the “urban explosion”. It was a lovely city with a great atmosphere. Lovely small alley ways, itinerant priests wandering around, the odd cow or two, you get the picture. Cars were only allowed on the outskirts and there were hardly any, mostly jeeps and buses parked in the central parking lot.
everyone have different point of view… i accept. But you just can’t come to a country and spit on their cremation culture which they have been following since before your religion was even born.
your narration was more of a hate than a suggestion for proper management
I’m sorry if my own personal experiences and perspective have hurt your feelings. This certainly wasn’t the intention of the post. Having said that, my blog “Through my Eye” is exactly what it is – a representation of my own private and highly subjective point of view. I haven’t come all the way to Nepal to spit on anyone. As a matter of fact, if you read my other Nepalese posts, you would have seen my true affection for the country and its people. Comparing religion’s antiquities is another passive-aggressive behavior of little relevance. I’ve witnessed Hindu funeral rites in both India and Bali. Both were very different.