Standing in the wooden tower I could feel the heat from the flames below on my face, smell the spices of roasting meat, and hear the crackling sound similar to sizzling bacon. No this is not a feast, the meat is not pig, cow, or chicken, but human…these are the ‘Burning Ghats.’

The Burning Ghats in Varanasi is a place of mourning and celebration. It is where Hindus make the final flight to their next lives through flames along the Ganges river. Vibrantly dressed families pray over their deceased loved ones as the corpse is wrapped in colorful cloths and sprinkled with blessed powders and spices. Loved one’s tears flow like the Ganges itself, as male family members shave their heads out of respect of the deceased. The decorated corpse is placed on a pyre of wood as the ceremony of death reaches its apex.

For the extremely wealthy, only the best woods are used, namely sweet smelling sandalwood, but even the poor pay exorbitant prices to buy the correct wood for burning their loved one. Members of the “untouchable” caste are the only ones allowed to handle the dead from this point. The wood is lit and these undertakers lurk from corpse to corpse hitting them with sticks to break apart the fat and muscle. In around three hours, when the body has burnt to mere ashes the priest will declare she was a good mother for her pelvis bones remain solid among the ash, or he was a hard worker for his shoulder bones remain.

Somber families sit mere feet away from the flames licking the skin of their once father, mother, son, daughter, or sibling, while foreigners get to view from a tower above the scene. So here we are, observing with awe the ceremonies taking place below. It is a primal and magnificent celebration of the cycle of life and death. As the layers burn away; cloth, then flesh, then muscle, we are left to witness the fundamental structure of the human body as it is consumed by flames. At which point the undertaker lifts his bamboo pole in the air to bring it cracking down upon the skull; releasing the soul.

Jessica and I were startled when from behind came an ancient, wrinkly woman wearing a loose fitting white saree (which shows she is a widow). She asked us to give donations for people too impoverished to purchase wood for the ceremony. Now, we both have full appreciation for Hindu culture and tradition, however, we are not Hindus and a corpse is a corpse to us whether it is buried, burnt on $1,000 worth of wood, or burnt for less than $100 in a crematorium. Still, we gave what we felt was beyond an appropriate amount, 200 rupees ($5). This amount seemed to enrage her however and she demanded at least 500 rupees per person “donation” be given. Our refusal only fueled her rage as her eyes went wild and arms flailed above her head lifting her saree and revealing her breasts beneath. We now found ourselves in a difficult situation, to our front, a pair of the wrinkliest, pancake-shaped bosoms we had ever seen, and behind, flaming corpses getting their skulls cracked in…just another adventure in India!

<Burning Ghats at night. It is illegal to take pictures closer from the viewing platform>

Location: Varanasi, India.
Written by: David Jackson.