Ghat

"Its silence silences"
These lines from the poem 'photograph' aptly describe death as we know , horrible and numbing.

           In a society where your relation with someone is defined only by words ,I didn't approve of it in particular. Most of my life , as a barren woman with no one at my side, but him, I was cheerful. My relationship with him was not bound by words but by faith. He never stipulated any ground rules for our relationship, neither did I . We were happily living together in our home. He was a man of few words , the bitter experience of life had made him so. His  wife left him years ago and his sons went abroad, a lonely man, in his forties , when I met him for the first time.
               Since that day , to this present moment,when every thing lays shattered, I never stopped loving him even for a moment. Now, I can see the shroud covering his deadbody , that white cloth , that covers his cold body from the eyes of men and women alike.  The incense sticks' fragrance hides the foul smell from the body as it decays, creating an illusion amidst all that sorrow , of serenity and sadness .I sit there all alone within myself,waiting for his Kith and kin to return. For years I have lived with him, fed him, cherished him but never identified myself with him. It has been three days since he breathed  his last breath. No near and dear of him has come so far , neither his wife nor his sons.
              Following the custom the villagers paid their last respect, they were worried about  what will happen to his body, rotting in the house. Three days have passed since they had their last meals. Hungry as they were , they became furious, as they considered him sinful. They believed me to be a witch, who had cast a spell upon him. They occasionally referred to me as a 'veshya', for living with a man who was espoused  to some other woman.
Another day passed, his body still lying in that slab , I couldn't see him lying like that, a man who catered to every wish of mine, breaking every norm , every dogma . And here at this moment I stand helpless , my body shivering violently as I sit beside his body.
       I called upon a man who used to be his companion at work.I begged him to help with the arrangements, as I was unaware of the rituals of  the well born. All preparations were made to perform his last rites.

His body was taken to the 'ghat', people chanting the sacred words 'Ram Naam Satya Hai', the gathering moved around the village to the cremation ground. No one was present, except a few colleagues from work , and some people who were paid to carry the body. I followed the chattering , all villagers peeping through their windows. I hastened my steps ,hiding my face out of embarrassment(I don't know why).
At the funeral ground everyone was awestruck , their eyes followed my steps as I went at the pyre where the dead body was lying .Tears rolled down my eyes again , I caught hold of that man who helped me. He asked me to move to the side and handed me the log of wood and asked me to lit it. I did as I was told . Then I circled around the body for a few times and then with great ordeal lit the pyre. I stood there dumbfounded, his body gradually burned , and along with that my hopes , aspiration, grief and anxiety as well.I felt empty.
            With nothing left to live with in that village, I packed by bag and baggage. I stood at the bus stop , waiting for the bus to arrive, and as I stood there I reflected upon life and the sufferings that accompany it. I was tormented, tears still rolling down my eyes , and as I was lost in his thoughts, the bus arrived...
              That day I realised the fragility of human relationships, how hollow they can be. But the kind of relationship I forged with him was way superior than all the mortal  relationships of blood and flesh  that he was tied with. And at the 'ghat' I realised that everything turns into ashes , however blissful or miserable. The 'ghat' treats us all the same way, no privilege, no distinction between the highbred and the lowly.