In an unfortunate turn of events, Dave McKechnie, the esteemed deputy foreign editor, passed away suddenly in April 2022. Known for his proficiency in subediting, reporting and writing, Dave was a greatly appreciated coworker, whose contribution to journalism is substantial and enduring. His significant reports from Colombia and Myanmar, along with his long-standing services to sports journalism, were marked by thorough understanding, creativity, and a touch of humour.
Liz Cookman emerged as the winner for her authored Kyiv Letter. Ailbhe MacMahon, author of a Varanasi Letter, secured the first runner-up position, while Sorcha Lanigan, writer of an Athlone Letter, came up as the second runner-up. Sorcha’s work will be released this week.
Prominent stories in circulation include speculation regarding the motives behind West Bank assaults driven by the presence of the far-right in Israel’s coalition, a prospective meet-up between Xi Jinping and Joe Biden towards the year’s end despite slow progress in preliminary discussions, the narration of human resilience in the face of warfare through Kyiv’s nail parlours amidst attacks and power outages, followed by the account of daily cremations happening at the Ganges’ banks in Varanasi.
The writer reports a shocking sight of a dead body covered in marigold garlands and saffron fabric being carried through an alley near a cafe in Varanasi. Men chant in sync as they lift the body on a stretcher and carry it towards the river Ganges. Despite the uneasy sight, the cafe staff seem undisturbed as this is a regular scene in India’s most sacred city to Hindus, Varanasi, where an estimated 100 bodies are cremated by the river openly every day.
The writer’s visit coincided with two global headlines originating from India—Prime Minister Narendra Modi and his Bharatiya Janata Party losing their unchallenged majority in elections for the first time in a decade, and an extreme heatwave engulfing the nation, with temperatures rising to 47°C in Varanasi and 52.3°C recorded at a Delhi weather station.
Varanasi, one of the most ancient cities around the globe that has succeeded in retaining its habitation, has a long-standing history as a pilgrimage site. A city bathed in the blessed waters of the Ganges, it draws Hindus who come here with various faith-driven objectives; bathing in the river, performing a loved one’s final rites, or breathing their last in the city. It is a widely held belief amongst the Hindus that cremation in Varanasi can liberate the soul from the cycle of birth and death.
Currently, my residence is a quaint guesthouse located in the older parts of the city, distinguished by its exceedingly narrow lanes that fail to accommodate anything wider than a bicycle. It is an exhilarating experience to navigate through this labyrinth of lanes – walls adorned with hand-drawn signs of lodgings, music academies, and yogic centres. The air is a blend of hazy incense and dust. The sound of faint music from radios leaks through closed doorways. Occasional jostles from passing cows and patterns of cow dung and red-hued puddles of spat-out chewing tobacco mark my path. Motorbikes, with riders usually more than two, zoom around corners amidst blaring horns.
Eventually, the bylanes lead me to the Ganges riverbanks. Here, the “burning ghats” witness regular cremations on the funeral pyres, with Manikarnika Ghat being the most sacred one. In light of the ongoing heatwave claiming lives across the nation, Varanasi is witnessing a surge in the number of cremations.
However, not all are entitled to this funeral pyre – exceptions include pregnant women, children, and victims of snake bites, among others. Their bodies are submerged in the dense waters of the Ganges after being secured with weights.
Observing a stranger’s cremation might seem intrusive, but I am informed that a respectful spectator is not unwelcome.
Amongst the observers huddled near the sizzling pyres, I witness the procession carrying a body to the Ganges. The mouth of the deceased is filled with the holy water of the river. Following this, the colourful artificial fabrics shrouding the body are removed, leaving just a plain white cloth as the covering. The body is then arranged on the pyre, following which the final ritual of lighting the fire is performed by the male relatives of the deceased. As the pyre burns, the air around me becomes dense with the aromatic smoke.
The process of a body’s cremation can take several hours before the ashes are thrown into the Ganges. The event has a reminiscent echo of an Irish wake as it offers a decisive opportunity to bid farewell to a loved one. During my visit to the ghats, I engage in conversation with a woman who had travelled from Bihar. She explains that Hinduism, like all religions, has its own ways of marking the end of life and that people come to this place to confront the simple truths of being alive and dying.
On the shore, a stray dog lays undisturbed amidst shreds of material from the departed bodies. Not far off, a cow has chosen one of the marigold garlands as a snack. Men sieve through the ashes along the river’s edge in search of gold and silver remnants of jewellery and ornamental dental work.
As dawn breaks the following day, I undertake a boat journey on the Ganges. Despite the hour only being 5.30am, the temperatures are already uncomfortably high. Concerned about the sweltering climate, I question the boat captain, Ashish, if the arduousness of the outdoor cremations ever necessitates a break due to the severe heat. With a shake of his head, he tells me that the work is continuous and operates around the clock.
India is experiencing a period of change, but irrespective of this, for the outsider, time seems to stand still at Varanasi’s ghats where age-old customs are consistently observed and revered day after day.