My ashes

It’s dark. I wasn’t expecting this. This total blackness all around. I remember the lights fading out though. Slowly, everything was starting to turn blurry. It was kind of a feeling that you get when you pass out. Only this time, it was different. I saw visuals. Visuals of….my life, myself. My life, everything that happened, the good and the bad. I saw them in flashes, in incomplete scenes. Memories that were long gone. That’s what they were. Why did I see them? What triggered the neurons in my brain to show these to me at the very last moment? To get a sense of realization? A glimpse of my legacy?

This darkness is rather unsettling. I always had a dim light in my room.

They say all people die. Well, I died too. Cardiac failure was the reason implied, after my postmortem report came out. Oh wait! The lights are turning back on! What is this place? What and where am I? Everything is still blurry and I can’t seem to concentrate my vision on anything. This is getting very traumatic. Okay, finally everything seems crystal clear. That’s a relief.

Surely, this is my room. My oak paneled table is there, with the books I normally keep upon them. There’s my inkpot and quill. Even my grandfather’s cuckoo clock is hanging on the wall. Everything seems to be in perfect order. But, where is everybody?

I realize that my present form is something that resembles an entity made of a gaseous state. Needless to say, I don’t have any particular form. I am the spirit that once thrived inside my flesh. But now, I am something ethereal and invisible.

I hear someone crying. I move towards the courtyard of our house and see the sight of…myself. There I lay, pale and motionless. Eyes closed, an octogenarian, dead because of cardiac arrest. It’s kind of frightening to see yourself like this. Lifeless and petrified.

I look around to see my wife, Reema, weeping uncontrollably. A few of our relatives and neighbors are here. They must have arrived after getting the news. Most of them were teary eyed, a few of them were talking to each other about the things and rituals to be done next, and the rest few were just sitting silently staring at my corpse. It was interesting to see this whole palette of emotions. How suddenly, everyone takes pity on you and cry and sing words of praise while when you’re alive, you don’t manage to find them in your time of need. Ha! The ever fascinating human nature.

I glance towards Reema once more and I see her tired soul, her puffed up face due to the constant crying, her smeared kajal, her forehead devoid of the sindoor that she applied every day, her neck without the mangalsutra that she had been wearing for the past 35 years. The objects signifying her years of marriage were snatched away from her forever.

I saw our pandit ji arrive, a grim look on his face. The rituals had to be done at the earliest. Some of the neighbors were already gathering wood from our backyard for preparing the cremation pyre. I saw my son, Sameer; emerge from his room, clad in a pearl white dhoti. As he was our only son, he had to carry the burden of doing my cremation. His face highlighted the fact that he had been crying a lot, but he didn’t show it to anyone. His masculinity took the better of his emotions.

 He bowed down and touched pandit ji’s feet who spoke to him in a whispering tone and placed his hand on his head in a consoling manner. The pandit ji sat down and after lighting a diya and some incense sticks, he chanted a few mantras, addressing the holy spirit of the deceased to be at peace, addressing the gods and the almighty to give strength to the family facing this tragic incident.

My body was cleansed and washed, as was the custom, and I was dressed. Mantras were chanted as all of this was done. Sandalwood was applied on my forehead. All of this was done by Sameer and I observed that he was expressionless the whole time. The cortege was ready for my final journey. I was placed on a stretcher made out of bamboo. Amidst the chants of ‘Ram naam satya hai’, my son and three of our relatives lifted the stretcher and thus began my journey to the cremation site. I was totally blank, mentally, watching all of this. Reema was crying uncontrollably, she was almost turning hysterical, her ear piercing cries echoed in the atmosphere. Even the birds that used to sing everyday in the evening were nowhere to be found. Truly, death provides the greatest pain of all.

I was placed on my pyre. My son circled the pyre three times, pouring holy water, chanting the mantras that he was told to chant, eyes overflowing with tears, mind shattered and numb, a void created in the heart that wasn’t going to be filled ever again.

After the necessary customs were done, the pyre was set on fire and amidst the flames I could see my son, mortified and numb, eyes burning with tears. My remnants were burnt away as they were reduced to ashes. My flesh and bone, my exterior self, the very fragment that made us human, that made us who we are was reduced to nothing, except grey ash. As the flames engulfed my body, it signified the abiding truth that what comes to this earth must one day return to it as well.

My ashes were collected and were put inside a brass pot, tied up with a red cloth to cover its opening. In Hindu customs, the ashes are always immersed in the holy river Ganga   and it is believed that the spirit finally attains moksh or eternal peace after this ritual is done. As we lived in Banaras, the Ganga flowed through our city.

 I glanced at my Reema for one last time as I knew that it was time for me to finally leave this realm, and travel into the afterworld. I thought of all the good times we had, the love we shared. How beautiful she was! Her beauty was something incomparable. How I would have given anything to just have a glance of her every day, how I wish I hadn’t died.

My son, our pandit ji and a few of our relatives reached Assi Ghat, one of the many Ghats in Banaras. It was almost dusk. The sun was halfway hiding beneath the horizon. Streaks of red and orange were smeared against the sky like an abstract painting. The boats rowed around as usual, moving serenely in the calm waters of Ganga. The flock of pigeons that had been there since aeons flew over us, the only ones who saw countless cremations that were been done in the ghat.

My son slowly opened the cloth and took a glance towards the horizon and up towards the sky. I stood right beside him, proud and happy of the man he had become. Although I couldn’t say this to him, I hoped that he took good care of his mother, as she would need him now, more than ever. Pandit ji gestured him that it was time and amidst chanting mantras, my ashes were immersed in the holy waters of Ganga, which had been carrying the remnants of mortal men since times immemorial. I finally attained moksh. I felt myself de-materializing. And then, I felt nothing.

They say all people die. Well, I died too.

Author's Note

Any kind of opinions and corrections is thoroughly welcome. I am always ready to answer your questions so ask them right away, if you have any. This piece of fiction was written keeping in mind the various Hindu/Indian traditions, customs and rituals.

Reviews

[Solar]

You bring to life the dying man's experience in a very vivid one can almost hear the voice of his ghost narrating this account. The spirit of the rituals is sensitively conveyed, the support it gives to the family members. One point I didn't understand was why Panditji 'spoke to him in a gullible form', as 'gullible' implies manipulation? I liked how you managed to convey the human experience in that last scene where the ghost of the father is 'proud and happy' before dissolving into nothingness, thereby not negating the value of human life even though it ends in death. Very movingly written.

[Blackheart]

Thank you Solar for such an in-depth introspection of this piece. I appreciate the fact that you got the gist of the story wonderfully. As for the word I will change it. Glad you pointed out the meaning. I thought it meant something else. A mistake in my part. Thank you for rectifying it.

[Solar]

You are most welcome - looking forward to more of your writings!

[Mister T.]

The first few paragraphs dragged me in, I just wanted to keep reading. Great job on that ;)
I barely know any of the italic words you used, except for moksh(a), but that didn't seem to cause any trouble. What I especially liked about this piece were the strong and powerful lines you used. For example 'I am the spirit that once thrived inside my flesh', 'I glance towards Reema once more and I see her tired soul', 'I felt myself de-materializing. And then, I felt nothing.' and I loved the way you ended the piece. One thing I wanted to say: I believe it's moksha/moksa instead of moksh (at least, in Dutch it's moksa). It doesn't really matter, I just noticed it.
Impressive piece, Blackheart, keep writing :)

[Blackheart]

So glad you found this enjoying. Thank you for your constructive review. I will try to describe the meaning of the words in italics by editing the story a bit and giving a footnote. I think this will help all my non-Indian readers. :)
Moksh and moksha are the same thing basically. The former is Hindi and the latteris in Sanskrit. ;)

[Solar]

मोक्ष moksh as in original Sanskrit and as written by Blackheart, correct.

[Zyle Christian William ..]

I glance towards Reema once more and I see her tired soul, her puffed up face due to the constant crying, her smeared kajal, her forehead devoid of the sindoor that she applied every day, her neck without the mangalsutra that she had been wearing for the past 35 years. The objects signifying her years of marriage were snatched away from her forever.
WHat an incredible and powerful phrase you have here! i LOVE THE BOOK ENDS ON THE STORY AbOUT THEY SAY PEOPLE DIE!! ook ending stories is my favorite! Blackheart, I don't know how you don't have a compendium published. You and Solar have such great ideas and write so well, It's hard to believe you aren't famous writers just humoring yourselves anonymously on this site! Nice job!

[Blackheart]

:') Ah! You flatter me mate. I am so glad that you loved this piece. To be honest, after reading Dark City, I cultivated an immense interest in spirits, ghosts, the entity after death. So, I decided to put some lines on this theme and thus, this piece was created.
Your novel was the inspiration mate. I am really thankful for all your views about my writing and who knows, someday I might manage something to publish as well. And the first copy would be for you. :D

[Zyle Christian William Cook]

Aaahdidgsjcushta that would be so cool! And I am so glad I could inspire you! This piece was beautiful!!!

[Emily]

Very nice story!
Keep it up!!

[Blackheart]

Thank you.

[Takeshi Yamada]

I liked this story a lot, especially the following points:
1) how you highlight the different reactions of the different family members
2) it's written in the present tense, which is difficult to pull off. It was a good choice because it makes this experience right here and now, as the protagonist is experiencing it.
3) This line was especially well-written: "As the flames engulfed my body, it signified the abiding truth that what comes to this earth must one day return to it as well."
4) I like the simplicity and matter-of-factness of the last line. Well chosen!

A few friendly suggestions:
1) I like how you italicize the special, non-English words. For those words, I used google images a lot to get a better idea of what they meant. Not all readers will go to that extent, so when possible, it might help to try to work the thing into the story in a way that it becomes apparent what the object actually is or is used for. For example, I really liked the passage about the Reema no longer having her things which marked her as a married woman. That was touching and makes her sorrow more real. If you could maybe describe the 'mangalsutra' in a way that makes it apparent it is a necklace with some marital meaning, that could help. I couldn't find what 'kajal' is, so that's a mystery.
2) Minor correction: "Memories that WERE long gone."

All in all, this was a very interesting read. I've never heard the customs of this region in India. It's a very beautiful way to send the deceased off. Incidentally, Japan also cremates.

[Takeshi Yamada]

Oh, and it might be nice to include some tangible memories in the beginning, so that the reader gets a bit more concrete feeling of who the protagonist and what was important to him in the end of his life.

[Blackheart]

Thank you so much Takeshi for your time in reading this story and delving so much deep to understand it. I really really appreciate that.
I am happy to read all of your points and I thank you for highlighting the thoughts you had in your mind. I would try to clear your doubts here.
Mangalsutra is a necklace worn by every married Hindu women in India. It signifies that she is married and she receives that on the day of her marriage when her husband ties it around her neck signifying a lasting sacred bond between the two people.
Kajal is a black semi solid cosmetic that is worn in the eye. It's almost like mascara. The only difference is that real kajal is made out of lamp black. But nowadays it's available in pencils and sticks and in different other ways. It's an essential part of Indian culture and an essential cosmetic for women as well.

I will definately look into what you said about creating some tangible memories in the beginning. I will see what I can do about it. :)
Thank you for your time in reading and reviewing this. I appreciate that a lot.
Oh! And regarding that 'were'. I had actually written were but MS Word suggested 'was' due to some reason. Can't trust it's grammar. That's proved atleast. :D

[Ellen Kolman]

Wow! one more time...Wow!
lucky for me I understand this custom...I feel so many emotions, like I truly was inside the mind of your dead character...I was totally absorbed...I loved it...so well written; so well conceived; so well developed and executed...absolutely amazed ... just a wonderful short story....I even cried at the end...and I loved how you ended it by repeating that line....BRAVO
so proud of you!

[Blackheart]

You're so kind and gracious Ellen! Your words brought a huge grin to my face. Appreciation like this really fuels the fire to write more and more. Thank you so much for reading this and for your kind words. They mean a lot lot to me. Forever grateful to you Ellen. :')

[Archos]

What struck me first was the variability of the sentences. Your language is everything but monotonous. At first you expressed the attitude of the narrator to whatever he saw, but you gradually began to just describe. The descriptions are great, but I see a lot of space for some subjective impressions. And I'm sorry, but I don't find the ending satisfactory. I expected something more. So, although I think you could devote some time to this story, I enjoyed reading it. Thanks for sharing!

[Blackheart]

Thank you Archos for your input. While writing this, even I was a tad bit confused as to where I should steer this story. But the pen kept on writing so it became what it is now. Also, the ending is quite sudden. I agree to that. But I didn't want to drag it anymore longer, it was already above 1200 words already. :D
Also, when the ashes are immersed, the spirit attains absolute freedom from this realm. So, keeping that in mind I decided to not continue the story anymore. The spirit had to leave and I didn't describe what happened to it as it traversed into the afterlife. Describing that would make this a very lengthy story. And that would be boring for my readers. :D :P