During the past two weeks, I was at two Cemeteries, one in Colombo, Sri Lanka and the other in Sydney, Australia. I probably spent about 90 minutes at each one, mostly observing and reflecting.
In Colombo, I was at the square where Hindu cremations take place. Deceased are brought in, rituals carried out, the pyre is set on fire, and then everyone leave. My mind kept humming a Kannathasan's song - Veedu varai uravu, Veethi varai Manaivi, Kadu varai pillai, Kadasi varai yaro (Kith & Kin come home, wife to street, the sons to the cemetery, BUT, who will come till last).
The last time I was there was 18 years ago, cremating my mother. This time the circumstances were different. I was to attend a funeral, but I got there well after it was over, and waited for 90 minutes not knowing that the funeral was over. There weren't anyone, and I assumed that all will come with the deceased. But the truth was, no sooner the grieved left, the area for the funeral pyre had been cleaned, and prepared for the next cremation. All looked clean and proper. This business has no dearth of customers.
But the waiting period gave me time to walk-about, watch and reflect.
At another part of the cemetery - I believe that was for the Buddhists - a baby's funeral was on. The coffin could not be more than 75 cm long. The family were squatting on the floor, grieving, and a monk was condoling citing religion, and God, I think. Quite an emotional setting, the monk was speaking very softly, yet it came out loud and clear, because of the silence prevailed. I wished I could understand Sinhalese better. I would have benefited from his service.
I kept walking, and witnessed a burial of an elderly man, a Christian by birth. He was a Tamil, and the rites before burial were from those of Hindus. The burial pit was ready. The coffin was set on the ground. Then a close relative carried a mud-pot of water around the coffin three times, another man followed him, and after each round, the man behind pricked a hole on the pot, allowing water to leak. This rite for a Hindu symbolizes the release of the soul.
Then close relatives were putting pounded rice on the mouth of the deceased. By putting broken rice (which can't germinate) on the mouth of the deceased, it is believed that the soul will not be born again. Hindus believe in re-incarnation of those sinned, but this rite is a remedy for all sins committed, I suppose.
It's clear that Christians, who lived among Hindus have adapted some Hindu rituals over the years. My trespass ended when the coffin was about to be lowered.
I continued my prowl, and my mind engaged in a weird exercise. I started estimating the age of those buried, and it ranged from teens to sixties, only a few above seventies, and hardly any above eighties. I told myself - my time is running out. I am already sixty.
I also walked through a part where almost everyone buried was a military personnel. This part of the cemetery is a reminder of the price many families paid for the Civil War, we need not have had. Among them was the tombstone of Mr Ranjan Wijeyratne, former Defense Minister of Sri Lanka.
Despite the flow of depressing thoughts, one sight was refreshing. I saw two women, one possibly in her fifties, and another probably in her twenties, must be mother and daughter. Both looked like those settled in the West, but on a holiday in Colombo. They were desperately looking for a tomb. The memory of their elder has brought them from where ever they were to the Cemetery after a long time. In their minds, the deceased still lives.
Overall the cemetery was maintained well, gardeners busy weeding and raking. Flowers all around too. The Cemetery was maintained by a successful company owned by a Muslim businessman.
The second funeral was in Sydney. I was at the cemetery, about ten minutes earlier, and several mourners were coming out of a chapel. Among them at least one-hundred bikies, in their leather strapping. Bikes roared, as sign of salute. They are coming out of another bikie's funeral, I guessed.
The funeral I went to attend was that of an elderly lady, who had two sons and a daughter. All three were at least 50 years old. Her funeral was held in a Chapel, and two Hindu community elders carried out her last rites. A Hindu's funeral in a Christian Chapel! The rites had to be modified to suit the Chapel, and the time allocated. Her sons were in peace, that the mother lived 91 years and died peacefully. The daughter kept crying, so were the grand daughters. Those in attendance were multi-racial and multi-religious. All mourned. Having lived in Sydney for 28 years, the lady had made a lot of friends, I could see. At the end of the ceremony the coffin was handed over to the undertakers, and the curtains were drawn. The coffin will then 'roll' gently into an incinerator, and the ashes to be collected later. No funeral pyre, and the works!
What I witnessed was a merger. Baby and a Bikie. Christian funeral with Hindu rituals, and a Hindu funeral at a Chapel. A cemetery for Hindus, Christians and Buddhists maintained by Muslims.
Cemeteries coalesce! They equalize. A Tamil poet called them "samarasam ulaavum idame", a place where all are equal. A perfect metaphor.
P.S. For those who understand Tamil, see this clip on YouTube.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ATBNyaWxTr4
In Colombo, I was at the square where Hindu cremations take place. Deceased are brought in, rituals carried out, the pyre is set on fire, and then everyone leave. My mind kept humming a Kannathasan's song - Veedu varai uravu, Veethi varai Manaivi, Kadu varai pillai, Kadasi varai yaro (Kith & Kin come home, wife to street, the sons to the cemetery, BUT, who will come till last).
The last time I was there was 18 years ago, cremating my mother. This time the circumstances were different. I was to attend a funeral, but I got there well after it was over, and waited for 90 minutes not knowing that the funeral was over. There weren't anyone, and I assumed that all will come with the deceased. But the truth was, no sooner the grieved left, the area for the funeral pyre had been cleaned, and prepared for the next cremation. All looked clean and proper. This business has no dearth of customers.
But the waiting period gave me time to walk-about, watch and reflect.
At another part of the cemetery - I believe that was for the Buddhists - a baby's funeral was on. The coffin could not be more than 75 cm long. The family were squatting on the floor, grieving, and a monk was condoling citing religion, and God, I think. Quite an emotional setting, the monk was speaking very softly, yet it came out loud and clear, because of the silence prevailed. I wished I could understand Sinhalese better. I would have benefited from his service.
I kept walking, and witnessed a burial of an elderly man, a Christian by birth. He was a Tamil, and the rites before burial were from those of Hindus. The burial pit was ready. The coffin was set on the ground. Then a close relative carried a mud-pot of water around the coffin three times, another man followed him, and after each round, the man behind pricked a hole on the pot, allowing water to leak. This rite for a Hindu symbolizes the release of the soul.
Then close relatives were putting pounded rice on the mouth of the deceased. By putting broken rice (which can't germinate) on the mouth of the deceased, it is believed that the soul will not be born again. Hindus believe in re-incarnation of those sinned, but this rite is a remedy for all sins committed, I suppose.
It's clear that Christians, who lived among Hindus have adapted some Hindu rituals over the years. My trespass ended when the coffin was about to be lowered.
I continued my prowl, and my mind engaged in a weird exercise. I started estimating the age of those buried, and it ranged from teens to sixties, only a few above seventies, and hardly any above eighties. I told myself - my time is running out. I am already sixty.
I also walked through a part where almost everyone buried was a military personnel. This part of the cemetery is a reminder of the price many families paid for the Civil War, we need not have had. Among them was the tombstone of Mr Ranjan Wijeyratne, former Defense Minister of Sri Lanka.
Despite the flow of depressing thoughts, one sight was refreshing. I saw two women, one possibly in her fifties, and another probably in her twenties, must be mother and daughter. Both looked like those settled in the West, but on a holiday in Colombo. They were desperately looking for a tomb. The memory of their elder has brought them from where ever they were to the Cemetery after a long time. In their minds, the deceased still lives.
Overall the cemetery was maintained well, gardeners busy weeding and raking. Flowers all around too. The Cemetery was maintained by a successful company owned by a Muslim businessman.
The second funeral was in Sydney. I was at the cemetery, about ten minutes earlier, and several mourners were coming out of a chapel. Among them at least one-hundred bikies, in their leather strapping. Bikes roared, as sign of salute. They are coming out of another bikie's funeral, I guessed.
The funeral I went to attend was that of an elderly lady, who had two sons and a daughter. All three were at least 50 years old. Her funeral was held in a Chapel, and two Hindu community elders carried out her last rites. A Hindu's funeral in a Christian Chapel! The rites had to be modified to suit the Chapel, and the time allocated. Her sons were in peace, that the mother lived 91 years and died peacefully. The daughter kept crying, so were the grand daughters. Those in attendance were multi-racial and multi-religious. All mourned. Having lived in Sydney for 28 years, the lady had made a lot of friends, I could see. At the end of the ceremony the coffin was handed over to the undertakers, and the curtains were drawn. The coffin will then 'roll' gently into an incinerator, and the ashes to be collected later. No funeral pyre, and the works!
What I witnessed was a merger. Baby and a Bikie. Christian funeral with Hindu rituals, and a Hindu funeral at a Chapel. A cemetery for Hindus, Christians and Buddhists maintained by Muslims.
Cemeteries coalesce! They equalize. A Tamil poet called them "samarasam ulaavum idame", a place where all are equal. A perfect metaphor.
P.S. For those who understand Tamil, see this clip on YouTube.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ATBNyaWxTr4
Dear Prathapar,
ReplyDeleteLast Thursday, I attended a funeral of a young man at the age of 28 . I had just read your "Reflections from Cemeteries". What a coincident!
Your thoughts are very well articulated. Thoughts about death are to me, like a couple of blank pages you thumb through sometimes when you have finished reading the last page of a book. The empty pages are not really empty but an infinite space which can be a greenfield or a blue ocean. Where you cut loose your thoughts just like a cow eating grass silently or a young fish swim freely. I really enjoy your writing skills. Keep it up! I will recommend your blog to my friends and contacts.
Best regards
Mohan G J