I am home, in Lincoln, now.
I have access to my computer and Photoshop.
So this is a pictorial recap of the Delhi events.
I have access to my computer and Photoshop.
So this is a pictorial recap of the Delhi events.
I did not take any pictures on the first day. Bringing Biji home and the cremation ceremony felt too sacred and private. Next day when we went to collect Biji's flowers (bones) I felt strangely comforted by these iconic but simply constructed scenes from Hindu mythology. They are at the entrance to the cremation ground.
Shiva in meditation in the Himalyas
I could not remember the story that goes with this.
Inside, at Biji.s cremation site, the ashes were still smoldering.
We poured water and milk mixed together to cool the ashes.
We are picking Biji.s bones out of the ashes.
We put the bones in the bag and then did some prayer.
I think when we are completely befuddled with grief or happiness, we turn to prayer, for lack of knowing what else to do.
We collected the ashes and put them into a simple plastic bag that comically had 'Eagle (brand) Pearl Rice' stamped on it. Biji would not have seen the humor in this.
After collecting the ashes we washed and cleaned the platform. Then we lighted some incense and offered some rose petals to thank the piece of earth that held our mother for the last time.
Biji.s flowers, secure in this red bag and lovingly adorned with marigold flowers, were left at the cremation grounds, to be collected when we were ready to take Biji to Haridwar.
The ashes, in the Eagle brand Pearl Rice bag, we took to this quaint Gurudwara that is away from the maddening crowds of New Delhi. This Gurudwara is called 'Majnu Ka Tilla'. As we approached it we heard the Ardas being done inside. It was peaceful to stand and listen to the prayers, along with this old, holy man who seems to have settled under this tree.
By the side of the gurudwara flows the river Jamuna. We headed to its shores carrying Biji's ashes.
These are the steps that lead down to Jamuna. The sign identifies and guides the families.
The ground was filled with soft and wet silt that had come down with the flood waters from recent rains. We could not make it to the Jamuna. This small tributary carried biji's ashes to the mighty river.
This urchin, who materialised from no where, helped and guided us, incongruously giggling all the while.
We watched Biji slowly swim on the shoulders of these waters to meet the Jamuna.
She swirled around for a long time at the junction; seemingly reluctant to leave.
Just like us.
This group helped us clean our muddy feet and then fed us breakfast.
Here is our urchin, our pixie, posing for me.
On our way out we took picture of this stone plaque giving brief history of the Gurudwara.
After we came home from the Jamuna, the Akhand Path was started.
At one point Papaji stood behind the Granth Sahib giving chouri. Biji would have made a caustic remark at this scene. She did not trust Papaji's occasional show of piety. Papaji worships intellectually, translating, often questioning, the holy book and in general treating it more like a reference book rather than a granth to be worshipped as Deity. Biji belongs to the 'blind faith' category. As I took this picture I could hear Biji calling Papaji 'poorey pakhandi !' (just showmanship).
While the Akhand Path was going on we had many visitors who came to see us and pay their respects to Biji. We shared many happy memories of Biji at that time.
Funerals in our home are rarely long crying sessions and actually turn out to be great times to reconnect with relatives.
This is Jeet didi and Bablee. Didi had slipped on a wet floor in her home and got injured badly. The black,swollen eye is from that. Didi is the eldest amongst us cousins and is every one's favourite. She is Papaji's older sister's daughter.
This is a brother sister duo, Simi and Simran. They are my cousin Pappu's children. Pappu is Biji's immediately younger sister's son.
This is Mohinder chachaji, papaji's younger brother, enjoying morning tea. On the left is his grandson Preet, eyeing the breakfast goodies. On the sofa is papaji's youngest sister, Kailash bhuaji and Biji's youngest sister, Bachan.
This is Biji's dear dear younger brother, Narinjan mamaji. I am so glad that he was able to spend one quality hour with Biji the day before she passed away. His visit would have meant a lot to Biji.
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After the Akhand Path we took a few days breather and then got ready for Biji's last rite, Visarjan of the Flowers in the river. We decided to go to Haridwar because that is where many of our elders are. That is where my brother Kuku is. Papaji said that is where Biji would like to be. So we rented a tempo and made arrangements for the travel.
We brought Biji's flowers home from the cremation grounds and set them lovingly on her bed.
Papaji gave her company for a long time.
We planned to leave at 5:00 AM. Papaji and Bablee discussed all the arrangements to be made.
Next day we were at Haridwar by 1:00 PM, carrying Biji on a steel thali. There were many hitches on the way, including nominal roads due to recent floods, but we made it! Four hours journey took seven hours; but we made it.
After the long journey we took a short rest near this tree before embarking on the final step. This is an age old pippal tree. In front of it was a 'kadam', straight from Krishna mythology, but we found that out much later, so no picture.
This is the exalted Ganga River. It looked immense, magnificent, dignified and lusty all at the same time. The recent rains had swollen its waters making it appear invincible and muscular. I liked the thought of sending Biji on her journey in such a powerful vehicle.
Awed, we watched it from the bridge, before crossing over to go down to the river's waters.
Seated on the steps Papaji paid homage to Ganga by relating this mighty river's role in Indian civilisation to us. Then he repeated verses written by great poets in admiration of mother Ganga. I can hear the cadence of his voice but the words fail me. "Papaji, send me those poems so we can enjoy them again".
Having sung songs in praise of 'The River' we collected ourselves to send Biji on her last journey. Papaji folded his hands to do Ardaas and forgot the words to it (for the hundredth time). Biji always got him started with prayers and then he would go on. Biji would have to prompt him many times in the middle of the Ardaas too. Biji could do the Ardaas in her sleep, just like she could recite most of the major prayers from Granth Sahib. But today Biji was silent and all of us needed the 'gutka' which we had forgotten to bring with us. This is something for which Biji always took responsibility. We will have to learn these things now. We recited the beginning of Japji Sahib, which we all know, and are more fond of any way.
Then papaji reached into the red bag and offered a few flowers (bones) to the waters.
Next Savvy reached in.
We all took turn offering Biji's flowers to Ma Ganga.
Then we all said our private goodbye to Biji.
And extended our thanks to the waters of Ganga.
In the end Savvy let go of the empty bag.
Papji sent a rose Biji's way.
We all followed his example.
Albina (in pink) and Sunita, our help at home, joined in the offering.
Then we sat, hand in hand, feeling bereft; Like countless families must have done before us.
We decided to take symbolic bath in the river.
The waters were gushing at tremendous speed. Those chains save many lives.
The boys first emulated us,
Then decided they wanted to be more adventurous. It was nice to see the youthful smiles. They had been sombre too long.
Papaji quietly watched us from the top of the steps.
Across from us there was another family performing the same rite for their loved one.
This couple is on 'Theerath Yatra' (pilgrimage). They were offering prayers to the Sun from the lap of Ganga's waters.
This little boy is having his first 'Mundan' (ritual shaving of the head) by the holy waters of the celebrated river. This is considered very auspicious. It was nice to see so much life going on at the same place.
We walked back to the bridge and followed the river with our eyes; the way Biji had gone. The river looked enigmatic and virgin. It cloaks humanity's remains and stays untouched. Standing there we understood its spirituality.
From far far away this temple overlooks the river. Savvy zoomed in my camera and took this picture. Savvy, Bablee and I took turns taking pictures the whole time.
The way in and the way out is lined by beggars and holy men (actually beggars in disguise). They prey on the emotions of bereaved families and are usually rewarded. We picked a few handicapped or very old ones to give alms to.
I shopped for some good luck trinkets for Surina. I also picked up some river stones, smooth and round, for Suraj and Ravi. These stones must have tumbled along the waters of the Ganga all the way from Himalayas, taking centuries to reach Haridwar. I will write Biji's affectionate nick-names, for Suraj and Ravi, on these stones and give it to them as keepsakes. Jyoti wants Biji's eye glasses.
On the way back we tried to look for lotus flowers, blooming in the flood waters, by the road side. We had noticed them in the morning but being occupied with reaching Haridwar on time we did not pay attention to
them at that time. Now all the lotus flowers had closed with the setting sun and only these 'Singharha' flowers were visible; Pretty enough but not the same.
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One day after this journey I headed back to USA. Sitting here in my home I am aware how lonely the house must be without Biji. When I call home Papaji sounds despondent. He asks me to call often. Bablee has borne the brunt of this loss. She nursed Biji the whole time Biji was in the hospital, and she was the one with Biji in her last hours. For some years Biji and Papaji are her whole world. Kuku and I came away and settled down with our own families. Bablee has chosen to make her home with Biji and Papaji. She is diligent, affectionate and efficient. That home will always stay home for us because of her.
We love you for all that you do.
Biji's passing away has been hard for all of us. Having Papaji, Bablee, Rani, Savvy, Supi and all our relatives and friends to share this time with made it bearable. We were like poles holding each other up. With time we will all stand up on our own again. Thanks for being there now.
