Where do they all go?
It was the question
that intrigued me as I stood watching the casket of my grandma being lowered
into the grave. I, as a child having lost my life’s only anchor, was crying my
heart out. But as soon as this question gripped my brain I stopped crying. Surely,
it is not possible for someone to come out of nowhere and go into nowhere.
Surely there has to be a destination. Quest to solve this riddle, I learn has
made saints out of men. As I grew up, the
question lost its sheen as I busied myself growing up. It was not forgotten. I didn’t
know that it was lurking somewhere within me till it surfaced with its full
intensity as I stood at the crematorium on a Sunday witnessing another
customary 'send-off'.
Where do they all go from here?
As I stood watching
the near and dear ones of the departed, somber in sorrow, I also noticed few
who moved purposefully doing something. But there were many, who I felt were disengaged
while a few were busy catching up with others. The funeral place was indeed a kaleidoscope
of emotions. It dawned on me that once our dear ones depart, we are left
holding on to the mortal remains, mourn over it and then as customs dictate,
either consign it to the flames or confine it to the graves. Wasn't it just the
mortal remains we are left with at the grave or the pyre? But we care for the
mortal remains knowing that the actual person has departed.
Where did our dear ones depart to?
Can one depart without knowing the destination?
As I watch my
friend's mother's lifeless body on the tray of the electric crematorium, I notice
the eternal calm on her face. Beyond the solemnity of the situation, above
the sobs that occasionally puncture the silence and deeper than the stoic
calm my friend display, my mind is on fire.
Where did she actually go?
The calm on her old serene face told me that it was not the face
of a person who had set out without the knowledge of a definite destination.
Visions of the past
came gushing in. My eye lids dropped. I was flown back to my grandma’s funeral,
my dad’s final journey and my mom’s last moments.
I was witness to my
grandma, dad and mom crossing over. I was actually holding grandma and dad when
they decided or some power somewhere decided it’s time for them to cross
over. Their transition or crossing over was very peaceful. My mom on the other
hand, was not at peace when she crossed over. Mom had been sick for very long
and had suffered for more than 25 years. Logically she should have been eager
to cross over whereas dad was okay till the end save for his blood
pressure and diabetes. He had work left to do as my brother was not
settled yet. He never wanted to leave the security of his own house but
settled to leave his nest for my house for his final departure. I too would
have loved to see him going from his own bed which he always used, but
circumstances forced me to shift him to my place by air, care for him and mom.
Although dad and I had
not enjoyed the best of relationship, I for some strange reason feel that my bond
with him is now growing. I feel him, very often, communicating. Having made
peace with my stupidly rebellious ways, he seems to be gently guiding me in
everything. I am often left teary eyed when I think of him and
how turbulent our relation was. I always loved and respected him
though I resented the way he discriminated. I often feel that he has
started understanding me now and I feel that I communicate better with my
father! The rationalist would say I have gone bonkers. Most would give up on me
saying that it is my subconscious playing tricks on me. But a few, may be very
few, would agree to what I just.
Surely the departed
ones don’t become nothing. Surely they must be somewhere. How does it matter in
what form or space they exist?
I suddenly realize that
the body was being moved. The tray was aligned and the operator pulled the
lever. The furnace doors opened and the tray effortlessly moved into the
electric furnace and the door automatically closed behind the tray.
I sense a strange calm
descend over me. The body had been left behind for the soul to pursue its
eternal journey to meet the divine. I feel light. I look at people consoling my
friend, the son of the “departed”. Each one puts on a somber sad face as if to
console him for a loss. I just walk up and hug him, smile and say, “Buddy you
are a lucky man, you are blessed”. I don’t know why I said what I said, what it
means and how it will work.
I am calm and happy
for the departed for she has found a new destination, a new pursuit.
I am no more afraid
of death. I know it will come when it has to. I walk out of the crematorium,
more certain of life that I was ever before. I have little time left to do
good. Let me make the best out of it. Let me travel with you in joy, creating
joy for others.
