The Place Where The Living Come To Free The Dead

The kaleidoscope of vibrant kurtas and shimmering sarees fills the Ghats, as hundreds line the banks of the sacred Ganges River in Varanasi, which is thick with the ashes of millions of bodies, freeing their soul from the cycle of birth, death, and rebirth.

The captivating cacophony of throaty mantras reverberating through the shrill crackle of a microphone to the Maa Ganga, goddess of the river, while the collision of conch shells blowing, bells ringing and brass cymbals clanging, vibrate the hairs of my inner ears.

The sweet heavy scent of jasmine incense tickles my nose, while fire-filled lamps twirl expertly from one hand to another and from clockwise to counterclockwise, sending acrid tendrils of smoke that dance in the air like prayer flags.

The thick, humid air and the bodies pressing close together sends sweat dripping down slowly between my brows, down my nose, until the salty mixture lands on my lips as I lick it off, drop by drop.

The Aarti ceremony unfolds in slow motion -chants, mantras, dance, song, fire, incense, - and I fall into a trance, my head feeling light as if I’m elevating and the hairs on my arm rising until the priests press their hands over the flame and raise them to their forehead, receiving the final blessings of the river goddess.