Life after death

The smell of burning flesh hung despairingly in the stale air. Yashwantrao licked his lips and watched as the flames rose higher engulfing what was left of the burning man. The smell strangely reminded him of how hungry he was. This morning was more hectic than most and Yashwantrao had already arranged for more than 4 burials.

He silently excused himself and made his way out of the crematorium. There was a slight breeze in the air. A few raindrops bristled against Yashwantrao’s face. It was a wrinkled mess of lines and creases, hardened by years of manual labour. His arms were sinewy but muscled and his ribs poked out of his cheap cotton top.

He walked with haste towards the nearest tea stall. As he neared it, something caught his eye. He turned in that direction to get a closer look at what it was. Something shiny poked out from under the earth. He walked towards it and picked it up. It was a heavy ring, looked expensive. Yashwantrao pocketed it. He was about to turn around and head back when he heard a sound. It came from the garbage bin further up the road. Curiously he moved closer to see what had caused the noise but as he neared the bin he realised that it was a bad decision. Sprawled at the side of the bin was a limp lifeless body, not unlike the cadavers Yashwantrao handled day in and day out. This body was caked in dry blood, crimson red from head to toe. Yashwantrao knew better than to get himself muddled in police matters. He shrugged and made a move to leave. It was then when he saw the man painfully open his left eye. The sight horrified Yashwantrao. He had handled a lot of dead bodies in the past, but none of them had looked back at him. These eyes were different. They pulled at his heartstrings. They peered down to his very core. And then his eye shut just as suddenly as it had opened.

With a heavy heart Yashwantrao turned back towards the tea stall. He ordered for a plate of bhajias and tea and sat down to eat. He ate his food hurriedly and after paying the chaiwallah, briskly walked back to handle the rest of the day’s cremations.

Sleep was a difficult affair that night. Yashwantrao had dreams of those eyes pouring into his soul, asking for his help, telling him to give the body they belong to a decent burial. He tossed, and turned until he decided to take a stroll outside his thatched hut. The full moon glared at him as he stepped out and inhaled the fresh air. He had not gone more than a few steps when he caught sight of a horribly contorted figure hanging from a tree. In horror he ran towards the body and held the man's dangling feet. No sooner than he had got the man down from the tree, the dead man opened his eyes. It was unmistakable. It was the same eyes that just a second ago were torturing him in his dreams.

Yashwantrao woke up with a start. Beads of sweat glistened off his forehead and his breathing became laboured and heavy. He waited for the night to pass. With the first rays of the sun, he got up, had a shower, and put on some clean clothes. He was eager to get out of the house and back to work. He thought that it would make him feel better.

It didn’t. It was yet another busy day of cremations. White dead featureless faces, grieving families, indifferent relatives and over the top well-wishers streamed in and out of the crematorium. As the day came to a close a van halted outside the crematorium. A man got out of it and handed a letter to Yashwantrao. It was another dead body, most likely abandoned. The letter had a government seal instructions for cremation on it. Yashwantrao helped the man carry the cloaked cadaver inside and placed it on a wooden stretcher. Then the two of them laid the body on a stone bench & Yashwantrao rushed to collect a few more logs to burn the body. As he worked he couldn’t help but feel sad for the dead man. In life he had no one. Not a single person had come to pay him their final respects. He silently hoped that someone would come when he died. He had no family, just a few people he could call friends, but were they really?

Yashwantrao laid the logs on the pyre and helped the man to place the cadaver on it. Then he proceeded to place the remaining logs on the cadaver. As he was doing this, the cloth slipped from the cadavers face and shock reeled through Yashwantrao’s being. It was the man from his dreams. His eyes were closed and his face white as day. His left hand hung limply from the pyre. Yashwantrao saw a patch on his ring finger where once a ring had rested. He looked at it in disbelief until it finally hit him. With a sudden understanding he fished out the ring from his pocket & mouthing a silent prayer, placed the ring back on the man’s finger. Then as the pandit performed the last rights, he lit the pyre and watched as the man’s flesh melted away from his bones. In life this man had no one, but in death he had made a connection with someone, if only fleeting. A tear rolled down Yashwantrao’s eyes as he set about home. He would sleep soundly tonight.