Varanasi, which stands on the West bank of the River Ganga in India, is often called the City of Death. In the Hindu faith, it is said to be the most auspicious place to die and have one’s remains submersed in the river. Moksha, or liberation from the cycle of life and death, is believed to be the grace of the water itself.

The city’s cremation grounds stand on two ghats, or steps and platforms along the river. Harishchandra, the smaller of the two, is open for cremation of all castes and religions. The larger, Manikarnika, is reserved for Hindus. Day and night, hundreds of pyres are tended by the Dome, the caste which has handled cremation for centuries. The pyres are lit with an eternal flame believed to have emanated from Lord Shiva, the patron deity of Varanasi. Surrounding the cremation grounds are many hospices, where the old and sick await death on this final outcrop of the mortal world.

 

 

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Churning the Ashes of a Pyre

Chopping Logs at a Wood Shop Behind Manikarnika Ghat

Sifting Ashes for Jewelry and Gold Teeth

Cows Above Manikarnika Ghat

Om Namo Shivai, "Hail to Shiva" Written Above the Entrance to a Temple

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This series is the result of several weeks spent on the cremation grounds. Manikarnika Ghat is the last area of Varanasi that my work extended to. It took nearly two years of living in the city and gaining fluency in Hindi before I felt the right to walk between the pyres and speak with the dome and families burning their dead. I knew instinctively that I had to photograph Manikarnika, that the essence of the place must be further commemorated before it changes inexorably along with the rest of the city. My first impasse was the fact that photography is taboo within the vicinity of the pyres.

I had become friendly with several boatmen in the area, and one of them, Vinod, agreed to assist my work. With his help and companionship, I gradually became acquainted with the dome, barbers, and shopkeepers in the area. Word got around that I had no devious intentions, that the goal of my photography was to honor Manikarnika and its people. The first images made of the dome were portraits which I printed and returned to them as gifts. For many, it was the only photograph they had ever owned.

I was more captivated by the vitality of the ghat than by the specter of burning corpses, hence an absence of the pyres themselves in this series. By walking over the ash from dawn to dark, I began to glean what is ineffable about Manikarnika. No place can rival its infusion of life’s extremes. Time is ordered by a different rhythm, a slower rhythm. Once you stand on the cremation ghat, you cannot help but imagine your own flesh one day collapsing in flame, dissipating in smoke, and washing down the river. Perhaps, like so many awaiting their end of days in the hospices, a part of you will yearn for this release.

The cremation grounds of Varanasi affirm the reality of life and death, the poignancy of both, the mystery of each manifesting in the other.

 

 

 

Click to Read the Accompanying Text, Boatman of the Dead

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