On the banks of the Ganges: The confluence of life and death

On the Banks of the Ganges

The last rays of the setting sun, hit the shimmering waters of the Ganges. The boat men are bringing their tourists back to the shores. In the descending darkness, one can only make out silhouettes. People are starting to gather around the banks, some sit on the steps, others crane their necks from the terraces of their houses nearby. Soon there is a teeming crowd, filled with people from all walks of life-tourists, locals, children, an old crone missing multiple teeth. Suddenly, a hush descends on the crowd. People wait silently, reverently, as 7 robed men- priests make their way to the waiting pedestals that face the gently flowing river. The priests are young men, sporting vermilion and sandalwood on their foreheads. Their long hair is tied in a knot at the top of their heads.

The crowd watches expectantly as the priests light their massive lamps. Even the children have quietened down, watching the priests with rapt attention as all 7 of them begin moving together on the pedestal. They sway the lamps in their hands in graceful arcs above their head. The light from the lamps, illuminate their faces, making them look ethereal. They are absorbed in their movements - at peace- as if their very souls were responding to a symphony only they could hear.......