THE GIRL AT THE FUNERAL

Today is Jashan's 16th birthday. Zeina Glo was conceived on this day two years ago.

Jashan and I have been occupied for some days in funeral proceedings at home, and I have been unable to write her birthday post.

Jaswant Bir died on the 28th of September.

I intend to write soon, and it may be about a girl at the funeral.

Jashan had come and gone back to school for five days, Raunaq was there, Meher was there, Laddi, Kanwal, Kannu, Bantu, Avneet. And, of course, Laddu and Meet, Sonu and Meetu. And a whole lot of others spanning four generations of Nawab Nagar and the extensions of the family. All the others prayed from wherever they were.

THE GIRL AT THE FUNERAL

That is her father who lies there, gone now where all fathers must one day go. There is a crowd of relatives and well-wishers. She has come a long way for this moment, this meeting before he is gone forever, consigned to flames and ceremonies that slowly and gently pull him away from the realm of the tangible into the retreats of memory.

A collective wail goes up amongst the women as she comes out to where he lays and kneels down at the head. Some border on hysteria as they push her to “Touch him”, “Look at him”. The sombreness of the situation suffers a little as one or two seem to overdo it. Some of the elder men gently calm them down, and solemn dignity prevails.

Of course it is heart-rending. But she is composed. He has been unwell now and then, down the years. It is three days since he breathed his last. She has flown halfway across the world to be here. The initial pain has settled down to a dull ache. The agony of his being snatched away has partly turned into a throbbing, pulsating vacuum that invites her to lose herself in it.

The onlookers do not see when the young man comes and stands next to her. The change in her demeanour is visible. They are together, and she is strong. She derives strength from the young man. The young man is an epitome of calmness, and she is calm. The young man exudes compassion, and dependability, and strength, and being there. It is so pleasing, this effect that they have on each other. Those who notice feel an involuntary gentleness of the heart.

Soon the body has been bathed and dressed and carried to the gurudwara and thence to the cremation site. Four of his fathers and mothers have been consigned to flame here in the three-score years gone by, and a younger brother. It is a reunion of sorts.

Modern English gave us the words ‘cousin’, ‘uncle’ and ‘aunt’. We don’t care for them. They do not express the bond.

Wood, ghee, incense, samagri, prayers, torch…

The bodily remains of her father…

…He was a strong man. His body was long challenged by disease, but his spirit was undaunted. He was fearless!

…smoke…

…he was a doting father. He was so caring and patient with children, his own or anybody else’s…

…fire…

…it was not in him to sit idle. He was always ready to meet people. Whenever he travelled, he found time to stop and meet so many old friends and relatives on the way…

…a vacuum so poignant that it threatens to engulf. The flames reach high, hearts melt, eyes swim…

And again, the crowd is brought back to reality by a sight that describes heaven. The young man stands tall close to her, she is snug in his light embrace, and they gently bid adieu to their father. They stand closest to the pyre, the others have fallen back. They are travelling some of the way with him, seeing him off with tenderness and care.

They look into each other’s eyes. Her brother notices, and feels much lighter. The elders notice, the well-wishers notice. And a collective prayer of thanks rises heaven-wards. God bless the young man who keeps their daughter safe, God bless the girl who makes her man a man. God bless their love. Their togetherness. Their oneness.

The girl at the funeral flies back to Canada today to join the young man and their adorable children. Their love lightens our hearts. May it ever remain so.

Thanks, God.

Written and posted on 14 October 2015.