Bringing Life to Places of Despair

Today we decided to go out and see Pashupatinath, the most sacred Hindu temple in Kathmandu. It is located on the banks of the holy Bagmati River so followers can take a dip for spiritual cleansing and blessing. It is inhabited by a large population of Sadhus (Hindu holy men) who have devoted their lives as a sort of monk-hood to the god Shiva, the god of death and destruction. They wear bright yellow and orange and paint their faces like Shiva’s. They cover their bodies in ash and dread their long locks. They sit within the temple giving blessings to temple visitors for money. Some even do different bodily contortions or poses of meditation for passers-by. Besides the many Sadhus, the temple grounds are infested with monkeys. They know they will always have enough to eat there with all the puja (offerings of food, fruits, rice, flowers and dyes) offered by devout worshippers to their idols. Today we went so my visiting friend, ‘Becca, could get the Hindu temple experience here in Nepal. It is a good place to observe, as an outsider, some of the rituals of daily life as a Hindu. Since Nepal is primarily Hindu, this is a good place to get a glimpse into the lives of the people.

Because Hindus believe in reincarnation, they believe that after death one must be cremated and given back to the earth. Pashupatinath is the holiest place in Kathmandu for such cremations. All along the river that runs through the temple grounds are cremation ghats (concrete slabs on the river bank for cremations) where bodies are brought throughout each day and wooden pyres are built for the final ceremonies. It is important for the cremations to occur on the banks of the river, because the ashes must be dumped there. In this way, the body of the deceased rejoins the earth to become a new life, so they believe. The river is very polluted, not only because the pyres are dumped in there, but it is also filled with trash, dead animals and sewage. Ironically this is the same river where people come for bathing and spiritual cleansing.

After walking around the temple for awhile we decided to sit on the steps by the river bank and watch all the activity. Coming from a Western culture it is very eerie to be a spectator at a cremation. But here in Nepal it is part of daily life. We watched body after body be brought to the ghats for preparation. By the time they arrive to the ghats the families have already treated, wrapped, oiled and decorated the bodies depending on what is ritually required for each caste of people.

We watched as one family brought their loved one to the ghat with drums and musical instruments. The family members, who wore the clothes of laborers, were participating in this Hindu ritual, but were also doing all the rites of a Buddhist family. The body was draped in layers of Buddhist prayer cloths and scriptures in Tibetan script were read over the body. As it was finally laid on the ghat, a woman collapsed in grief, crying loudly, inconsolable. Her family members lovingly carried her away as she sobbed and the pyre was lit. Was this her husband, her father, or worse, her child? My heart ached to see such pain in her face.

Then another family approached the pyre. They were organized enough to have pallbearers all dressed in long white tunics and white pants. The women wore nicer clothing and covered their heads with their scarves. The body was draped in yellow Hindu cloth and had hundreds of strung marigolds piled on top. The face of the deceased was of an elderly woman, adorned and decorated beautifully for the ceremony. Following her was a frail and small white-haired man, her husband. As the rites were carried out he began to weep. He stepped up on the pyre to ritually encircle it before it was lit. He was weeping so much a few of his sons had to hold him up as he circled her. We all sat silently as we reflected on the moment. I knew that since the head is the most sacred place on the body in Hindu belief, that it would be the first place to be lit for the cremation. I knew I did not want to watch this but I could not turn away. I had become so drawn in by the emotion. As her frail husband set alight her body he encircled her again, this time stopping at her feet. He leaned down and kissed her feet and held them to his face as he wept. “He spent his whole life with that woman,” Matt commented quietly. I imagined them meeting at their arranged wedding as teenagers and love growing between them over their many years together. I became overcome with emotion and began to weep. I looked up to Kara and ‘Becca after the long silence and noticed the tears pouring down their cheeks. Seeing that little old man mourn his bride was heartbreaking. But a large part of my weeping came from the knowledge that they spent their long life and never knew the living God.

We all walked away silently and headed for the gate. We were all tired, hungry and ready to get back home. As we headed to the road we passed the Home for the Dying and Destitute (Missionaries of Charity) that is located on the temple grounds. We all decided to duck in to say hello and love on some old folks. The residents in this home are all those who have been abandoned by their families and left to die. Their families drop them off at the river hoping for a quicker re-entry into new life; an easy way to wipe your hands of someone you do not want to take care of. The sisters at this home take them in and give them a loving place to live, and for most of them, a place to die. Everyone living at this home is at the end of their life, either from old age or sickness. We had just left a place that signified the end of life and the despair of a Godless destination for those over whom families mourned. But now we entered a place that was full of life despite the end of life being near.

‘Becca had her one-year old son, Chas, with her as we entered the home. As we turned the corner, smiles beamed and arms rose in embrace. As their eyes saw little Chas they opened wide with joy and awe. ‘Becca put Chas down and he ran straight into the arms of a one-legged man that sat on the ground. As I stood at the corner a little old deaf woman came to me and signed, they say a baby is here, where is he? I pointed around to where Chas was, surrounded by joy filled residents, and she leapt with joy and ran to him. Everyone shouted, Babu! Babu! (baby boy), and reached to him for a touch. Everyone who was able touched his face, hugged him, or picked him up. He was passing out smiles and hugs left and right. Peoples’ eyes were filling with tears as they laughed. It has been so long since we’ve held a baby, said one lady. Chas entertained one small crowd by stealing a man’s walking cane and dancing around with it. Everyone laughed with joy, and again, I began to weep. As Matt took Chas around to all the inquiring men and women, I looked again at Kara and ‘Becca and tears flowed down their cheeks again. Before it was with sadness, and now it was with joy. “This is exactly why I brought my sons,” ‘Becca said as she watched her son love on the unloved. He did not see their disabilities, smell the urine, or see their wounds. But he did know when they were smiling and laughing and he laughed and smiled with them.

If only I could see people and love people as baby Chas does. To see the people with Christ’s eyes and love them with Christ’s heart.

Lord, make me like a child so I can bring life to places of despair...
...and there is no shortage of despair here...