A little sun and some rain made it an unusual May day. A cleaner Yamuna swelled with water and perhaps lost souls. But on her banks, the Sarai Kale Khan crematorium, with over 100 cremation pits, lay quite empty. It was 3 pm and only six bodies were burning. The wind blew east, but suddenly swerved towards a small reddish bench, making all its occupants – Bagh Narayan, 79-year-old living atlas, and the crematorium’s sweeper, Ram Lal, a cremation worker and I – savour earthly scents of yagna herbs, wood and charred flesh.
Around then another white ambulance arrived carting a dead mother, followed by her son wearing white PPE, Aman (name changed). There were no queues or waiting as the death surge was over. Aman rushed to finish paperwork, leaving his mother alone. What else could one expect as these were fearful times.
Pyres at the Sarai Kale Khan crematorium. Photo: Indra Shekhar Singh
A health official anonymously remarked, “Around last week of April-May, Delhi saw 700-800 deaths daily. But the official figures reported 40% lesser deaths.” Those were the bad days. Overburdened crematoriums were shutting gates by noon from Punjabi Bagh to Nigambodh Ghat, wood reserves were running low while undertakers and ambulance services were demanding Rs 50,000 per COVID-19 corpse.
Over the last month, I lost a few uncles, many friends and unknown Indians, and needed closure. But Narayan didn’t; he happily named one Dev Anand movie after another and sang Rafi and Kishore Kumar songs. Meanwhile, four men unloaded the body and their white ambulance sped away. A motley cartload of white eucalyptus logs, some other hard wood and old pieces of discarded furniture covered the corpse and the pundit’s incantation began. The pyre was almost ready.
This was Ram’s 15th workday. Due to the lockdown, he had lost his job and now entered the cadaver business to feed his family, a modern-day Harishchandra, one thought. “It takes four to five hours for a body to burn by wood and two hours in CNG,” as he said this, the nearest pyre crackled, and a white skull emerged. “I better get going, before it rains, bodies need to burn out before the rain comes,” he said.
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Suddenly I caught a glimpse of Aman, hesitant to touch the torch and staring at the pandit. The pyre was unlit. The fear of infection reigned over him, but finally he agreed to touch the torch once and the wood caught fire.
By now two volunteers Ritwik and Apoorva, in blue PPE kits, were distributing food to cremation workers. On first sight they looked like an odd couple. “We are volunteers for an organisation offering free food at burial and cremation ground, but here too, a caste system prevails. The pundits won’t take the food so we have especially asked for the workers,” Apoorva said.
Two volunteers, Ritwik and Apoorva, distributing food to a cremation worker at the Sarai Kale Khan crematorium. Photo: Indra Shekhar Singh
“Our food packets have reduced too, as the death toll has drastically dropped, the burial grounds and big ghats like Nigambodh, etc. were functioning at 20-30%,” Ritwik said.
I spent the next few days travelling from Sarai Kale Khan to Punjabi Bagh, hopping between cremation grounds, observing their rush, management and hearing people’s sighs. Overall the NGO staff were supportive, with hardly any cases of overcharging and good government monitoring. But Punjabi Bagh crematorium was different. It had 20 lit pyres and a few smouldering ones. A sobbing woman broadcasting a cremation live video caught my attention, while the priest and other members were busy setting up the pyre. I went closer to take photos, and talk to people. But soon after, I was categorically told, “Media not allowed”. They never explained why, though. Between the smoke and ash, I suddenly started to smell something fishy.
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How to make sense of all the fishy-ness? A senior health official anonymously chipped in. “There is a major tussle for funds with municipal bodies and Delhi government. They allot the funds but don’t release them. Our department is working tirelessly. Due to the politicians, we get a bad name,” he said.
I inquired further about overcharging and media ban. “As soon as we heard any case, we took immediate action. If today any person is overcharging, report them to us, not only will we take action against them but also caution the NGO in charge of the cremation ground. As for the media ban, the government has no such policy.”
On the journey back, I stopped at the Green Park crematorium, a sanctuary for the departed. It was very neat and calm, most people were very friendly. It had seen 11 deaths since the morning. I walked in to see the new CNG cremation facility, and then walked to the wood cremation area. Here Shyam, a Brahmin from Bareilly, met me. He was the first of his family to work at the cremation grounds. A job he continues to do since 2004. The body bags, and mourner-less bodies distressed him too. “This work is not for money, but as a service to Bhole Baba (Shiva). But never in my life have I seen death take people like this,” he said.