NEVER in my twenty-two years of life have I attended a funeral of any acquaintances of a few days or even strangers let alone being present at a funeral of someone from my kin. Hence a funeral is a dream-like event for me. My dream or wish is to attend a funeral. I know it sounds peculiar, but you heard it correctly.
It's not like that where I reside with my family hasn't witnessed a death since my birth. I can recall a few who died were my neighbours too but they didn't invite me to mark my presence, in fact no one in this town did. Well the precise reason is not known to me but I'm not an airhead, to not have a vague guess that it's due to my way of thinking. Yes, my train of thought seems to travel on a different route than the masses. There have been many instances when people have looked at me like I'm not one of them, like I'm not even a human, I still vividly remember the disgust on their visages paired with those parted lips as if to say something but were unable to find words and raised eyebrows and a tad of redness in their eyes. A few have rewarded me with their anger too, but I didn't take it to heart believing that, that's something weak people do- when they are inept at debating with words, their vexation will take the route of the physical body to exit their mind. All of these situations made me realise either I'm a fool or they are but given they were left with no words, it was prominent who was a fool. The point of this wasn't to flatter me but to let you know that the reason was concealed in one of these instances, when I attended a discussion at town hall with my dad with elation decorating my countenance as if I was going to a fair. But that decoration was soon disfigured when I opined that “ why are you all so gloomy and morose? According to what I have experienced, witnessed and heard, shouldn't we consider death as a festival?” When all the adults were mourning the death of an important elder. At that time they didn't scold me but made sure to give me those piercing cold gazes as if asking me and my father to leave and that's what he did. My father was silent during the way back and I was very scared to say anything to him but somehow I gathered the guts to look up at his face and I regret doing that. His looks were complicated and I regret doing that because I still am yet to figure out what he was feeling. Nevertheless, I suspect that due to my statement back then, a hearsay must have spread like wildfire in the entire town saying something like, “Have you heard? Apparently that Dev kid has some ‘Devilish’ opinions. I would never invite him to a funeral, who knows he might congratulate the family members with a bright smile and whisper in the ear of the dead body ‘Happy Deathday’.” Well I'm not entirely sure if this is what they said but their faces, whenever they see me kinda align with my imagination.
But this notion is going to be altered forever today due to what took place at my abode or rather should I say my Father's abode yesterday. A ‘warrior Angel’- Yes a warrior and an Angel both, for she was a warrior to defend us(us siblings )from the dark, musty, and gloomy face of the world, whenever a disaster poised to harm us, she defended us standing stood with her warm and gentle smile to us and back to the disaster for she was brave(when it came to her family), she emancipated us from the shackles of customs and traditions. She was a true warrior for she was always in pain and with a number of different injuries but she never paid heed to them, busy all time taking care of us. And she was an Angel too because that's what she was, whenever in excruciating pain; her angelic smile and maternal warmth was enough to defeat it. Every mother is an Angel for giving her children the required wings to fly like a free bird. But she has been put to rest forever, maybe because she was an angel and fulfilled her duty of raising us and now she is required somewhere else. Or maybe because she was a warrior and every warrior must rest after getting weary of years of fighting numerous wars.
I have always had a question in my mind since I was rational and critical which was ‘what if the person most dear and close to my heart were to die? And what if I didn't cry at their funeral? And what if I felt elation after the demise of my ailing mother, since she may not show but I have seen her crying alone in that dull and dusty room which was inhabited by gruesome and surely darkness?’ I have always wondered and questioned myself that “You always claim that your mother is dear to you and you love her the most or that's what you say, but why did you feel nothing whenever you saw her in excruciating affliction? If that's because you are callous then why do you claim to love her?” These questions were always gnawing at my conscience. And I realised that the time to unravel the answers to all these questions has arrived, When my brother relayed to me yesterday that mother is no more, i didn't hurry, i dressed up like any other day and went to see her with my heart throbbing so vigorously as if it would free itself from the cage and run to see her before me. I was scared because what if my belief that her death would bring peace to her was wrong and she died with an agonizing face? What would I tell myself to console then? Instead of my heart, I threw all these thoughts out of my head and hastened my pace. When I arrived at the doorstep, I took a peek inside to assess the situation for who knows, after seeing my mother lying on her deathbed with peaceful expression I might've worn a smile which would have ruined the room and fuelled the masses to believe that I'm actually a devil. What came into view was nothing unusual, well it was different than other days but indifferent when a person leaves the material world. Mother was lying still on the bed, not showing any movements ;the same way she used to sleep but there was a difference which was her stomach wasn't going up - down, meaning she wasn't breathing. My elder sister was crying like a bawling baby with her head on mother's thigh encapsulated by her hands. A few sentences came out of her throat intermittently like “Mother wake up, I'm hungry.” or “Mother help me pick a dress, I'm going to a ball today.” or “Mother, I promise I will marry the gentleman you suggested.” There were some harsh sentences too like, “Mother how could you be so selfish. You left me alone, how cruel of you. I guess you never loved me.” She looked like she once again entered her rebellious age, unable to accept the truth. Elder brother was beside sister trying to comfort her withholding his tears with all might. I stepped inside and before I reached the bed where mother was, father came to stand next to me, looked at me and said “Take care of yourself. Be strong” with an agonizing face. He couldn't look me in the eyes for he was focusing on withholding his tears and if he had focused to look me in the eyes he would have cried for sure. I nodded at him and asked “where are you going Father?” Then he put his hand on my shoulder and forced a smile to say “To take care of everything else.” And then he left, he alluded that he was going to make preparations for mother’s funeral but that was a lie I could tell since I have known him for years. He follows the maxim ‘Men don't cry’ hence he couldn't cry in front of us so I believe he was going to find some space to relieve himself. Men don't cry huh, but if you ask me , a person who doesn't cry isn't even a human let alone a man. But that wasn't the time for such a debate so I again nodded at him and went on ahead to sit beside my mother’s stomach, a few inches away from my siblings. My father had already left the room and the room would have been inhabited by silence if not for my sister's wailing and brother's occasional words to comfort my sister. I was surprised to see my brother trying his best to console my sister since we weren't the optimal siblings. I wouldn't say that we acted like strangers but it's a tad complicated. It made me wonder if i would have cried then would he have consoled me too then same way. Ignoring my absurd thoughts, I gathered up the courage to hold my mother's palm. I needed courage to do that because I was scared to accept the truth that her hand wouldn't warm anymore, and that my fear wasn't for naught. The hand which exhibited mother's warmth was waning and won't ever be restored. I felt an ache in my heart and It was a bit poignant too. We siblings consoled and comforted each other the entire day and when the night conquered the world, brother's restraint was overthrown by tears and he cried his heart out. I didn't cry yesterday but was holding her hand the entire night until yesterday when father came to instructed us,
“Go on and get ready. The preparations are done. Prepare yourselves mentally” emphasizing on ‘mentally’ with a stern expression and red eyes. Sister wasn't ready to leave Mother alone but somehow we managed to drop her at our neighbour’s place so that they could help her get dressed accordingly. And after a few hours, here I am standing at the cremation ground which was alongside the river bank. With all the questions wrestling in my mind, I am staring at my mother rested on the bed(funeral pyre)- made of corkwood and offerings of camphor, sandalwood and mango leaves , while intermittently shifting my focus to the mass present for my funeral, my sister and brother who were in the same condition as yesterday standing a few meters away from me, and my father alongside with some other men discussing the funeral procedures with the priest.
Neither anything in front of me changed nor inside of me. There was a maelstrom of my swerving thoughts and maybe grief of losing my mother and dejection due to the fact that I won't be able to feel mother's warmth anymore. I could feel people gaze at me with different expressions and most of them might have wondered, "How cold hearted and cruel is he to not cry at his mother's funeral?”. Some even tried to initiate conversation with me but I paid them no heed and continued to stare at my mother's physical body. The time passed by but nothing changed in front of me until it was time to cremate my mother which would be done by Father. Before getting ready to proceed with cremation, father had come to me to convey the message that he is going to do it and also said that, “Don't worry about what others are saying. You not sobbing like a child doesn't mean that you didn't love her. I won't force you to cry. But I want to tell you that if you want to see your mother and cry in her lap for the last time, you have very limited time then.” Father added another thought to the maelstrom but I realised one thing that the expression worn by father the other day wasn't complicated, it was a smile to comfort me and indignant in his eyes for sending us out. He loved me, in simple words. I realised it because he wore the same expression today, a smile to comfort me and indignant in his for others who were judging me without knowing anything about me.
Father took three rounds around the pyre maybe to symbolise his three children with her beloved wife and then was about to light the pyre when Sister came running towards the pyre and hugged mother- who was resting on her bed, and started wailing and bawling, louder than ever. Father stopped midway and hesitated to go towards sister, maybe he was scared that he would start crying too , since he can only focus on one thing at a time. So he stood his ground while I ran towards my sister to console her and saw that my brother arrived before me and was using a bit of force to take my sister away from the pyre but to no avail. She put all her strength into it and my brother wouldn't use his brute strength as it could hurt my sister.
I was seeing everything unfold in front of me and couldn't do anything. I felt helpless, useless, and a freeloader who leached off her mother's life force. All the comments people have attributed to me till date struck my mind but I saw my mother once again smiling at me gently and warmly with her back acting as a shield between me and those haunting words. I couldn't comprehend anything and went blank for a while. Before I realised I was already on my knees next to my sister and brother with me embracing both of them. The long awaited tears- which seemingly shows how much you loved someone,upon their death, were already streaming down my cheeks but the intensity wasn't high. I tried to consoled her by saying,
“Sister, oh my sister, don't cry like that. Don't cry like you used to when you were a child.” And I looked her in the eyes and trying to imitate my mother's warm and gentle smile, i jested, “Mother just came to see me and told me she wants to rest and If you will cry so loudly especially with that irritating voice of yours then you will disturb mother in her slumber.”
Suddenly, everyone directed their gazes at me including my sister who has, for now, stopped wailing and was just sobbing. She said to me with a clueless expression, “Did mother really come to see you?”
Paying no heed to others, I continued looking at my sister and replied with affirmation.
Her face sparkled with an innocence of a child, she reflected my past self in her and I found myself playing the role of my mother. She complained like a child, “Why didn't my mother come to see me?” She then asked brother and father if mother came to see any one of them to which they replied negatively.
I answered her,
“Maybe she only visited me because all of you were busy grieving her death and crying all day.”
“What do you mean?” Brother and sister asked in unison.
In order to convince my sister I lied saying,
“Mother once told me that life and death are closely tied. Life is like the way to your final destination which is death. And arriving at your destination symbolises you finished the weary race and now you must celebrate it with rest. Yes, celebration. Death is not something to mourn about but it's actually “The Festival Of Death.” You must celebrate it. But that wasn't enough to convince me so mother shared her philosophy with me which goes like, You know they say to live is to suffer and the purpose of life should be to find the pearls of happiness in this ocean of suffering. It is tough to bear all the hardships alone and maybe that's why the Lord blessed me with three of you, my dear children. We all can share each other's sufferings and carry the burden of life together. On the contrary , if life is the thing that shackles us with the suffering then death is what emancipates us from its restraints. So shouldn't we celebrate death? We celebrate Independence day as a festival, right? So shouldn't there be, ‘The Festival Of Death’.”
“Did mother really say that?”
“Yes, my dear sister.”
“So we were going against our mother's wishes. Why didn't you tell us before?”
“She reminded me now only.”
“Oh I see. So I shouldn't cry anymore right? Or it will make her feel sad to see her children not abiding by her wish, right?”
“Don't worry she will never feel dejected due to us. But if you ask, you should smile at your mother for the last time. She always said that your smile is brighter than the sun for her.”
Her countenance suddenly lit up with remnants of tears and said,
“That…That's right. She always complimented my smile.” She said in high spirits and then promptly added,
“But what about the warmth of our mother? I will never get to experience that again ,right?” she said in an exact opposite tone i.e. in dejected and low spirits.
“Don't worry father is still with us. Right father?” I threw my vision at my father and what I saw was him running to us to embrace us all.
He collected us all in his wife and long arms and said with a forced smile on his face and tears streaming down,
“That's right. You need not to worry. Father is still with you. Let your mother rest.”
We stayed in that position for a while until the priest came to us to say that we are running out of auspicious time. Father nodded at us as we all got away from the pyre and I noticed that even though it was a forced smile everyone in my family was celebrating Death. Sister had even stopped crying. Father then lit up the pyre and it was a matter of minutes until all that was left was ash.
“Mother has gone.” Said my sister.
“Only physically” i corrected her and then added,
“She still lives in my heart and memories and I'm sure she does in everyone's heart. Especially our hearts.”
“You're right.” After a long time I got to see the smile which my mother complimented a lot. Indeed her smile outshone the sun.
Everyone started to take their leave. Brother took my sister home and father was escorted by the priest and the elders of the town too for some kinda ritual.
It wasn't long before all that was left on the cremation grounds were me and my mother.

I sat on the ground which now had a part of my mother inside it, and wondered about all the questions I had. I realised that I have discovered answers to most of the questions and I was feeling satisfied, and if you ask me about the unanswered questions, I would say I will cherish them for these questions will stay with me during this weary race to help me realise that I'm still alive. They are now a part of me. And if you ask me if I got the answer to the most important question which was “did I love my mother?” Then my answer will be, “I don't know. Even if I didn't love her I would deceive myself into believing that I loved her. And among all those sully, gloomy and morose lies, I will treasure this heartwarming and dear lie forever.”

The Festival Of Death came to an END.