Death and the Smashan

 

Birth and death are inseparable. Wherever there is birth, there will eventually be death.

For the Aghori, there is perhaps no better place to confront this fact than the smashan. It is a place where death cannot be pushed into the background. The bodies of the dead are brought there, burned and reduced to ash. Everything that normally allows a person to forget about mortality is stripped away.

At first, the surroundings of a smashan can produce disgust. The sight and smell of corpses, bones and ashes naturally disturb the mind. But remaining there changes the relationship with these things. What first produces disgust gradually loses its power. Fear can begin to disappear as well, followed by shame and the other restraints that bind the mind.

Many people experience something similar when they visit a smashan briefly. For a few days they may feel detached from ordinary life. The presence of death makes worldly concerns seem insignificant. But once they return to their homes and ordinary surroundings, the old attachments usually return.

That is only temporary renunciation.

Remaining in the smashan for a long period is something different. The continual presence of death can gradually loosen the attachment to family, friends and the world itself. What remains is the knowledge that the same fate awaits everyone.

The smashan therefore becomes a place of renunciation and a place connected with Shiva.

At Banganga Smashan in Bombay, a state funeral was once held for Girija Shankar Bajpai, the Governor of Bombay. Soldiers fired their rifles and politicians made their speeches. Nearby, however, the body of a washerman was burning on another pyre.

The distinction between them had disappeared.

On another occasion, an old Jain sadhu was burned on one pyre while the body of a small child was burned on another.

Neither social position nor age could change what happens to the body.

Everyone eventually comes to the same place.

The smashan is also known as Shahr-e-Khamosh, the City of Silence. Those who arrive there generally come because someone has died. The living mourn, while the dead have already passed beyond the condition that makes mourning possible. 

Death, however, does not always arrive with warning.

The author describes how his own parents had some awareness of their approaching deaths, giving them time to prepare. For most people, dying is much more uncertain.

There comes a point when communication with the dying person becomes almost impossible. The eyes may begin moving rapidly, while the lips form words that the people around the bed cannot understand.

The book describes this inward movement through the image of Chitragupta's account book. The name is explained through Chitra, meaning picture, and Gupta, meaning secret. What appears before the dying person is understood as the hidden record of the life that has been lived: the accumulated karmas preserved in the subconscious and causal body.

The ego, which during ordinary life reaches outward through the senses and identifies with the body, turns inward at death. It searches through the subconscious and the karmic record, looking for what will become the basis of another existence.

Those standing beside the dying person may continue to speak, plead or cry, but the dying person is no longer experiencing the outside world in the same way.

There is, according to the book, a way of forcing the ego back toward conscious awareness for a short period, making communication possible again. But this is extremely difficult.

It is therefore valuable to become familiar with the process of dying before death actually arrives.

Some people who have been considered clinically dead and then revived have described experiences associated with the transition. Among them are movement through a dark passage, powerful sounds and the sensation of consciousness moving away from ordinary physical awareness.

Roshni, the author's foster daughter, experienced something resembling this.

She regularly drank bhang, a preparation made from milk and cannabis. On one occasion she drank some while sitting in an armchair and soon stopped breathing; her pulse also disappeared.

When she returned, she described travelling through a long tunnel. She felt herself moving farther and farther upward into an immense space filled with stars and other things that she could not adequately describe. She experienced an attraction toward a source of love and divinity and then found herself brought back into her body.

The experience changed her attitude toward death.

She had encountered something resembling it while still alive, and therefore death was no longer entirely unknown to her.

The book draws a clear distinction between death and birth. The greater danger is not the ending of one life but the beginning of another, because another birth means returning once more to the cycle of existence.

This is connected with the teaching:

Ante mati sa gatih.

The state of the mind at the moment of death influences what follows.

If a person remembers God at that moment, the direction of the next existence is changed. But such remembrance cannot simply be manufactured when death is already at the door. It must become familiar during life. The more completely a person has accustomed the mind to remembering the deity, the greater the possibility that remembrance will remain at death.

This is why love and devotion are important. The divine name should not be something remembered only occasionally. It should become so deeply established that it can remain present when everything else is falling away.

A story about a guru illustrates how difficult this can be.

A guru was sitting beneath a tree with his disciple when he noticed a mango growing within easy reach. He wanted it and asked his disciple to pick it for him.

Before the disciple could do so, the guru died.

The disciple was devastated. He had lost the person who had guided him and did not know what to do.

Then he remembered the teaching concerning the final thought. Since the guru had been thinking about the mango at the moment of death, perhaps some connection with that desire still remained.

The disciple found the mango and examined it. An ant was crawling upon it. Suddenly he wondered whether his guru could somehow have become connected with the insect.

He crushed the ant.

The guru then appeared before him and explained that he had indeed become caught in the ant through his desire for the mango. The disciple had released him.

The story is not presented as a general instruction to kill insects. The disciple was able to act because of a particular intuition that arose within him. The book attributes that intuition to the guru himself.

The story also illustrates the relationship between guru and disciple. The guru knows what is happening while the disciple is expected to remain sincere.

A second story shows the other side of the same principle.

An old woman spent several hours every day worshipping God. Toward the end of her life she became blind. The loss of sight reduced the distractions of the external world, and her worship became even more concentrated.

One day she accidentally stepped on a baby mouse while preparing food. She did not see it. When she realized that she had killed the animal, the thought of what had happened filled her mind.

She died with the mouse in her thoughts.

According to the principle of Ante mati sa gatih, that final attachment affected what followed. She was reborn as a mouse. Hunger and the struggle for food brought greed and anger back into her existence, and she returned to the downward movement of samsara.

The lesson is not limited to large desires. Even a very small attachment can remain powerful at death.

But the same principle can work in the opposite direction.

Ajamila had accumulated many bad karmas during his life. When he was dying, however, the name that remained in his mind was Narayana, the name of his son.

Narayana is also the name of Vishnu.

Thus the divine name was present at the moment of Ajamila's death.

Two beings came to take him away because of his karmas, but another being stopped them. They objected that Ajamila had merely been calling his son. The response was that he had nevertheless remembered Narayana, who is present in every human being.

Ajamila was taken to heaven.

The story illustrates the power attributed to the divine name and to remembrance at the moment of death. 

The time of death itself is usually unknown.

Mahakala, however, is described as knowing the circumstances surrounding death. The author gives examples of people whose deaths could perhaps be postponed by avoiding a particular circumstance connected with their destiny.

One friend was warned not to leave Bombay during a dangerous period. He nevertheless travelled to Talegaon. At the railway station the tracks were blocked and no trains were moving. Instead of returning home, he waited until a train became available, travelled to Talegaon and died there a few days later.

The point is not that death can simply be avoided by ordinary caution.

Eventually it comes.

The book makes one exception in describing the Yogi who has attained sufficient knowledge to recognize the approach of death. Such a person may know that death is near, choose the moment of departure and gather his disciples to receive his final blessings. He then enters the Lotus Posture and leaves the body consciously.

This kind of death is presented as extremely uncommon.

Kabir's teaching is also brought into the discussion: the newborn enters the world crying while the world rejoices, and the ideal is to live so that at one's departure the world mourns while the departing person is at peace.

For ordinary people, however, death remains something largely unknown.

The author then describes what happened when his own father was cremated at Banganga, the same smashan where his mother and son had also been cremated.

The spirit of the dead person is described as remaining near the body for a period after death. The comparison is made with returning home to discover that one's house has been demolished: before knowing what to do next, one would naturally remain near the familiar place.

For this reason, cremation soon after death has a particular purpose in the book's explanation. As long as the physical body remains, the spirit may continue to expect that it can return to it. Once the body has become ash, that possibility disappears.

The book therefore presents cremation as helping the spirit move away from its former physical existence.

The dead may also attempt to communicate with the living. Most people cannot perceive them, although individuals with subtler perception may be able to do so.

This leads to a criticism of many death rituals. The author distinguishes between practices that have an actual purpose and ceremonies performed simply because they have become customary.

The body is traditionally washed after death, but the book questions the usefulness of cleaning a corpse that will soon be destroyed by fire or returned to the elements.

What matters is not the appearance of the corpse.

The person who inhabited that body is no longer using it.

This distinction becomes particularly striking in the reaction of relatives. Shortly before death, a wife may embrace and kiss her husband. Soon after death, she may become afraid to touch his body.

The reason given is simple: the living person is no longer there.

The outer form remains, but the presence that gave the body its meaning has gone.

At cremation, another practice begins with the Pinda, a ball of rice flour placed where crows can reach it.

The book describes an unusual situation in which the crows refuse to eat the Pinda. This is interpreted as a sign that the spirit remains nearby because some Vasana, some strong unfulfilled desire, still binds it.

The spirit is trying to make itself noticed.

The living person can then address the spirit and ask it to reveal the remaining desire through a dream or by some other means.

The author gives an example of a recently deceased friend appearing in a dream and asking for help in providing a better home for his fatherless children. Fulfilling this request would satisfy the remaining desire.

Food offered to the dead is treated differently. Hindus and Parsis offer food to departed relatives, who are said to consume it ethereally through smell rather than through ordinary physical eating.

The simplest forms of death ritual are not therefore dismissed entirely. Their purpose must be understood.

The book explains, for example, why the Hindu corpse is traditionally placed with the head toward the north.

Three effects are described. The position is said to hasten rigor mortis and decomposition. The earth's magnetic field is said to prevent the spirit from returning to the body. Finally, the position is considered suitable for performing Kilana and Pitri Tarpana.

Pitri Tarpana is presented as an especially useful practice when correctly performed.

It concerns the dead ancestors and their remaining desires. These desires can prevent them from moving upward through the hierarchy of existence.

The book also connects the ancestors with descendants through genes and chromosomes.

An ancestor who died with strong desires does not simply cease to have those tendencies. According to the explanation given, those tendencies can continue through the genetic material passed to descendants.

Pitri Tarpana is therefore presented as a way of helping such an ancestor move into another birth, where those desires can find expression through a new body. At the same time, the descendant is freed from the influence of that ancestor's unresolved desires.

This is also connected with the debt owed to one's ancestors.

They provided the physical body through which one came into existence, and fulfilling obligations toward them helps to loosen the karmic bond.

The ancestors themselves therefore become one of the reasons rebirth remains difficult. Each new birth brings another set of inherited tendencies, memories and limitations.

Eventually the desire for freedom from rebirth becomes stronger.

The book identifies Moksha — freedom from rebirth — with Shiva's grace.

The smashan is also known as Rudra Bhumi, the place where tears flow.

Ordinary people mourn because they remain identified with the relative or friend who has died. Saints and immortal beings are described differently: they can experience the smashan as a place where the true Self becomes visible.

Shiva is Samadhi-nishta, permanently established in samadhi.

His state differs from the ordinary experience of samadhi because Shiva remains completely aware. He is not separated from awareness of the universe.

Shiva is also described as almost untouched by Maya. He is the creator of Maya and allows Her to perform Her play.

He cannot die.

Everything that is born must eventually die. Since Shiva cannot die, He was never born. This is why He is called Swayambhu, the self-existent one.

As Nataraja, Lord of Dance, Shiva is shown surrounded by the flames of dissolution. His dance simultaneously creates, preserves and destroys innumerable universes, following the rhythm of His drum.

Shiva is absolute.

Any particular form used for worship remains a form, but what is ultimately worshipped through it is the Absolute beyond that form.

The book uses the Shiva Linga as an example. It represents firmness and stability. At the same time, its association with Parvati is used to illustrate Shiva's mastery over lust. Although the Linga is placed within the base associated with Parvati, Shiva remains completely free from the power of sexual desire.

Mount Kailasa is described as Shiva's abode because of its intense cold.

Heat is associated with turmoil, and turmoil arises from desire. Shiva has gone beyond desire.

From here the book moves toward another meaning of death.

Life itself is described through memory.

As long as a person remembers a particular name, address, family, friends and personality, that person remains connected with individual existence. When karmic debts are exhausted and there is nothing left with which the ego can identify, memory can disappear.

The Sanskrit word Smara refers both to memory and to the God of lust.

Desire produces karma. When desire is destroyed, memory also disappears.

This is why Shiva is called Smarahara, the Destroyer of Lust and also the Destroyer of Memory.

Sma refers to the past.

The smashan is therefore the place where the present becomes the past — where existence becomes memory.

What, then, actually happens at death?

During life, the body is maintained by the ego, which identifies itself with the body, personality, relatives and other aspects of individual existence.

The book identifies this ego with Kundalini Shakti, an individual fragment of Adya.

Throughout life, this Shakti searches for Her counterpart, Shiva. Because people have forgotten their original nature, they may mistake other people for the object of that search.

When Mahakala comes, He calls the Shakti toward union with Him.

Mahakala has no fixed form because He can take every form.

Every created being is described as incomplete, continually seeking reunion with what is missing.

When the ego-Shakti encounters Mahakala, the identification with the body can suddenly disappear. The Shakti recognizes that She is not the limited personality She had believed Herself to be, but belongs to the unlimited and eternal Personality of Shiva.

The overwhelming recognition draws Her away from the body.

The individual dies when the ego-Shakti ceases to identify with the physical body.

Some Yogis and higher beings are described as existing in the Sadashiva state. Their individual ego-Shaktis remain united with Shiva while individual existence continues. Such a state is extremely rare.

Mahakala is a Rudra.

He is associated with the tears of those who mourn, but the book also describes Mahakala Himself as experiencing joy when He takes someone from earthly existence. From this perspective, death is release from the suffering and limitations of embodied life.

Shiva is Bholenath, the Lord of Compassion.

His destruction is therefore not presented as cruelty. It is connected with liberation from earthly suffering.

Very few people are willing to love Mahakala because people are afraid of death.

The book names Markandeya and Nachiketas as two figures in the scriptures who loved Mahakala and became immortal.

Even divine incarnations are described as experiencing a moment of shock when confronted with Mahakala. Rama and Krishna are mentioned in this connection, as is Jesus at the moment of the cross.

Yet Mahakala Himself is not presented as truly terrible.

The terror belongs to the ego.

Mahakala comes to remove the attachments with which the ego identifies, and some of those attachments can be extremely deep. When they are finally released, the individual recognizes both the true nature of the Self and the nature of Mahakala.

To remain conscious at the moment of death is therefore described as something that requires the preparation of an entire lifetime.

Death itself need not be understood as the enemy.

Birth brings forgetfulness and another return to the world. Death releases the individual from the physical limitations of the present body.

And when Shiva comes for someone, the book describes Him as especially gentle toward the innocent and harmless.

Children receive particular attention.

Their innocence reminds Shiva of Gopala, Vishnu in the form of a baby.

Shiva and Vishnu are not presented as separate realities that can exist independently of one another. Preservation and destruction belong together.

The cycle continues.

And at the center of it stands the smashan — the place where the body ends, where attachment is confronted, and where the distinction between life and death becomes impossible to ignore. 

Source & Note

This article is based on Robert E. Svoboda’s Aghora: At the Left Hand of God. The material has been edited and adapted for this publication.