Page 59 of A Thousand Broken Pieces

Cael

Varanasi, India

THERE WERE PEOPLE EVERYWHERE.EACH NARROW, WINDING ALLEY WEwalked down was gradually filling with bigger crowds. The smell of spices and tea permeated the air from the vendors who were selling food and drink on the sidewalks as we passed.

Everything was out in the open here in Varanasi. It was almost overwhelming to the senses, and the city was filled with so many different things to see, to absorb, my mind spun. There were barbers cutting off people’s hair for religious purposes. Pictures of brightly painted Hindu gods decorating the city. It was bustling and loud and filled with what can only be described aslife.

Savannah held on to me tightly as we wove through the alleyways, following Mia and Leo as we approached the river that Varanasi was famous for. The river Ganges. Our guide, Kabir, had already told us of this river. In Hindu culture it was believed to have healing properties. The pilgrims who made the once-in-a-lifetime trip to the Ganges would immerse themselves into the river and let the sacred water wash away their impurities and sins.

The water flowing through a person’s hands was also a way to remembertheir ancestors, the dead. My chest had pulled tightly when Kabir had mentioned that.

It was early morning, the sun barely in the sky, and we arrived at the Assi Ghat—a wide stretch of steps on the Ganges’s riverbank. As soon as we reached the top of the ghat, I came to a stop at the scene before me. Laughter rose out of the mass of people congregated in the river. People of all ages, from old people down to infants. They scooped up the water, pouring it over them, letting it fall back into the river.

A sense of awe filled me. Just hearing their laughter, them living in this moment, believing this water was remitting their sins, was a memory I knew would never fade.

“This moment, for many of them,” Kabir said, “will be one of the greatest highlights of their lives.” Kabir smiled down at the children splashing, and I pulled Savannah close to me.

There was something about this place that seemed to calm me. Kabir had explained when we’d arrived that this city was known as the place where life met death. A highly spiritual place, sacred to those of the Hindu religion. And you could feel it. You could feel happiness from pilgrims and tourists alike, but you could also feel the heavy cloak of death hovering by. Like every stage of life swirled into a huge mixing pot, bubbling around you.

I looked up and turned to view the ghats at the very bottom of the eighty-something row that sat on the riverside. Those were ghats of cremation. Twenty-four hours a day, bodies of the dead were burned here. Their ashes placed into the Ganges to purify them in death. Kabir had explained to us that it was a Hindu belief that if a person died here in Varanasi, or their body was brought here to be cremated, they would break free from the cycle of reincarnation and reach nirvana.

Because of this, the city was always busy, loved ones wanting to give their deceased family members the greatest gift of all—the eternal gift of paradise.

I’d gazed up those ghats in the distance and felt a pang in my chest. I would love to have given Cillian something like this. Would love to have given him a piece of heaven after the hell he’d so secretly lived in.

The cremation gnats never stopped. Ash from their chimneys floated into the air. Kabir had told us that Varanasi was a city where death and lifewere intertwined stages of being. Not hidden behind doors and kept private but lived out in the public for everyone to see.

Savannah had been quiet since we got here. As had most of the group. It was a heady place to see. Could be confusing to those of us not of this faith and culture. But we were determined to learn. Leo and Mia had said this section of the trip was about facing mortality. Goa and the Agra District had slowly eased us into that notion—systematic desensitization, Mia and Leo had called it. Varanasi was us plunging straight in. And we felt it. Felt the discomfort of death shadowing our every move.

We sat down on the steps and watched the people within the river. They were elated.

“It’s so beautiful to see,” Savannah said, dressed in loose pink pants and a flowing white shirt. “To see people of such a steadfast faith experiencing this moment.” She smiled. It was the smile I’d come to know as her Poppy smile. When she was remembering her sister fondly. It had been emerging more frequently since our time in the Agra District. She also had a desolate look I’d come to know too, when her thoughts of her sister weren’t quite as easy. I was happy to see this smile becoming less frequent.

“Poppy was such a believer in a higher being.” She pointed at a woman who had fully immersed herself in the river, delicately, showing the water her utmost respect. “It’s like a baptism.”

Savannah looked at me then. “Even when you don’t share that belief, how can you watch a scene like this and not feel a sense of calm and peace? How can you not be swept away by the joy and serenity this ritual gives these people? A monumental moment in their spiritual journey. It’s incredible,” Savannah said.

There was an older man off to the right, alone, praying. A young couple holding hands as they immersed themselves in the water together. My heart missed a beat when they emerged and looked to each other with such love it was almost too much to witness.

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” I said and continued watching. We watched until the sun rose higher in the sky and the ghat we were sitting at became too busy to stay.

As we made our way back toward our hotel, we stopped when a processionof people came walking through. My heart sank when I realized what I was witnessing. Kabir had told us to be prepared.

A family was carrying their deceased family member on a bed of sorts. The deceased was wrapped in white linen and being carried toward the direction of the cremation ghat. I was so shocked seeing this up close that my body locked up.

Flashbacks of holding Cillian in my arms grabbed hold of me and refused to let go. I felt my chest getting tighter and my heart beating out of sync. It was only made worse when Savannah’s hand flinched in my own, and when I looked down at her, she rapidly descended into panic. Her face had blanched, and her breathing was choppy.

“Sav,” I said, my voice raspy. I was trying to be there for her, but I couldn’t rid my mind of Cill. I felt like if I looked down, I’d see him in my arms … gone.

Savannah stumbled, her anxiety taking full control. Her frightened face was enough to get me moving. I stepped in front of her, blocking her view. The procession faded from sight, and I cupped Savannah’s cheeks and said, “Focus on me, Peaches. Look at me.” She did. And in the middle of the alleyway with people pushing past, I said, “Breathe in for eight.” My voice was weakened by my own thoughts, but I had to get her through this. She had been doing so well. But that was grief. One trigger, and all we had fought for seemed to dissipate to dust and we were thrust back several steps.

“Hold for four. Feel and hear your heartbeat slowing.” Savannah did what I said, only for her attention to drift to the alley again. Her eyes widened, and her breathing became staccato. I turned to see what she was looking at, only to see another family procession carrying their loved one to their cremation.

A strained cry slipped from Savannah’s lips. Mia quickly came beside us. She took one look at Savannah and said, “This way. We need to get her back to the hotel.”

Savannah curled into me so tightly, I was almost carrying her. She seemed so small in my arms. She kept her head hidden in my chest, and I shielded her from any more triggers. We passed four more processions before we even got to our hotel.

As we gathered in the foyer, Mia and Leo quickly took us all into theconference room that we were using for our group sessions. We had one in every hotel we stayed at.

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