I wondered if my mother's soul had flown there, to that shining place in the river. In the distance, an island of white sand glistened in the sunlight, and boats full of people were heading to that island. Chunks of wood were being built into funeral pyres on the steps of the ghat that went down into the water four bodies were burning on the ghat steps when we got there. A wooden platform had been built by the edge of the ghat, just above the water logs were piled up on the platform, and men with axes were smashing the logs. Then there was a gigantic noise: firewood being split. I smelled the river before I saw it: a stench of decaying flesh rising from my right. We walked past temple after temple, praying to god after god, and then went in a single file between a red temple devoted to Hanuman and an open gymnasium where three body builders heaved rusted weights over their heads.
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