From Thee, Unto Thee!

The temperature was 7 below zero. Though the time is almost ten in the morning, the treeless landscape refused to let the sun rise affect the temperature. Thankfully, it was dry, so no snowfall.

The old woman, Zhang, who must be in her late 80s was trudging along the street. She was bent, almost at 45 degrees and the walking stick made not so steady sound as she moved. It was her morning routine. To go to her friend's place across the village and exchange a few pleasantries and pass time. Both friends enjoy this daily ritual. The second old woman has some problems moving around hence Yin has to make this trip. 'It does help in making the blood run in this old frame', she thought as she reached her friend's home.

Jiang usually would doze all day on the old cot in her favourite spot, in the hall by the eastern wall, where she could get some sun, if at all. Her son Wu, who worked in the nearby plastic factory, ensured she got the best possible spot in the house. Her schedule invariably involved waiting for her grand children who while going to school or village community centre, greet her and chat with her. And of course, Zhang’s usual tryst in the mid-morning. She used to sing old folk songs of her time and talk to her daughter in law occasionally, who herself was almost fifty.

Jiang, who is slightly elder to Zhang, was at home as usual but certainly not at peace that day. January not exactly being a kind month, the chill went up to the bones. But the cold was not the thing in her mind at that time. Zhang hardly stepped in, she started speaking immediately. The toothless chatter unless one made a conscious effort, would not be intelligible. But her daily trips made Zhang proficient in making sense of her friend’s blabbering.

‘What has come over the government now? They can’t let us die in peace too.’

Zhang asked, ‘Now what is it about?’

‘My son told me they are getting new legislation in the province. They want land so coffins are out. Cremation has to be done! Can you believe this nonsense? Mao had this madness and his own body still is kept there! ‘

‘Sshh’, cautioned Zhang, ‘ This may be just like that. Now China has changed. It is 2014. Nobody would force things like this. Our administrator of Anhui province would not allow that.’

‘They better not!’, warned Jiang, ‘ It has happened in Henan province already it seems. They flattened graves to get farmland. No respect for the dead ancestors at all’.

‘In Jianxi province too, they are planning to have only cremations. No idea what the world is coming to. Now during Qin Ming festival, where will all these go to venerate these ancestors? Instead of going to graves and tidying up those graves, these people would polish those urns having ashes?’

Jiang said wistfully, ‘ Remember, how we used to have proper rituals for such occasions. Like white banner over the door of the household to show someone has passed away. Proper ‘shou ling’ ( vigil over the dying in shifts by family members) used to be kept. ‘Fu wen’ ( Obituary notice) was sent to relatives. And how soberly dressed they come, in white, blue, green robes. Then the ‘Fa yin’ (the funeral procession) used to be so grand and proper’

Zhang sighed and was silent for a while. Then said, ‘My coffin is ready since last 15 years. Imagine, my son made it from the wood from our own field. Every day I look at it before getting out of home’.

‘ Yes. I too do the same. They are supposed to be our homes after we die. Who would want to be burnt down to ashes? Where would be the memoirs? Our ancestors still are on our land. And we should also’

Zhang said ‘Let us hope, we are allowed to die that way and be on our land’

The conversation ended on that note that day.

By March, there was an executive order in some of the provinces including ‘Anhui’ to hand over the coffins to the coffin collectors within a month. The protests were not allowed. The people were anguished yet could do nothing about it.

Wu came home that day. He sat near his mother, ‘ We have to give up the coffin day after tomorrow, mother. That is the last day to hand over’.

Jiang sat silently. She was staring at a white robe she hung inside her wooden cupboard. It was supposed to be her funeral dress before ‘Da lian’ (transferring the body into the coffin) takes place. She was already told by her son about this a few weeks back. But there was no further discussion in the household about this.

‘ So one dies after two days, they would be cremated? That is how the things would be in the whole Anhui?’

‘Yes mother’, Wu answered with downcast eyes.

‘What to do? We are helpless. Let us sleep then.’

Not knowing what else to say, he put out the lamp and went to his room.

Next day morning, Zhang entered the house of Jiang at the usual hour but with a bag. Both, for a change, did not speak anything till the house was clear. Wu already left for the factory, his children to school and his wife to the nearby market for duck meat.

Zhang took the two bottles out of her bag.

‘ Does it work?’ Jiang asked without taking her eyes off the little bottle.

‘Was told it would!’

Zhang took out her cream-colored robe out from her bag and wrapped herself. She got the white robe from the cupboard as asked by her friend and wrapped it around Jiang. They looked at each other and smiled. Then they drank from those bottles.

Their smiles were still there when after an hour or so, Wu’s wife discovered their lifeless bodies and screamed.

Theirs were the last funerals ever to happen in the province.

 (Inspired by the issue of cremation vs inhumation in various provinces of China in recent times and how people reacted. Suicides did happen in some cases)