The funeral pyres of Kathmandu

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I’m sitting on the steps overlooking the funeral pyres at Pashupatinath Temple in Kathmandu. It’s a strange feeling, watching life here.

These are those intimate moments, the final stages between a man and his wife, a mother and her son, a child and a grandparent. Watching family members wash bodies and perform Hindu funeral rites, hearing the anguished cries of a loved one as a body is placed atop a pyre ready for cremation.

I’m not sure how I feel about it, sitting here, a spectator to these intimate moments.

It’s fascinating, of course, the location, the buildings, the scenes. But it’s also unsettling, like we’re encroaching, stepping into someone’s story on what is the worst day of their life.

I’m here with a small group of travellers, some I’ve travelled with before, others I hadn’t met until this trip, but we’re all here as volunteers with Aussie Action Abroad and this outing is helping us learn a little more about the local cultures and customs in Nepal.

Pashupatinath is one of the most sacred temples in Nepal. In truth, it’s a series of about 518 temples set on the ghats of the sacred Bagmati River. People come every day to say their final farewells to their loved ones, to usher them into the next life via the funeral pyres that smoke constantly.

The site, recognised as a UNESCO World Heritage site, dates back to the fifth century and is the oldest Hindu temple in Kathmandu.

But what stands out the most in this moment of death is the colour and life surrounding us on the steps of the Bagmati River.

It’s a fascinating site.

We take photos to take in the spectacle, intrigued by the funeral processions and rituals, so different to our own at home in Australia.

We watch as locals leave offerings and crowd over bodies. Most of the time there is a constant hum of chatter and the flutter of wings as pigeons take flight, but every now and again a heart-wrenching wail rises above the hum. The outward anguish at life lost, the misery of moving forward with one less loved one in this world.

In Hinduism death is celebrated and the bodies here are being prepared for the next life, but there is still the pain that comes with losing someone close, of knowing how that person will be missed in this life and the loneliness those left behind will inevitably feel.

There is the quiet contemplation of a life extinguished. The anguished faces of men holding back tears.

But then, too, there is the undercurrent of tourism and the money to be made from the thousands of tourists who visit this site every year.

There is the colourful cloths and faces of the sadhu – Holy men who have given up family and possessions and spend their time in spiritual practice and meditation. There are Sadhu sitting in deep meditation and ‘Sadhu’ offering to pose for photos for 100 rupiah, $AUD1 for a photo.

They could earn $60 an hour, but most people simply steal a photo. Surreptitiously snap a photo on the sly, hoping the Sadhu won’t notice.

There are people having their photos taken with the endless ceremonies taking place behind them. Dressed in all their finery.

There are blessings offered to passersby, people selling beads and charms, there are palm readers and Hindu teachers offering life lessons.

I don’t buy any of the items on offer, though I’m tempted to have my fortune told to see how my own life might turn out according to the Nepalese fortune tellers.

Instead I walk up and down the steps stopping as I pass temples and sleeping dogs. I watch the cows and monkeys stealing flowers to eat and pigeons beginning the circle of life.

And I sit in quiet contemplation.

It’s hard not to contemplate life when death is all around.