Manikarnika Ghat in Varanasi, India (Viewer discretion is advised.)

 My morning in Varanasi didn’t go as planned. I woke up still feeling overwhelmed by the previous evening’s experiences. I didn’t join a guided tour or visit famous temples or monuments. Instead, I decided to wander on foot along the banks of the Ganges, curious to see if I could recognise the different ghats I’d read about in travel guides.Heading towards the waterfront, I soon found myself caught up in an enormous crowd—thousands of Hindu pilgrims, each with their own sense of purpose and urgency. (Apart from a French couple quietly eating breakfast at my guesthouse, I didn’t spot another tourist all morning.) 

Navigating through these masses of people was intense. Eventually, I found a quieter space to pause, sip some water, and catch my breath. A sweet scent mixed with smoke drifting from nearby caught my attention. Intrigued, I climbed the stairs toward the smoke spiraling upward. Soon, I realised I was at Manikarnika Ghat, one of the holiest cremation sites in Hinduism.

What I saw next was hot, intense, and nearly overwhelming—multiple funeral pyres burning simultaneously, each symbolising life’s endless cycle. Suddenly, there was a harsh call: another body had arrived, carried by family members on a bamboo stretcher. The body was wrapped in white cloth, decorated with bright fabrics and flower garlands. Male relatives softly chanted, “Ram Naam Satya Hai,” meaning “The name of God is Truth.” 

Beside me stood a friendly local man practicing his English. He explained the rituals as we watched. First, the body was briefly dipped into the holy Ganges to purify the soul, then carefully placed onto the wooden pyre. Traditionally, only men perform these ceremonies; women usually remain at a distance. Each cremation requires about 200–300 kilograms of wood. Families negotiate the type and cost with wood vendors. Sandalwood is more expensive, while mango or banyan wood is more affordable. Usually, the eldest son or another male relative shaves his head and dresses in white as a sign of mourning. 

Today, though, I noticed the main mourner wore modern clothes, showing how traditions might slowly be changing.Before lighting the pyre with a sacred eternal flame called the “Akhand Jyoti,” which has burned continuously for centuries, the mourner circled around the pyre five times to honor the five elements—earth, water, fire, air, and space.I found myself unable to leave, standing for hours silently watching the fire burn. A few family members remained close by. I learned that openly crying is discouraged, as tears are believed to hold the soul back from reaching liberation (moksha).Once the fire died down, a worker roughly scooped up the small, shrivelled remains onto a shovel, walked to the waterfront, and tossed them unceremoniously into the river. Next to him stood a man dressed entirely in white with a shaved head. He scooped water from the Ganges with a small clay flask and threw it onto the glowing embers, marking the end of the ceremony.

Walking away, I felt drained and couldn’t help reflecting on what I had just witnessed. 

Later, my guest house owner—an elegant, polished man—spoke passionately about his beliefs. With genuine conviction, he explained that in Hinduism, souls don’t travel to a fixed heaven or hell after death. Instead, the soul returns repeatedly through cycles of rebirth, learning and evolving until it finally achieves moksha, the ultimate freedom. Moksha is liberation from this endless cycle, where the soul merges with the supreme divine force known as Brahman and never returns to earth again.His eyes lit up as he described moksha as eternal bliss and ultimate peace—a state of perfect unity with the divine. He emphasised proudly that those cremated in Varanasi, this sacred city, achieve moksha immediately. No more cycles, just direct liberation.

Listening to him speak so sincerely about these beliefs made me realise how deeply meaningful these rituals and traditions are to him and millions of others. Different religions tell us many stories about life after death, stories that can sometimes feel like fairy tales. After all, very few, if any, have returned to share what really happens next. Maybe I’m simply too insensitive or skeptical to fully grasp their deeper meanings. But today, standing at Manikarnika Ghat, I was reminded just how complex—and deeply human—our beliefs about life and death truly are.