Three generations, men and women, all dressed in white, had gathered to say goodbye to the family matriarch. Three generations of women had asked to have private time with the deceased and I arranged for them to go to a room on one side of the chapel. After they emerged, I could see they had placed a tulsi leaf (a holy plant to Hindus, I later learned) on the deceased's lips and a silk scarf around her neck.
As guests arrived, they followed the lead of the family members who had arrived earlier, leaving their shoes neatly in the chapel’s foyer as they entered on the cold stone floor and took their seats. At the door were perhaps 80 pairs of shoes.
She lay in a casket, of sorts, one that is generally intended for cremation. It is a simple, fiberboard container covered with a textured and patterned blue cloth. After the women had finished their ritual, the decedent was brought into the Chapel of Peace. The Chapel of Peace is a historic stone building on the West Laurel Hill Cemetery grounds. The chapel itself is rather small (it seats 100 people) and its architecture feels church-like, though it is non-denominational. As a convenience for some families who choose cremation, a crematory has been discreetly added to the rear of the chapel building.
The Hindu priest, dressed in white, intoned mantras. The service was longer than I expected, and because it was conducted entirely in Hindi, and because there was no audible emotion in the prayers, it was hard, as an onlooker, to sense where we were in the order of things. The prayers sounded repetitive, which I now understand to be the essence of mantra itself. A mantra is intended to focus concentration.
Near the end, the deceased's eldest son and eldest daughter each gave eulogies to their mom, in English. Both eulogies felt constrained and the son's even a bit wooden. Although the daughter was reading her remarks, there were moments when the emotional weight of the occasion broke through.
The eulogies were followed by more mantras. And then the priest stopped chanting.
One of the adult children retrieved an enormous wicker basket filled with multi-colored rose petals. One after the other, each family member reached into the basket, cupped their hands, and placed rose petals around the body. Then, without instruction, the Indian and non-Indian guests lined up in the center aisle and each stepped forward, scooped up a large handful of rose petals and placed them in the casket.
After everyone had placed rose petals, there was still an equal amount of rose petals left in the basket. One of the grown children then lifted the basket and poured the remaining petals into the casket. The deceased was now fully covered by a blanket of rose petals.
And now, with everyone returned to their seats, the three generations of men came around the casket and, with our guidance, rolled it into the crematory, which is behind a plain wooden door. The other immediate family members followed.
The casket was then transferred to a lift, which is designed to raise the casket to the height of the retort, the technical name for the crematory oven itself. They rolled her off the lift and into the preheated retort and the attendant, Miguel, gently closed the heavy metal doors.
To the eldest son fell the duty of initiating the cremation. He hesitated for a moment and then, in the presence of his family, he pushed the lighted green button, which unleashes a torrent of flames inside the retort. And then, having done his duty, he broke down.