ABSTRACT
One hot afternoon in May, a slight breeze broke my sleep. Tara was sitting next to me, waving a palm-leaf fan. Seeing that I was awake, she told me that Chayna’s mother had died, adding that her body was still at the hospital. I then became aware of a woman wailing in the distance. I rose, and as I straightened out my sari, Tara explained that Chayna’s nephew had left the village to notify her other sisters. But she said, “Two of them live in Bihar. They will not reach our village in time to view the body. The type of funeral given is uncertain. Chayna and her relatives are Vaishnava householders (grihastha), not sadhus. So who knows whether they will burn their mother’s body or bury her?”
