again to the four elements: to Earth, which fed it during such a long
time and out of which it grew and developed; to Fire, emblem of purity,
that has just devoured the body in order that the spirit may be rid
of everything impure, and may freely gravitate to the new sphere of
posthumous existence, where every sin is a stumbling block on the way to
"Moksha," or infinite bliss; to Air, which it inhaled and through which
it lived, and to Water, which purified it physically and spiritually,
and is now to receive its ashes into her pure bosom.

The adjective "pure" must be understood in the figurative sense of the
mantram. Generally speaking, the rivers of India, beginning with the
thrice sacred Ganges, are dreadfully dirty, especially near villages and
towns.

In these rivers about two hundred millions of people daily cleanse
themselves from the tropical perspiration and dirt. The corpses of
those who are not worth burning are thrown in the same rivers, and their
number is great, because it includes all Shudras, pariahs, and various
other outcasts, as well as Brahman children under three years of age.

Only rich and high-born people are buried pompously. It is for them that
the sandal-wood fires are lit after sunset; it is for them that mantrams
are chanted, and for them that the gods are invoked. But Shudras must
not listen on any account to the divine words dictated at the beginning
of the world by the four Rishis to Veda Vyasa, the great theologian of
Aryavarta. No fires for them, no prayers. As during his life a Shudra
never approaches a temple nearer than seven steps, so even after death
he cannot be put on the same level with the "twice-born."

Brightly burn the fires, extending like a fiery serpent along the river.
The dark outlines of strange, wildly-fantastical figures silently move
amongst the flames. Sometimes they raise their arms towards the sky, as
if in a prayer, sometimes they add fuel to the fires and poke them with
long iron pitchforks. The dying flames rise high, creeping and dancing,
sputtering with melted human fat and shooting towards the sky whole
showers of golden sparks, which are instantly lost in the clouds of
black smoke.

This on the right side of the river. Let us now see what is going on
on the left. In the early hours of the morning, when the red fires, the
black clouds of miasmas, and the thin figures of the fakirs grow dim and
vanish little by little, when the smell of burned flesh is