Though perhaps a little morbid to write about a friend’s funeral, the way they treat death here is significantly different to what most of us experience and something I felt I should share. It’s about 7 weeks now since Ravi died, so a little easier to write about his death but also hard to acknowledge that distance has already started to kick in as life moves on.
Funerals in Sri Lanka last 7 days and nights. After the death of a family member the house they lived in becomes a ‘funeral house’ where family, friends and the local community spend the next 7 days awake at the funeral house paying respects to those they lost. I can imagine that in many cases as someone older passes away this is quite a celebration of life, however in Ravi’s case the loss of a 24 year old was much harder to face.
day 1 – the night Ravi died his mother, father, brother and sister were immediately surrounded by family and friends; plastic chairs were delivered, temporary huts were put up in the garden, white banners of sympathy started to arrive and be placed on the fences and trees around the house, money and food were donated to pay for the funeral costs and feed the helpers for the next 7 days.
day 2 – we arrived from Colombo having come back the morning after we heard the terrible news of Ravi’s accident. The house which I had known as such a happy place was engulfed in an eerie sadness, everyone was numb and it was hard to contemplate that Ravi had really gone. His father was angry and would not allow Ravi’s closest friends to the funeral house needing someone to blame for such a pointless death. Very difficult for them as they too needed to grieve and say goodbye, so they hid in the background keeping out of his way. At 11pm that night Ravi’s body was brought to the house dramatically as a huge thunder storm brewed up (the first we’d had for months).
Ravi – the eldest son – was returned to the main room of the house (the room had been emptied except for a few flowers and an enclosure with chairs around one side), he arrived in a huge shiny coffin which opened up a little like a giant tool box, and above it 2 large elephant tusks on stands were crossed to hover over and protect the body. Inside the coffin Ravi’s body was lying on white padding dressed in a smart black tie suit looking peaceful and smarter than I had ever seen him! Everyone stood around the body looking at Ravi and marking their respect – this was to be the custom for the next few days. That night there was a strange sense of calm mixed with the melancholy, and Ravi’s brother Udara explained to me that this calm was because Ravi was back home amongst them, even if only for a few days.
day 3 – the funeral house became a place to drop by for 10 minutes or so during the day, before everyone arrived at night to show their respect and sit with the family all night. Returning the following day was much easier, it seemed apt to go in and see Ravi - standing with silent thoughts watching him peacefully oblivious to the grief that surrounded him. Beautiful little purple petals had been placed around his body and the room had the scent of the Sri Lankan temple flower – slightly vanilla sweet but pleasant and soothing. Ravi’s father had calmed down and his anger subsided enough to allow Ravi’s friends to spend time at the house and help out with all the funeral arrangements (a positive side to the long funeral house as there is time to adjust and take stock as happened here).
Day 3 was a Friday and in SL on a Friday you cannot do any work for a funeral until after midnight. More and more people arrived to be at the funeral house - friends from Colombo, family from far away and those of us from the local area. Everyone sat quite peacefully talking about Ravi. Small cousins brought biscuits in cardboard box trays and sweet tea or coffee in tea cups to thank everyone for being there. At midnight they started work. Ravi’s father wanted him to be near to the house so they chose a spot opposite to bury him - family land where his father could walk out of the house each morning and look across the road to be close to him. Within 4 hours a JCB had arrived and cleared the land of the small building and trees upon it plus taken away the debris, and the boys had dug the grave for Ravi to be buried in.
day 4 – a lovely photo of Ravi that Bron had taken last September had become a poster detailing the funeral arrangements placed around the village, also it had been used alongside a beautiful poem written by one of his Seenigama friends, and it was to be used on Ravi’s grave. Upsetting that a photo we took at a happy time could be used for something so sad, but good that the family had a memory of him in this way. By the evening a big concrete cover had already been set over the grave with a hole at the end for the body to go in; the concrete was being expertly tiled with white tiles at a speed we rarely see Sri Lankans operate. Everyone was helping out. Bizarrely a lot of the money donated to the funeral had to go to the helpers to pay for their booze, weed and cigarettes to get them through the nights.
We left at 2am by which time Ravi’s friends were preparing the street for the funeral to be held the next day – natural streamers made out of vines and leaves would be made to criss-cross the street above us, posters and flowers would line the street up from the main road to the house, thoranas (decorated arches) were built by his best friends garlanded with red and green flowers and placed at the top of the main road and at the entrance to the grave. As they said, they all put in as much work as they could to give their friend the send off he deserved. They wrote a lovely piece to Ravi asking him to be amongst them when he comes back in his next life.
day 5 – this was the day of the funeral. We arrived at 1.30pm shortly before the whole of Seenigama School came to pay their respects. As we stood by Ravi’s body school kids dressed in their perfect white uniforms filed in the door and walked around Ravi’s body from young kids to the older students quietly shuffling through before taking a seat outside. Next arrived about 5 of the local temple’s monks all dressed in their orange robes. They chanted and comforted the family for about half an hour as hundreds of us stood around the garden exhausted from lack of sleep and grief gently soothed by the monotony of the chanting. When the monks left, Ravi’s coffin was closed up and led by his friends up and down the street accompanied by the local papare band playing trumpets and drums. Those carrying the coffin are not supposed to touch the ground so 2 boys worked relentlessly using 2 sheets laying one for the coffin bearers to walk on whilst throwing the previous sheet forward to lay on the road as the group moved on. This was fast and frenetic and the procession moved up and down both ends of the street before returning to the grave. Once more the coffin was opened for everyone to say a final goodbye. Close friends and family circled the grave about 10 times while the rest of us looked on, then the coffin was pushed from the side into the grave and it was concreted shut. As this was being finished again the skies opened up to rain and a thunder storm.
day 7 – having been totally exhausted from lack of sleep and an emotional time we kept to ourselves the day after the funeral, catching up on work and sleep. On day 7 we went back to the house at 7pm for the final chanting in the family main room. This was one monk chanting for an hour with us all packed onto the floor in the room and people spilling out of the door. In true Sri Lankan style the monk arrived in a big builder's lorry picked up by a friend of the family. I don’t know what he chanted but it was very beautiful and I’m sure helped put the family at peace. Once the monk left we piled outside to sit on chairs eating chocolate Munchee biscuits and drinking sweet coffee. This was when the biggest storm descended upon us – almighty cracks of lightening spiked the ground all around the house and of course there was a complete blackout. The sky was lit by forked lightening and the rain angrily sheeted down (I’m not a believer in any which way but the timing of the storms, and the crescendo of their ferocity through the days of the funeral house were really quite incredible). The roads were flooded and we had to wade our way out of the village before getting a lift home from the same builder’s lorry who had delivered the monk.
The following morning the family gave alms to the monks at the local temple (taking them food and drink in the morning). 3 months after Ravi’s death on June 28th they will have a big alms giving at their house providing family and friends with food, which will then happen every year on the anniversary of Ravi’s death. A lovely way to keep remembering someone so vibrant, and in general it’s a less upsetting way of keeping those that have left us in our thoughts.
A Sri Lankan Farewell to our friend Ravi
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