Converging from all sides, they formed a merry parade behind the main attraction as it was moved on its bamboo stretcher from its drying rack to its next station at the ghat, and set down on the ground beside the capacious altar of sandalwood constructed for it by the Doms. Cows and goats squeezed through the crowd in anticipation of a grand feast as the cords were untied and the appetizers and salads of beribboned cloth and flower garlands cast off; dogs pressed in to sniff out the territory, chewing on bones dredged from the scummy water. With a great communal intake of breath and a deep grunt, the Doms joined hands to heave the body wrapped in the thin sack of its shroud onto the bed of the pyre, which partially sank under its weight, collapsing the lattice-like gaps between the pieces of wood expertly arranged for the flow of oxygen to feed the flames. There it rested on top of the altar, served up, its pathetic mortal shape fully on view for all to see. The staggering mound of its torso rose behind its feet, which were pointed in the general direction of Mother Ganga as if about to soon set out. The Doms went to work piling the sandalwood on the peak of the belly, the logs sliding down its slope one after another, to the jolly amusement of the bystanders, until at last an artful meshing was devised, and the body was entirely encased in kindling, leaving only the knob of the hooded head exposed at the other end of its soaring bell curve.

The little priest, who had stationed himself at my side so close I could hear his neurons synapsing, rummaged deep inside his dhoti, then pulled out a cell phone. There had been no ring, he must have set it on vibrate. With the phone pressed to his ear he was nodding emphatically, but since no sound came out of his mouth, my eyes followed the arc of his gaze, which was focused intensely up the slope of the ghat to the very top, where Manika was positioned talking animatedly into her cell phone, gesturing furiously. Manika was directing the show from above, she was the power behind the throne, pulling all the strings. It was an exquisitely complex and above all sensitive operation to bring together, not least because each of its elements was in violation of the faith, from its leading lady, the Hebrew corpse herself in all her splendor, to its supporting cast of bearers and mourners of ambiguous gender. But this little sweeper and excrement wiper Manika was on top of every detail. She was wielding the clout of money. The priest too was on retainer and was being lavishly rewarded.