When the boatmen found the body in the river, they should have thought nothing of it. There was nothing unusual in steering past floating a...
When the boatmen found the body in the river, they should have thought nothing of it. There was nothing unusual in steering past floating arms and blackened buttocks, in putting an oar into the river and having to reposition it when you found a soot-streaked foot barring your way.
Everyone knew the Doms were cheap folk with no respect for proper funeral rites, greedy for the few rupees they might save by snuffing a pyre before the fire had claimed an entire body, dumping the charred corpse into the river, and selling the half-burnt wood to another gullible family too grief-stricken to know the difference.
The two boatmen had been out early, before the veil of morning fog lifted from the river. They shared a boat, one man at each end, and passed a bottle between them. They steered themselves to the middle of the river, to a spot shrouded in dense fog between the holy city of Kashi and the cursed far shore called Magadha.
