Indo-Fijian funeral

Two verbatim journal entries from earlier today describe it best:

9:35 am
Sip of chai on a concrete slab outside the front door of Premila mami's family's home in Cuvu village. Nana on a chair speaking with the crippled father of a man who died last week and was turned to ash & bone yesterday. We'll be making the 10-minute drive to the cemetery shortly, where the dead man's sons will collect whatever is left of their father and release it to the sea. Women's voices inside, occasional laughter. Oldest son, maybe 17, carries offerings. He and his two brothers set the fire that consumed their father's body beneath a blazing afternoon sun. Baba mama sits beside me, says morning heat means afternoon rain. Fijians in nearby dwelling peer through bush, smile, return to chores.
11:55 am
Back from cemetery and Cuvu Beach. Sitting on mat in shade but sweating madly. Same scenario as earlier -- men outside, women inside -- but dirty business is done. Among questions asked by rental car agents, I don't believe "Will you be transporting human remains?" is one of them. Yet there was my Budget-logoed Mazda 4x4 pulling out of the hilltop cemetery with bags of human ash and bone in the bed. Drove to the beach along overgrown Coral Coast railway tracks and then a sandy track. Nana led the two oldest sons through prayers (as he had at the cemetery) before the boys walked into the lagoon and emptied the bags. Speed boat trawling tourists from Shangri-La's Fijian Resort came roaring past, sending ripples over a drifting brown cloud dissolving into turquoise.