The extraordinary sewa of Jatinder Singh Shunty
It is 8.30 pm at the Seemapuri Cremation ground in Delhi. The large plot of land, (the size of a football field) adjoining the Crematorium is now also being used to cremate the excessive number of those dying in the second wave of Covid. Surrounded by looming silhouettes of dark unplanned multistoried houses against an overcast sky, the ground is a patchwork of ash and smoke. The flames leaping out from five unattended burning pyres and the embers glowing under white ash of several others form a stark apocalyptical vision of death. The eerie twilight silence is deepened by the crackle of burning pyre wood, and a distant siren of an ambulance darting across space like surround sound. My camera is pointed at the man in a blue and white PPE kit walking towards me through a curtain of smoke holding a piece of wood with a flame at its far end. Like a lone figure that completes the depiction of a dystopian landscape, Jatinder Singh Shunty is heading to light another pyre.
In the past year, Shunty, a former MLA from Shahadra and two-time municipal councillor, along with his group of 22 volunteers of the Shaheed Bhagat Singh Sewa Dal (SBSSD) have cremated more than 3551 dead bodies at the Seemapuri Crematorium, which they have taken it on lease from the MCD. Of these, 2200 have been cremated only in the last 6 weeks only — most of them being victims of the second wave of Covid 19. “These are bodies that relatives leave at the doors of the cremation ground and also those that are abandoned in the hospitals with the families not wanting to handle them because of the fear getting infected,” he explains “We have worked for 16 to 18 hours at a stretch in the second wave of Covid," which he says has “shaken him to the core.”
“In the magnitude of the deaths and the tragic manner in which people have died, it compares to the Partition, the anti-Sikh riots or the Bhopal gas tragedy,” he states.
Using their fleet of 18 ambulances, Shunty and the volunteers of the SBSSD, start the day early, picking up bodies from hospitals or homes where people have died. They sanitise the bodies, pack them in plastic covers and bring them to crematoriums.
The next morning, an ambulance lines up at the crematorium door, with three bodies wrapped in white PPE covers. Shunty and an SBSSD volunteer climb in unhesitatingly and with a deft economy of movement, they pull the bodies onto wheeled stretchers. While they are lowering the third body, the tape of the cover opens up showing the body. The onlookers back off in a panic. Without any fuss, Shunty moves in and puts the tape back and carries on carting the bodies to the cremation platform. Here he joins in the volunteers to cart the wood and himself places the large logs on which the rest of the wood is stacked. There is a lone relative of one of the deceased. Shunty guides him to light the fire and then holds him in an embrace as he breaks down. He then stands next to each of the three pyres with folded hands for a minute occasionally checking on the fire and adding more wood. “Don’t you feel exhausted?” I ask. “April 17, was the worst day, we cremated 118 bodies and it takes four quintals of wood to cremate one body. I ferried wood the whole day on my shoulders and still didn’t feel tired,” he replies, adding, “I am still surprised as to where I get the energy for this because at home I can’t even lift a bucket full of water – I think the power comes from God alone.“
This work, however, is not new to Shunty, who formed SBSSD in 1995 after he was pierced by the sight of a poor villager at Delhi’s Nigam Bodh Ghat, gathering half-burnt wood from the pyre to cremate his kid as he had no money to buy wood. Since then he has helped cremate 44000 bodies, most of the unclaimed or those of families too poor to pay for the funeral. When asked how does he manage to funds this he says, “I was helped in this initially by friends and later by numerous donors who help fund our efforts.”. He then points to the two new ICU ambulances given to him by Bollywood superstar Akshay Kumar. “It is not my effort but God and Guru Tegh Bahadur who is working through me”. His work has been widely recognised and played out in national as well as international media. In January this year, he was awarded the Padma Shri for his extraordinary work.
What really inspires him to go about this work — cremating bodies day after day —something which is socially seen as ‘unclean’ work in our country? “I have faced a lot of stigmas, have even been called a shroud seller and a trader of dead bodies,” he reminisces and affirms. “But in the face of that, I am inspired by the Gurbani Verse — De Shiva var mohe ihe shubh karman te kab hu na darun (Grant me the boon O Lord, that I never hesitate to do the righteous action).”
Lighting the last pyre of the day, he sits on a stack of wood stumps to drink some water. There is a documentary filmmaker asking him some questions about his experiences during the Covid times. Shunty looks into the distance, his gaze laden with a stoic sadness. It is the look of eyes that have seen too much. “More than humans I have seen the death of humanity in this past one month, the brazen naked dance of corruption as people and hospitals have skinned humans of their money in the hours of their desperation”
“I have seen families abandon their dead – they have no problem removing the gold and the jewellery from the dead but leave the body at our doorstep to do the cremation. I can’t forget the sight of a young 21-year-old girl who was driving with the body of her father to get him cremated,” his voice choked with emotion, as he recalls
“Long day. So you will go home now?” I try to make light conversation.
“Yes time to go but to my other home,” he replies. I recall him telling me that for the past 21 days he has been living in an ambulance in his parking lot. This is because his entire family is Covid positive and he can't risk going home and get infected. "And yet here he is despite that,” I think.
I am sitting on the ground to photograph him from a low angle. As I get up, I am swept by awe for the man. I want to touch Shunty’s feet but hold back, keeping a ‘professional’ distance. Getting up I see my jeans covered with grey ash and realise that I was sitting on a pyre. As I dust myself, this verse from the Sikh prayer fills my thought:
“Anṯarjāmī purakẖ biḏẖāṯe sarḏẖā man kī pūre
Nānak ḏās ihai sukẖ mānge mo kao kar sanṯan kī ḏẖūre”
Oh all-knowing one, architect of destiny, fulfil this yearning of my heart
Nanak, Your slave begs for this joy: make me the dust of the feet of saints”
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