We left Vijayawada at nine a.m. and crossed the Krishna River. The riverbed was empty and the Khrisha occupied only a small channel that meandered through the vast flood plain. We tried to find access to the river from the west side of the bridge but there was none. So we took an underpass to the east and found a road that led down, under the bridge, and finally reached the riverbank.
A group of men were washing their rickshaw. Another was ambling toward the water with his buffalos, black and languid, they descended slowly into the water with the lassitude of sleep.
In a copper vessel we held Nancy. She was ash.
It would be good to have people take you with them after you are gone. To be a traveller one last time. To be with others in a group. To influence the direction of the trip. To be in company, to be included, to belong. To be dispersed, bit by bit, into the waters that flow ever onward into the sea.
To be so gently recovered by the world.