We rose early, and were off before breakfast for a drive to the
"Tower of Silence." This is the mountain top where the Parsees
give their dead to be torn by the vultures. We shudder at
cremation, but the sacred fire of the funeral pile as it flames to
heaven has something awe-inspiring about it. Man sprung from the
dust mingles at last with the purer element of fire, and "vanishes
into air, into thin air," leaving no trace behind. But
deliberately to throw our dead out to be torn in pieces and
devoured by vultures--who can endure the thought! And yet many of
the inhabitants here would be most unhappy if denied the
consolation of believing that their bodies were to be served in
this manner. Nor are these poor and ignorant; on the contrary,
next to the English they are the best educated and the principal
merchants in the city. It is simply that they have been taught in
their youth that the earth must not be defiled by contact with the
dead. They cannot bury, therefore, neither can they burn, because
fire, one of the elements, is sacred; neither can they cast their
dead into the sea, for it, too, is holy. There seems to them no
way but this--of getting the birds of the air to come and take the
flesh. We were received at the foot of the mound by a Parsee
guide, who conducted us through every part. The towers, of which
there are five, are approached by long flights of easy stairs.
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