When I was going to city this afternoon, I saw a funeral procession. It was a small procession carrying the dead body of an old person with the accompaniment of percussions. Evidently they were very poor people from a backward settlement in the outskirt of the city. Otherwise the road would have been blocked by the huge procession and numerous vehicles. The funeral procession would have been conducted in great style befitting the status of the dead and the living alike.

None of the mourners was waling or weeping. Children were absent and women numbered only two or three.

The drummers beat out a disgusting rhythm.

I glanced at the corpse on the bier that was resting on the shoulders of the bearers. Wrapped in white shroud till the chin, the head jutting out, the lifeless, stony face with the eyes closed forever, it was like a log of wood to be consigned to flames shortly.
Rich or poor, king or commoner, all take the same road in the end.