YOUR DEAD BODY WILL BE DISPOSED WITH HONOUR, NO MATTER WHAT YOU DID
- Madhukar Dama
- 14 minutes ago
- 10 min read
— On Death’s Final Dignity and the Illusion of Post-Mortem Fear
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People worry about death.
Not just the moment of dying — but what happens after.
Especially those who leave society behind.
Who cut ties with family.
Who live simply, alone, or outside accepted systems.
They ask:
> “What will happen to my body when I die? Will they throw me like garbage?”
This fear can paralyse.
It can drag people back into lives they’ve outgrown — just to “ensure a respectful death.”
But here’s the truth, carved from both science and lived experience:
1. DEATH IS ALMOST ALWAYS PAINLESS.
When death arrives, senses shut down first.
You don’t feel the stab. You don’t feel the fire. You don’t feel the breath slipping.
Because your body’s final mercy is silence.
Whether it's cardiac arrest, drowning, trauma, or fasting —
consciousness dims first.
And pain, which needs awareness, disappears.
This isn’t hope.
It’s biology.
Your nervous system doesn’t want you to suffer in those final seconds.
That’s why people who “came back” from near-death experiences often describe peace, not agony.
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2. NO ONE HATES A CORPSE.
Your body — once you leave it — is never treated the way your living self was.
Even the most hated tyrants are buried or cremated with a cloth on their face.
Even the loneliest beggars are given fire or dirt by a stranger’s hand.
Even suicide victims are washed and wrapped by the very people who once gossiped about them.
Because death disarms judgment.
No one curses a corpse.
People may curse your memory — but not your dead body.
There’s a sacred shift that happens when you stop breathing.
People fall silent.
Their tongues forget the poison.
Because something ancient awakens — the recognition of shared mortality.
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REAL EXAMPLES:
A Renunciate Found by Strangers
In Karnataka, an old hermit died in a cave near Badami.
For years, he lived on fruits, silence, and scribbled verses.
People called him mad.
Children threw stones.
When he died, villagers built a small samadhi.
The same people who once mocked him lit incense at his grave.
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A Woman Who Cut Ties
An unmarried woman in her sixties, known for arguing with her family, lived alone in Mysuru.
She was labelled “stubborn.”
When she died, the neighbours she never invited performed the last rites.
The estranged family arrived late — with flowers.
No one asked what she did wrong.
They just wept.
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The Untouchable Cremated by the Brahmin
A Dalit man in rural Maharashtra died penniless.
His body was abandoned by his relatives.
But a retired priest, who had once argued with him about caste, cremated him.
Later he said:
> “He’s no one’s caste now.”
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A Drunk, Still Wrapped with Cloth
In Chennai, a known drunkard who slept on pavements and shouted at traffic died suddenly.
Municipal workers didn’t throw him like waste.
They called the mortuary van, covered him with a sheet, and placed coins on his chest.
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The Suicide of a Teenager
In Hyderabad, a teenage boy who was bullied for his sexuality took his life.
The same classmates who avoided him lit candles at his gate.
His parents, once silent, gave him a photo-framed farewell with garlands and tears.
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3. YOUR BODY IS NO LONGER “YOU” AFTER DEATH
After death, the person is gone — what remains is only a shell.
And humanity, no matter how cruel in life, instinctively treats that shell with dignity.
Even in war. Even in prison. Even in hatred.
You will not be spat on.
You will not be laughed at.
You will not be dissected by the people who rejected you.
Because death erases roles.
No more gender. No caste. No failure. No ego. No shame.
Only stillness.
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4. THE ILLUSION THAT KEEPS YOU IN SUFFERING
People who live outside the system — hermits, runaways, black sheep, minimalists, survivors — often fear:
> “If I die in isolation, my body will rot, and no one will care.”
This fear drives them to stay connected to family who abuse them, societies that choke them, or jobs that drain them — just so they can “die safely.”
But this is illusion.
In India alone, thousands of abandoned bodies are cremated with respect by strangers.
Many NGOs, sadhus, and even police perform rituals for unknown corpses —
not out of obligation, but reverence.
Even dogs, cows, and birds get buried with flowers in some homes.
And you think no one will touch your body?
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5. WHAT YOU SHOULD FEAR INSTEAD
Don’t fear the treatment of your dead body.
Fear the life you didn’t live because of that fear.
The truth you didn’t speak.
The peace you postponed.
The escape you never took.
The solitude you longed for but denied.
The simple life you desired but couldn’t choose — all because of imaginary shame after death.
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6. EVEN THE “WORST” ARE GIVEN FINAL DIGNITY
Hitler’s body was burned by his own people.
Veerappan’s was respectfully post-mortemed, not dragged through the streets.
Osama bin Laden’s corpse was submerged with Islamic rites — by his enemies.
If even the world’s most feared men are treated with structured finality…
what are you so afraid of?
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CLOSING
When you die, your senses will be gone.
There will be no shame. No judgment. No memory.
And your body —
whether touched by a stranger, buried by a worker, or cremated in silence —
will be treated not as your punishment,
but as a symbol of human ending.
People will soften.
Even those who hated you will stand still.
The same world that bruised you will kneel,
if only for a moment,
and say nothing.
That’s all you need.
So go.
Walk away if you must.
Live alone. Live honestly.
Be free. Be nameless. Be at peace.
Because your dead body
will be disposed with honour,
no matter what you did.
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“NO ONE SPITS ON A CORPSE”
A healing dialogue with Madhukar on the fear of what happens to our dead body
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Scene:
A quiet, early morning at Madhukar’s mud courtyard in the Yelmadagi forest.
Six visitors sit cross-legged before him on hand-woven mats:
Meenakshi Amma (65): Never married. Mocked as a burden. Fears her body will rot unnoticed.
Shankara Swami (71): A wandering monk who left his ashram. Feels shame for choosing solitude.
Kamala (52): A recluse who hasn't spoken to her family in decades. Haunted by what they'll say at her death.
Dhanush (48): An off-grid widower raising goats alone. Worries his son won’t cremate him.
Jeeva (60): A natural farmer, rejected by relatives for not attending family functions.
Basava (66): A former temple priest turned forest dweller. Once feared, now forgotten.
They’ve come not for a cure, but to be unburdened of the deep, unspeakable fear:
> “What will happen to my body after I die?”
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The Dialogue Begins
Madhukar (pouring water into their cups):
Let us speak not of death.
Let us speak of what you're still clinging to.
Meenakshi Amma (softly):
I sometimes wonder if my body will be found.
Or if I’ll be food for dogs.
No one checks on me.
What if they say, "She died like a beggar"?
Madhukar (smiling):
You are not your body, Amma.
And dogs, if they come, will not insult you.
They will complete a cycle nature never questioned.
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Shankara Swami:
But even the scriptures insist on proper cremation.
What if that never happens?
Will I be cursed?
Madhukar:
The wind carries more souls than fire ever has.
And rivers wash the forgotten just as kindly as they do kings.
No soul is denied return because no hands showed up.
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Kamala (eyes wet):
But my family hates me.
They may say cruel things.
I think of them mocking my choices even as I lie still.
Madhukar:
They will not.
Because when your body no longer breathes,
everyone turns to silence.
Hatred lives in reaction.
But the dead don’t react.
And that unnerves even the cruelest.
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Dhanush:
I built this house with mud and bamboo.
Raised goats.
Lived alone.
But sometimes I panic at night —
“What if no one lights my pyre?”
Madhukar (gently):
Who lit the sun each morning while you built this life?
Who buried the sparrow that died outside your hut last summer?
Nature buries what society forgets.
And she does it without shame.
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Jeeva:
My brothers think I’m insane.
They’ll never come.
Won’t even bring firewood.
Madhukar:
Maybe not.
But a stranger will.
Or a neighbour.
Or the same forest you gave your breath to.
And you’ll receive more dignity than you got in their weddings.
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Basava (clutching his shawl):
Sometimes I dream of being burned in silence.
No chants.
No Vedic rites.
And I wonder —
did all my dharma go waste?
Madhukar:
A dog licks her dead pup.
A crow cries when her mate falls.
None of them need chants.
Your dharma was in how you lived, not who burned you.
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A Pause
The wind moves through the neem trees.
Some tears fall.
But not from grief — from release.
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Madhukar (softly):
You will not be spat on.
You will not be laughed at.
You will not be left to rot like garbage.
When breath leaves,
all bodies become temples,
and even the worst of enemies fall silent before a corpse.
If someone finds you, they will cover you.
If no one finds you,
the earth will.
The shame you fear is a fiction.
The body returns to silence.
And so must you.
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Meenakshi Amma:
Then… it’s okay if no one comes?
Madhukar:
More than okay.
It’s sacred.
Let your death be what your life couldn't —
untouched by performance.
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Closing scene:
The group sits still, faces softened.
They came expecting rituals.
They leave knowing silence is the only one that matters.
The neem leaves whisper above them:
“No one spits on a corpse.”
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FOLLOW-UP: THREE MONTHS AND ONE YEAR LATER
“When the fear of death leaves, life finally begins.”
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Three Months Later
Meenakshi Amma (65):
She no longer sleeps with the door latched in three places.
She composts kitchen waste in her backyard — not for any legacy, but because she says,
> “Let someone benefit from my leftovers, even if it’s worms.”
She smiles more. She stopped checking the calendar for festivals she once felt left out of.
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Shankara Swami (71):
He has returned to walking barefoot.
No longer seeking temples, he sits under a banyan and says chants only when they rise on their own.
He lights a lamp each evening not out of fear, but out of thankfulness for one more dusk.
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Kamala (52):
She finally cleaned her kitchen.
Cooked a large meal, and left a portion near her gate for “whoever wants it.”
A dog came. Then a rag-picker.
She sat on the threshold and ate with them — in silence.
No shame. No explanation.
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Dhanush (48):
He started writing short notes to his son — not to demand cremation promises, but to say:
> “I’m okay. I wish you peace.”
He dug a small pit under his favourite tree, joking,
“If I fall there, let the soil finish what I started.”
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Jeeva (60):
He no longer argues with his brothers.
He planted 12 mango trees.
Someone asked, “What if no one eats them?”
He replied,
> “Then let the ants feast.”
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Basava (66):
He burned the last of his priestly clothes.
He now bathes in the river without ritual.
One evening, he found a dead bird.
He dug a hole and whispered,
> “You’ve returned. May I too.”
And walked away — without needing mantras.
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One Year Later
The six meet again, under the same neem tree.
They’ve all aged — but not with anxiety, only with release.
There are no death questions now.
They talk of rain, goats, turmeric harvest, cold feet, sore knees — but not what happens after.
Not once does anyone ask:
> “Will they find my body?”
“Will they perform my rites?”
Because now they know:
The earth knows.
The river doesn’t ask.
The sky forgets names.
And the body always returns — with or without witnesses.
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Madhukar (smiling):
> “You feared death would disrespect you.
But death doesn’t care for disrespect.
It only dissolves you — with or without applause.”
They all laugh.
Not loud. Not heavy. Just enough.
Because they’ve begun to live the life they delayed for decades —
the life that starts when you stop fearing the ending.
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“EVEN THE SOIL WILL COVER YOU GENTLY”
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you think they’ll throw you away.
you think your body will rot somewhere
unnoticed,
unwanted,
mocked.
you think they’ll say,
“she died like a stray dog,”
or
“he died alone, how pathetic.”
you think that’s the end.
you’re wrong.
---
when your breath leaves,
so does their judgment.
so does your name,
your shame,
your story.
you stop being a scandal,
an exile,
a mistake.
you become
just another body.
and no one curses a corpse.
---
the same mouths
that called you selfish
will say,
“poor soul.”
the same eyes
that avoided you
will tear up
without understanding why.
and the same people
who hated you
will lower their voices
when they hear you’re gone.
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i’ve seen it.
i’ve seen drunkards buried with care.
i’ve seen beggars cremated with prayer.
i’ve seen runaways found by strangers,
washed, covered,
laid down like kings.
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you think the system needs to accept you
for your body to rest.
no.
you don’t need sons.
you don’t need a family.
you don’t need a certificate.
you don’t need firewood signed by a priest.
you just need to stop fearing what happens
when you're not there to explain it.
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because when you go,
you’ll be no one.
and that is peace.
---
the body
will stop aching.
the senses
will turn off.
the guilt
will drop like old clothes.
the loneliness
will become silence.
and you
will finally know
what freedom feels like.
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and the world?
it will do what it always does.
someone will find you.
or the forest will.
or the river.
or the worms.
or the crows.
or the wind.
they don’t need your bank account.
they don’t ask who you were.
they just do what they’ve done
for every fallen thing since the beginning:
they carry you.
they cover you.
they return you.
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so live like you mean it.
don’t waste time rehearsing death.
don’t stay where you hurt
just to guarantee a funeral.
don’t perform obedience
to earn a final flame.
burn now,
while you’re alive.
and when your time comes,
even if no one comes to light the fire—
the soil will still cover you gently.
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