Wikipedia Trails: From Grave Robbery to Posthumous Marriage

For my next story, I'm working on developing something that involves a couple of grave robbers. That said, I really only know the basics about the whole process, so I thought this assignment would be the perfect way to gather some details and deeper knowledge on it all.

1: Grave Robbing

Obviously, grave robbing's been an issue for a long time, and it was actually a bigger one in ye olden days. But I'm really interested in more modern grave robbing, which is why I found it really fascinating that it's apparently not only a real problem in China today, but also kind of a trade you can learn: "The increase in technology, such as night vision goggles, air breathing equipment, and metal detectors allows grave robbers to better find and rob ancient gravesites. There are institutions in which you can learn how to rob graves–'for about 200 yuan (about $30) a day. Land surveying skills are first taught, before progressing to probes and shovels, then finally explosives. After 10 days, adepts have the chance to assist an instructor in a real tomb robbery.'" Apparently, this information came from an article in the Epoch Times, which I'm noting here so I can refer back to it later.

In North America, apparently, grave robbers typically target "long-abandoned or forgotten" private grave sites, from before the Civil War and also the Great Depression. These spots make prime targets because they're undocumented and isolated, often hidden away in "rural, forested areas where once-prominent, wealthy landowners and their families were interred." Because they're the graves of rich people, robbers mainly go digging for old, valuable jewelry. Back when laws prevented African Americans from giving their loved ones more involved funerals, they often had to bury them at night; the sight of a bunch of people huddling around a grave was a dead (I know, I know, the pun's unforgivable) giveaway to the location of the body, and robbers would hang back till the funeral procession left, then go for the new grave.

There's also a bunch of information about different grave-robbing deterrents, and they're all pretty fascinating: mortsafes, mort houses, coffin collars, guards, family mausoleums, and what were essentially obstacle-course tombs full of fake rooms and other tricks. But I've already rambled on way too much about all this, so. Moving on.

2: Body Snatching

Naturally, from grave robbers I had to jump to body snatchers—who used to be called, delightfully enough, "resurrectionists" or "resurrection men." My day is officially made.

Rather than targeting the valuables in a grave, resurrection men went after the corpses themselves, usually to sell them to medical schools for the students to practice dissection or study anatomy. Of course, when people started offing others so they could skip the whole grave-robbing process and just sell the bodies fresh, the law finally cracked down, and the common business of body snatching pretty much died out. Before it did in the US, though, resurrectionists sometimes used to hire female accomplices to "act the part of grieving relatives and to claim the bodies of dead at poorhouses. Women were also hired to attend funerals as grieving mourners; their purpose was to ascertain any hardships the body snatchers may later encounter during the disinterment." The story pretty much writes itself.

3: Ghost Marriage

From body snatching, I stumbled across the idea of ghost marriages. There are several different forms of this, but the most interesting one to me comes from the following example. Once, about a month after a Chinese teenager died, his spirit appeared to his mother, saying he's lonely in the spirit world and wants to be married to this teen girl who died recently in another area. Before the son disappeared again, he didn't actually reveal the girl's name—so the mom, top-notch problem-solver that she was, turned to a Cantonese spirit medium. The medium was able to contact the boy and get the information about the girl from him.

To carry out the ghost weddings, there are even a few matchmakers available for that sort of thing: In fact, in Singapore, "there is in fact a ghost marriage broker's sign hung up in a doorway of a Taoist priest's home. The broker announces that he is willing to undertake the search for a family which has a suitable deceased member with a favourable horoscope."

4: Posthumous Marriage

And finally, from there, I found my way to the article on posthumous marriage. Unlike ghost marriages, this is done when a couple was supposed to be married, but the man dies before they can actually file through. Apparently, it became relatively popular after World War I. There's a legal process that has to be gone through first, but if the marriage is approved, there's actually a wedding ceremony in which the woman stands by a picture of her dead fiancé and says "I did" ((rather than the traditional "I do")). She doesn't actually get any of his property from the marriage, and essentially becomes a widow, but it's often practiced for either emotional closure or to legitimize what would otherwise end up being bastard children. Interesting stuff.

Image Credit: "Body Snatchers at Work," by Kim Traynor. Source: Wikimedia Commons.

Learning Challenge: Post Secret

I'd never heard of Post Secret before, but I thought the idea of empathy challenges were interesting, so I figured I'd look into them.

Post Secret itself is a site that posts confessions from people—from big, heavy secrets like bad relationships or self-harm, to funny, everyday stuff, like sending anonymous mixtape CDs to the campus mailman. Really, the site itself is interesting enough from a human perspective, because it's a reminder about how different every person's life and struggles really are, and how we've all got stuff going on that we can't or won't share with anyone else. But it's also really valuable from a storytelling perspective: each post comes tangled in its own complicated web of story and character, and a lot of them are complex enough to inspire really multidimensional stories.

This is kind of a random side note, but I also find it really interesting that Post Secret goes on tours, with shows at different spots in different countries. Kind of like Welcome to Night Vale, I imagine, though I'm curious about how this differs, since there's not really as much of a performance component. Definitely something worth looking into.


Image Credit: Throwing Stones, by Pexels. Source: Pixabay.

Reading Notes: The Palace of Illusions, Part D

While I never really cared much about the Pandavas in previous versions of the Mahabharata (except for Bhima), and I'm still not that interested in any one of them in this novel adaptation, one thing it does really well is make them a fascinating united front. As individuals, they're still kind of meh for me, but as a secretive, ambitious, tightly-knit band of brothers, they're really interesting: Though they must have disagreed with each other from time to time, my husbands never revealed their dissension to outsiders. (And in this matter, I was still an outsider.) Kunti had trained them well.

You see more of that in this later section, too: I took my place beside each of my husbands at the proper moment, and saw our pairings as movements in an elaborate dance. I saw my husbands, too, differently. They were a unit together, five fingers that complemented each other to make up a powerful hand—a hand that would protect me if the need arose.

But I think this section, from a different chapter, puts it best of all (it also presents Draupadi's role in the Pandava family more interestingly than I've ever seen it): If they were the pearls, I was the gold wire on which they were strung. Alone, they would have scattered, each to his dusty corner. They would have pursued different interests, deposited their loyalties with different women. But together, we formed something precious and unique. Together, we were capable of what none of us could do alone. I finally began to see what the wily Kunti had in mind when she'd insisted that I was to be married to all of them, and though they never made my heart beat wildly, the way I'd hoped as a girl, I committed myself totally to the welfare of the Pandavas.

Up till this point, I'd been curious about the meaning behind the title. But in this week's reading, I finally got to the eponymous palace, and it's one of those impossible, tricksy places that can only be portrayed in books—and also very much a character in its own right: Maya outdid himself as he built. He magnified everything my husbands wanted a hundredfold, and over it all he laid a patina of magic so things shifted strangely, making the palace new each day even for us who lived there. There were corridors lighted only by the glow of gems, and assembly halls so filled with flowering trees that even after hours at council one felt as though one had been relaxing in a garden. Almost every room had a pool with scented water. Not all his magic was benign, though. Early in our stay, we bumped into walls built of crystal so clear that they were transparent, or tried vainly to open windows that were painted on. Several times we stepped into pools that were disguised as stretches of marble flooring and ruined our elaborate court attire. At those times I thought I heard Maya's disembodied, mocking laughter. But it all added to the allure of this place that was truly like no other.

I think this is a really interesting setup for a stepchild/stepmother dynamic: Once or twice I heard her laugh in delight as Sahadev or Nakul—strangely, they who were not born of her were her favorites—explained one of Maya's illusions to her.

This could be a really great trait for either a cool-headed, steady-handed protagonist, or a great villain: Or was she a better actress than I gave her credit for, biding her time, waiting for the mistakes she knew I'd make?

This passage is probably my favorite one I've stumbled across so far, and part of why I love it so much is that it can be spun off in so many different directions, so many different types of genres and interesting stories. Deconstructing "chosen one" tropes, a new take on the superhero genre in a Justice Lords kind of way—you name it: My husbands and I grew older, richer, more comfortable with our good fortune. And with each other, so that when at the end of a year I went from one bed to the next, it no longer caused us awkwardness. Trade and industry and art prospered in our city. Our reputation spread across kingdoms. Our subjects, flourishing, blessed us in their prayers. We held in our palms all the things we'd once longed for. But deep down, though no one would admit it, we were a little restless, a little bored. The current of destiny seemed to have flung us ashore and receded. Not knowing that it was gathering in a tidal wave, we chafed in our calmness, wondering if it would ever claim us again.

Narad is quite the character, too, and I think someone with his traits and hobbies could do well in either a fantasy or sci-fi adaptation (lately I've really been interested in transplanting high-fantasy tropes to a shiny, slick sci-fi setting): His favorite activity was to travel from court to court and world to world, collecting gossip and spreading mayhem. He had already contributed to the demise of several regimes, and was justly known as Narad Troublemaker. I wondered what he was planning.

While Krishna's burn here is kind of the stuff of legend, what I'm really interested in in this snippet is the way Krishna is so quick to defend Bheeshma, who he (and everyone else, even those not related to him) calls "the grandfather." I love the fact that while he never had any kids himself because of his vow, he's impacted enough people so strongly that he's commonly referred to as the grandfather, and that everyone (except for his many war enemies, anyway) is so quick to defend him: "I promised to forgive you a hundred insults," Krishna said to Sisupal, his voice conversational. "You crossed that number long ago, but I was patient, knowing that you weren't too skilled at counting." He waited until Sisupal's roar of rage died away. "This time you've gone too far, insulting the grandfather."

And while Krishna is a fascinating, complicated character in general, it's also interesting how the author occasionally slips in a line of dialogue or piece of characterization that's perfectly in keeping with his being a god/technically immortal, even though Draupadi doesn't pick up on it: Then his voice intruded into my reverie, laughter stitched into its edges, just as I'd feared. "You'd better not let my dead friends the Pandavas hear that! It could get me into a lot of trouble!"
    "Can't you ever be serious?" I said, mortified.
    "It's difficult," he said. "There's so little in life that's worth it."

I also love the idea that, piece by piece, we'll eventually see hidden depths to all the Pandava boys. We've seen it so far with Bheem and his cooking/his soft side in general, but this is the first time Yudhisthir has shown anything other than his reasonable, lead-brother persona. I think part of what makes it so interesting is that we always see him in the big-brother role, so seeing him want to bond with and impress Duryodhan makes him seem more childlike somehow, like a little brother trying to impress an older one: Perhaps also, stung by the distrust of our other guests and disappointed at the unpleasant end to the yagna he'd so looked forward to, he was gratified that Duryodhan courted his company. It pleased him to possess something his cousin admired, and he gave Duryodhan leave to wander where he wished.

As usual, Kunti proves why she's the defending champion as number-one queen in the land. Also, the idea of the MC's assistants/spies to be paid off to secretly be assisting/spying for someone else in the process is just too good: Not even an hour had passed after Duryodhan's mishap when Kunti summoned me to her quarters. (It made me wonder how many of my women she had bribed to be her informants.

And once again—last, but apparently never least—we have Karna and Duryodhan, partners in crime. I'm also always interested in inter-generational conflict that crops up when a darker new generation rises, and you see a little bit of a glimpse of that here: Dhritarashtra couldn't bear to oppose his favorite son, who would fly into a rage if contradicted and think nothing of insulting the old warriors who had kept the kingdom safe for him all these years. At such times, only Karna was able to calm him, but often he, too, was impatient with the cautious advice of the elders. Seeing this, the elders protected their own dignity and withdrew into silence. Each day they were more like ornate figureheads on a ship that had changed its course without their consent and was sailing into dangerous waters.



Bibliography: The Palace of Illusions, by Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni.

Image Credit: Elderly Hand, by Witizia. Source: Pixabay.

Reading Notes: The Palace of Illusions, Part C

The first excerpt that caught my eye from this week's reading revolved around an exchange between Draupadi and Kunti, right after the two first met. I recognized, too, the thinly veiled insult in Kunti's words. This woman, as though I were a nameless servant. It angered me, but it also hurt. From the stories I'd heard about Kunti, I'd admired her. I'd imagined that if she did indeed become my mother-in-law, she would love me as a daughter. Now I saw how naive I'd been. A woman like her would never tolerate anyone who might lure her sons away. With every new thing I learn about Kunti, the more I love the idea of recasting her as the steely, calculating matriarch of a crime family.

My second note also involves the mother and daughter-in-law, when Draupadi has first come to live in the Pandavas' brahmin hut and is struggling to pass the cooking test that Kunti has set her up to fail. Kunti sweetly notes that Draupadi's a complete failure at cooking, which makes sense, considering that she's a pampered princess. Instead of lashing out like Kunti wants her to, Draupadi recognizes that Kunti's baiting her, and instead replies sweetly, "Respected mother, being so much younger, I know my culinary skills can't equal yours. But it's my duty to relieve you of your burdens whenever possible." All throughout their early days together, the two are constantly engaged in a series of mind games, passive-aggressively trying to push each other to the brink. I think it could be fun to do a story involving a couple of similarly passive-aggressive enemies, forced to team up and being oh-so-courteous even while they're trying to find loopholes to work against each other. Kind of like Ilya and Solo in U.N.C.L.E., actually.

Also, this is a pretty fascinating character hook/setup, from the end of a dream scene Draupadi has involving an insect in the lac house: (And I? I died. No need to mourn me. My work was done.)

It could also be interesting to play with this idea, keep it in mind while building a landscape/setting around a character. I'd have to find a meaningful way to work it into the story, like the Palace of Depression junkyard in Eddie and the Cruisers, but if I could, it might be worthwhile: For isn't that what our homes are ultimately, our secret selves exposed? The converse is also true: we grow to become that which we live within. That was one of the reasons why I longed to escape my father's walls. (But—unknown to me—by the time I left, it was too late. The creed he lived by was already stamped onto my soul.)

Once again, Kunti is a really compelling character, both as a mother figure and just as herself: He said: "When she realized that Duryodhan had offered us this holiday at Varanavat in order to kill us, our mother went into her chambers and wept for a day and a night.
    "We paced outside her room, not knowing what to do. She'd always been so strong, our foundation stone. When she came out, we rushed to comfort her. But her eyes were dry. She said to us, I've used up all the tears of my life so that they will not distract me again." Something tells me Dean Winchester would love to sign the heck up for this aggressive new form of repression.

You see more of that signature steel here, as well as an unflinching ruthlessness that's all the more interesting because she shows it's not that she doesn't care about guilt and selling her soul to do it—just that she's squared her shoulders and accepted that fate: "When they were asleep, she asked us to set the house on fire. We saw the perfection in her plan: the nishads' charred skeletons would be taken for ours; Duryodhan would believe he had succeeded in ridding himself of us. But we were distraught, too. They were our guests. They'd eaten our food; they'd gone to sleep trusting us. To kill them would be a great sin.
    "Our mother looked us in the eye. I drugged the wine, she said. They'll feel no pain. As for the sin of killing them, I swear it will not touch you. I take it all on myself. For the safety of my children, I'll gladly forgo heaven."

I also love the almost Machiavellian edge to both female Pandavas' motivations, as seen here. And I also love that because of that edge, they'll never quite be able to trust each other, either, even as similar as they are: For by this time Kunti and I (yoked together uneasily by our desire for Pandava glory) had frozen into our stance of mutual distrust.

At one point, the threat of a blood threat between families also crops up, and I think that could be interesting to work with. In a way that's more me than, say, Romeo and Juliet, obviously.

There's also this line, which appeals really strongly to my personal storytelling id list: Family loyalty was what had saved the Pandavas all these precarious years.

I loved how meta this line was, and how it can be interpreted and relaunched in so many different directions, all of them with a ton of potential: "Let them go... Besides, how long can you keep them cloistered? They're heroes, after all."

This section caught my interest because it helped me consider palace life in general in a different way than I ever have: sort of one sprawling, messy, never-ending extended family reunion. No wonder there's always so much royal drama: There were endless banquets among the extended family (the Kauravas loved to carouse) that I was expected to attend (appropriately veiled and chaperoned), though I had to leave these gatherings, along with the other wives, before the drinking and gaming started and matters grew interesting. Afternoons, Kunti would drag me with her to visit the other women in the palace. At these gatherings, the women spent much time in casual display of jewelry and clothing, or in making discreet references to their husbands' feats.

Also, I love how Gandhari is essentially an Indian-epic Scott Summers crossed with Josh Foley: She went on to tell me how some god, pleased by Gandhi's devotion to her husband, had granted her a boon. If she ever took off her blindfold and looked at someone, she could heal him—or burn him to cinders.

As ever, I still love the friendship between Karna and Duryodhan, and I think it could be really great if applied to a different story about a couple of princes going around and shirking their responsibilities as long as they can—sort of a princely/fantasy Ferris Bueller's Day Off, if you can dig that: The one man I hadn't seen since I came to Hastinapur was Karna. I knew that at the request of Duryodhan, who considered him his closest friend, Karna spent much of the year in Hastinapur, leaving Anga in the care of his ministers.

Again, at the risk of broken-record syndrome, I think Kunti is such a cool, cool character study: From the way his voice dipped low I knew what he'd never admit: throughout their childhood my husbands were famished for affection. Kunti had given them her entire steely devotion, but no tenderness. Perhaps she'd cut it out of her nature when she was left in the forest widowed and alone. Perhaps that was the only way she knew how to survive.

I've also been wanting to do a strong protagonist-grandparent dynamic for a while now, and something inspired by Bheeshma might be the perfect opportunity: Then Bheeshma entered their lives with his large lion's laugh. He carried them on his shoulders and hid sweetmeats in his room for them to find. He told them wondrous, terrifying stories late into the night. He praised their small achievements, which Kunti failed to notice, and bought them toys as good as the ones Duryodhan wouldn't share. When Kunti caned them for waywardness, he secretly rubbed salve on their cuts.


Bibliography: The Palace of Illusions, by Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni.

Image Credit: Blindfold, by BarnImages. Source: Pixabay.

Tech Tip: Google Timer

When my schedule's especially busy but I want to sneak in 30 minutes for writing or pleasure reading, I sometimes like to set a timer to make sure I don't lose track of time (which I've historically been kind of bad about). That said, the timer on my phone is kind of obnoxious, so when I saw the Google timer option on the Tech Tips list, I knew I wanted to try it. The whole thing was insanely simple to use, and since I typically have my laptop handy when I'm needing to keep track of time in the first place, it was much handier than switching between devices. I also really loved Laura's idea in the post about using timers to set up Internet breaks between getting other work done, and I'm going to have to adopt that tactic for myself sometime; it seems like a good way to ward of stress without totally slacking on responsibilities.

Image Credit: Better Times Watch, by Unsplash. Source: Pixabay.