Varanasi - Holy City of India
Trip Start
Jul 25, 2006
1
91
165
Trip End
Ongoing
Varanasi,
India
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
The train ride from Agra had been a 2AC sleeper. This was more expensive, but lovely with blankets, pillows, and a curtain for a little bit or privacy. Arriving at Varanasi train station, after the typical chaos of an Indian city train station, we were picked up by a rickshaw sent by our hotel and plunged into the fray. I had thought the streets of Delhi were hellish with traffic, but these seemed tamed in comparison to the chaos of Varanasi. Being burned on a ghat in Varanasi next to the Ganges was a one way ticket to paradise. Perhaps this explained their driving. Suicidal tendencies are the best explanation I can think of for the sheer recklessness, indifference to larger vehicles, smaller vehicles, animals, children, beggars, buildings, potholes, and death
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.Finally we were dropped off and entered the twisting lanes of Old Varanasi, so narrow as to be impassable even by the most reckless auto rickshaws. Turn after turn challenged even the best sense of direction. Making it even more difficult to keep oriented was the constant squeezing and weaving to make it past the sheer mass of humanity swirling through the tiny lanes, the uncountable cow pats, the wretched beggars, the persistent street children, the relentless touts, and other confused looking tourists. At last we stumbled out of the maze, found our guesthouse, and saw our first view of the Ganges, holiest river of India.
Varanasi is one of a few cities in the world that vies for the title of Oldest City in the World, in the company of such places as Damascus and Aleppo in Syria. Certainly the sewer systems, and rest of the infrastructure feels like they were built around the time Buddha was achieving enlightenment (interestingly, in a town only a few hours away). Electricity is intermittent at best, and the grumble of generators with the accompanying diesel fumes is as ubiquitous as the nightly Ganga Aarti ceremonies and washing pilgrims.
The heart of Varanasi is unquestioningly the Ganges River
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. All along its banks, huge stone steps, called ghats, provide pilgrims and residents access to the holy river. Winding it's way along, the river is filthy. The mixing of human waste, human remains, industrial pollution, garbage, and ground water run off has led some environmental groups to classify the Ganges here as septic, nearly incapable of sustaining of life.But to the Hindu's, that is the point. For it is at Varanasi that one can finally achieve freedom from the endless cycle of death and rebirth that is at the heart of Hinduism. If one dies in Varanasi, and one's corpse is burned at Minikarnika Ghat (or one of the lesser "burning" ghats), the soul can finally find eternal peace. Smoke billows from the ghat night and day and occasionally you find yourself brushing your shirt clean from the ash of one of the corpses burning on the pyres scattered about the steps. When walking through the narrow lanes, a group of men will pass you with a bamboo stretcher. On it, wrapped in cloth, and draped in gold and white is a corpse. The bodies are taken down to the river, and dipped in the Ganges for a last purifying cleansing. Finally, they are placed on a pyre, carefully piled with wood, and set alight.
The type of wood is significant, with the wealthy paying for very expensive and fragrant sandalwood, and the poor sometimes not being able to afford enough wood to completely cremate the body, resulting in the remaining bones being dumped into the Ganges. Even in death, the caste system is felt. The entire body does not burn. Usually the chests of men, and pelvises of women remain even after hours of burning. The ashes, and those bones and pieces not consumed in the fire are gathered up and thrown into the Ganges
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. Fires are lit from an "eternal" fire by a family member, and women are not allowed on the ghat. It is said that women are too sensitive, and if there would begin crying, something not allowed as this is supposed to be a joyous occasion. There are some who are not allowed to be burned including very young children and babies, holy men, pregnant women, and people with skin diseases to name a few. These are wrapped, weighted with rocks, rowed to the middle of the Ganges, and sank into the waters of Mother Ganga.These ghats are the meeting place for all of Varanasi. It is possible to walk along the river from ghat to ghat watching live unfold. It is believed when one baths in the Ganges, all of one's sins, one's bad karma, are erased. Taking an early morning rowboat ride along the river is an amazing way to view the rhythm of life on the Ganges. Men and women come down to bath, dipping themselves into the water, dunking themselves to wash away grime and bad karma. People brush their teeth and drink the water while scant metres away an open sewer pipe dribbles into the putrid looking water. Cows bath themselves, people relieve themselves, and the dhobi wallas (laundry washers) crouch on the bottom of the steps, using their wooden bats to beat the dirt out of clothing. Point out the fact of the water's obvious pollution and filth, and a common answer is "The Ganga is our mother. She would never hurt us."
Sadhus (ascetic holy men) wander, or more often, sit on the ghats, begging bowls beside them, and always willing to pose for a photo, for a price. As you walk along, you are serenaded by men with the offer of "Boat ride? You want boat ride? Very good price. Very beautiful. Very nice." You smile and for the hundredth time in the past hour, politely decline
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. Temples are all over the ghats, with small offerings left inside them, and the occasional person saying a quick prayer in front. Along the water, on the remains of what looks like a pillar, a young man sits in robes, lost in meditation, oblivious to the world around him. Everywhere cows and dogs roam, leaving their trail behind with prodigious piles of excrement. Occasionally a cow seems to go mad and begins chasing people on the steps. People yell and laugh, fear and amusement side by side.For this is what Varasnasi is to the traveller - a never ending stream of sights, sensations, smells, frustrations, exasperations, wonder, and confusion. The nightly Aarti Ganga ceremony sees thousands of people swarm onto Dasaswamedh Ghat. Young acolytes hold aloft braziers of flame and swing them in perfect time to the melody played by the musicians. Children pester you, and for a few rupees, you can buy a lump of wax dripped onto bowl of perfectly woven reeds. You light it, set it on the water, and it gently floats out onto the river joining the thousands of other nightly shining offerings. One moment your breath is taken away by the simple beauty of the countless acts of piety performed everywhere. The next moment you can't breathe because of the horror from the physical deformities or injuries of a beggar lying on the steps, bowl held between fingerless, waxen hands. It doesn't relent, it doesn't apologize, it doesn't make sense, but it is Varanasi, Holy City of India.
