Ep7- Varanasi

  Varanasi, India
Saturday, January 20, 2007

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Varanasi

Arriving in Varanasi, we knew right away that this was the India we had come to see. After a short rickshaw ride, we were dropped off at the foot of the old city. No autos were allowed in the maze of vividly painted stone buildings towering over the narrow streets. Vendors huddled inside their tiny shops all along the road, chewing tobacco and chatting loudly with neighbors. Dogs, rats, goats, and massive bulls meandered along the cobblestones. Our guesthouse was one of the tallest in the city, and our 9th floor room with roof access offered a panoramic view of the old city and the Ganga. We could smell the smoke of human corpses burning not 50 meters away as we sipped our Chai tea from the hostel cafe on the 8th floor.

The ancient holy city of Varanasi, one of the oldest cities in the world, is the bedrock of the Hindu religion. The city stretches out along the bank of the River Ganges, known to locals as "The Ganga," whose water is thought to absolve one of sin. Varanasi is among the holiest of all Hindu cities, and countless pilgrims travel here every year from all across the world. Dying in Varanasi gives one instant enlightenment and access to heaven. Those who can afford a funeral are cremated in wood fires along the river which burn 24 hours a day, all year long. Those who cannot afford the funerals, along with pregnant women, babies, lepers, and victims of snake bite are thrown directly in to the river. Women are not allowed to attend funeral ceremonies for it is said they will be tempted to throw their own bodies on the fire to ascend to heaven with their husbands.

We awake before dawn on the first full day and hire a boatman to paddle us down the Ganga at dawn. The bright orange globe rising on the horizon casts a surreal glow on the locals and pilgrims performing daily rituals along the shore of the river. They bathe in the water, drinking gulps at a time, brushing their teeth, and swimming across to the other side for prayer. Thousands of tiny leaf boats are drifted down the current floating a small candle. On the shore, hundreds of holy men gather for meditation and prayer as the early morning clamor heats up. This scene is made more incredible when one remembers that the Ganges river is one of the most polluted rivers in the world. Besides the corpses lining the river bed, the film of ash along the water, refuse collecting along the shore and the mucky color of the opaque river, there is horrible chemical pollution from upstream factories.

On our last night in Varanasi, we sip steaming cups of Chai tea for 3 Rupees each along the shore. The smell of the tea mixes with the pungent smell of smoke wafting down the narrow alleyways. We see a group of women waddle quickly by with baskets on their heads full of food. A Sadhu holy man attends to a dying cow on the street. We pause as a procession of funeral-goers carry the body of their loved one past us chanting religious incantations. Varanasi, perhaps more than any city in the world, forces one to reflect on death as a constant part of every day life.