Colorful Varanasi (Benares) (Uttar Pradesh, September 27-29, 2008)

From the Jhansi train station near Orchha, Yuri, Ramon and I take a night train to Varanasi.

Varanasi has been a center of learning and civilization for over 2000 years, and claims to be one of the oldest living cities in the world. Formerly Benares, it is also one of the holiest places in India. Hindus flock to this city of Shiva on the banks of the Ganges River to bathe and pray at one of the river's nearly 80 ghats, or bathing step leading town to the river. Loved ones are cremated at certain ghats, as throwing their ashes in the river cleanses their lifetime of sins. The city is itself an auspicious place to die, since expiring here offers moksha (liberation from the cycle of birth and death). My guidebook explains it well: "The city is the beating heart of the Hindu universe, a crossing place between the physical and spiritual worlds, and the Ganges is viewed as a river of salvation, an everlasting symbol of hope to the past, present and future generations."My rational, Western mind must make the comment here, however, that the river's environmental status, in sharp contrast to it spiritual one, does not project an image of hope and future salvation. The river is visibly filthy. If I understood our guide correctly, people of certain status, such as unmarried persons, as well as Hinduism's holiest animal, the cow, aren't cremated prior to submersion in the river. And the country's practice of throwing garbage wherever certainly has an impact. Upon further contemplation, however, I view the situation through Indian eyes and realize the river is exactly as it should be. In the stories Hinduism tells, the great waters of the Ganges function to swallow the sins of man and so, after ages of digesting man's spiritual grime, it makes perfect sense that the river is physically filthy. The practical-philosophical problem I walk away from this place with, then, is of the possibility of finding within Hinduism myths or an ethos that would inspire a reversal in the environmental degradation of the Ganges. There must be resources within the religion toward this end, but I know too little about it to offer solutions.In any case, Yuri, Roman and I arrive in the afternoon, quite tired and hungry. We are led on foot by our auto rickshaw driver through the old city's narrow labyrinth of alleys, called galis, to Shanti guest house. On the way, we are passed by a group of men carrying a board rapped in shiny red cloth, presumably housing a corpse en route to the burning ghat. After refueling--I with some Thali (a sort of North Indian sampler plate, usually with dahl, rice, roti, and some vegetable curry) and Yuri and Roman with some disappointing chicken burgers (there is no cow meat in India)--we make our way to Manikarnika Ghat, the main burning ghat in the city and the most auspicious place for a Hindu to be cremated. We are led to a viewing point by one of the "helpful" guides (who will later request a donation for money to buy wood to burn those who cannot afford to pay). Here I see three more of the shiny corpse packages. Surrounding the bodies--the red cloth indicates that they are women, a gold cloth indicates a very old person--are male family members who have shaved their heads completely except for a small amount of hair in the back.

In the evening we go to Dasaswamedh Ghat, where there is an elaborate ganga aarti ceremony with puja (prayer), fire and dance every night. People can choose to hire a small wooden boat to float down to the ghat and view the ceremony from the water, or stay on the land.

We decide to resist the constant touts of boat owners and take the short walk, and enjoy photographing the boats and river along the way. When we get to the ghat we watch as Hindus place small baskets of flowers and candles on the river's surface and as others bathe in the holy water. The song, fire and dance ceremony involves a group of male performers who use a variety of slow but grand arm movements, holding different props including fire, and accompanying the movement with song.The next morning we wake up early and leave at 5 am because Yuri wants to see a puja involving fire. We don't find this, but we stay for a long time at Dasaswamedh Ghat, photographing and observing Hindus bathing and performing rituals in the Ganges using natural objects, such as flowers, reeds and turmeric.

Men, women and children are all present and I am impressed at how discretely they can all publicly undress before submersion, using the cloth of a sari (women's dress) or lungi (man's skirt) to conceal the body. At one point, another male singing group parades through the crowd of devotees, playing on percussion instruments. We spend the rest of the day meandering through the galis, stopping for lunch, chai (Indian tea with milk and sugar), and German "apple crumble" (foreign delicacies are reproduced everywhere here for tourists). Yuri leaves this evening.

The next day I decide to go on my own to Benares Hindu University's museum, while Roman searches every guest house for a Nepal guide book. The most impressive part of the museum is a section about a female Swiss sculptor who was drawn to India and did extensive research on its sculptures, uncovering their geometrical patterns. Her reflections on India, and her visceral passion for living here, were particularly moving. After the museum, I walk toward the main road, trying to find a cheap rickshaw but also hoping I will find the international student office to inquire about the prospect of taking a dance class. As it turns out, the classes are only for long-term students, but I meet an interesting Italian girl who has decided to dedicate her life to Indian dance forms. We share a rickshaw until her hotel near Assi Ghat, one of the farthest ghats from the old city where I stay. I am glad I got to experience this part of the city as it is quieter and less touristy than the other parts I have seen.

I return quickly to my guest house, have a quick Thali, grab my bag and share a rickshaw to the train station with a German guy who is in even more of a hurry than I am. We both make it on time for our trains as well as a short power outage. The whole station goes black for a couple seconds. I find my train, as well as two new travelers, Jean (French) and Ishtaq (Belgian, with parents from Kashmir), who are also en route to Kolkata.