If Delhi is daunting, then Varanasi is an absolute smack in the face. One of the oldest cities in the world, Varanasi has also been called Benares or Kashi in its long history. It is one of holiest places in Hinduism, sitting on the west bank of the sacred Ganges River. It's a place I’d wanted to see since I was a little kid…an exotic location lacking creature comforts for tourists; a piece of real India. And boy is it ever real.
After visiting the Baha’i Temple in Delhi (which is shaped like a giant lotus flower), I hopped an overnight train from New Delhi Railway Station, a place that I’d heard was a nightmare, yet I didn’t find nearly as bad as Xi’an, China, and shared a berth with three other gentlemen. Although the Chinese trains are newer and cleaner, I did enjoy a decent veggie meal and a tasty pot of Chai. While two of my fellow travelers were pleasant and respectful, the other one kept talking loudly on his cell throughout the night, while combing the tiny tuft of hair remaining on his otherwise cue-ball noggin. We were all jolted awake by his incessant Bollywood ringtone, and at some point, one of the others chewed him out. I would hear them bickering in Hindi…every once in a while the culprit shouting, "Maximum Sorry, Sir!" Following that exchange, he’d leave the compartment to carry on his conversations, although this did nothing to prevent us from being roused by his repulsive ringer. After one such incident, I decided to walk out behind him and go to the toilet. When I got back, the jackass had locked me out of the compartment! I banged on the door for five minutes until the poor guy who berated our rude cabin-mate kindly let me in. Nonetheless, I did manage to get in a little bit of rest after chatty Cathy finally conked out.
Waking up to a place like Varanasi is beyond description. At first, I thought people were mooning the train, but they were just defecating out in the open fields. I think my sleep deprivation made me a better bargainer when I was assaulted by a gang of rickshaw wallahs as soon as I stepped off the train. Given the chance, they will try and drop you off at a guest house where they’ll receive a commission for bringing you in, or take you “shopping” to a vendor they’re in cahoots with. I wasn’t having any of it, talked tough, and got a cheap bicycle cart ride to the ghat closest to my hotel.
Ghats are the giant stone platforms and stairways that lead down to the water, where life on the Ganges is centered. There are many in Varanasi, built by different kings or organizations, and serving different purposes. From here, devout Hindus come to wash away a lifetime of sins, the engaged come to be joined in matrimony, and the dead are brought to be cremated. Varanasi is a special place to expire, as dying here is believed to merit moksha, or liberation from the cycle of reincarnation. In my first four hours walking the ghats prior to checking into my room, I saw two weddings and two funerals. To be honest, I didn’t even realize that the smoke and ash blowing in my hair as I approached Harischandra Ghat (the smaller of two “burning” ghats) was coming from a funeral pyre. It was a truly awe-inspiring thing to witness the stoicism of the deceased’s relatives as they brought the body to the water for a ritual bath, then watch the fire go up from a torch lit by a flame that’s been kept continuously alight for thousands of years. It’s not looked upon kindly to take photos of such a somber ceremony, so I didn’t, but I did end up donating 100 rupees ($1.90) to the family next in line to assist in their purchase of firewood, which is very expensive for the average Indian. In a place like Varanasi, I figured it couldn’t hurt my karma to help them out.
There are 60-70 cremations per day taking place at Harischandra Ghat, and after the body is burned, all that remains are either the rib cage (of a man) or the pelvis (of a woman). These bones are then tied to stones, rowed out into the middle of the river, and submerged. There are six kinds of humans who are considered “pure” and are therefore not cremated, but simply dropped into the river postmortem: children, pregnant women, priests, lepers, the handicapped, and those killed by cobras.
Besides the daily rituals surrounding life and death that are performed over and over each day, others come to the Ganges to bathe, do laundry, fish, or cool off from the heat for a swim. Although it is 108 degrees outside, I do not plan on entering the water for any reason. Sanitation is all but non-existent here…animals abound… cows, goats, chickens, dogs… and the attention from beggars and hawkers is almost constant. This city is certainly not for the germaphobe or the faint of heart.
Besides the people-watching, there’s not much else to see here beyond the evening Ganga Aaarti (fire ceremony) and a dawn/dusk riverboat ride. Four days might be more than I needed, but it looks as if there might be volunteer opportunities around that could kill some time and help my karma even more. Until then, I’ll see what I can do and soak in the most exotic place I’ve ever seen.
