Behind every successful word

The 6.20am birds are circling overhead, dazed and confused. Because on July 22 2009, as the Sun rises, the light around Varanasi, India will suddenly fade, till the sky turns pitch black. The longest total solar eclipse in the 21st century will last a good 6 minutes.

I’m with a couple of friends, on a wobbly boat finding its feet in the Triveni Sangam (confluence), where the mystic Ganges merges with the pacific Yamuna and the mythological Saraswati buried thousands of years under. On the shore, we see thousands holy-dipping and offering salutations to the Sun God. Around us, our threshing oars, the breeze and the birds are making all the right arthouse noir sounds.

As the firmament rustles above us, we hear the water rustling behind us. A crew of boats has started to circle us with determined movement. The boats are armed with photos of Hindu deities, marigold flowers, incense sticks and plates of prasaad (offerings to God). We realise we’re surrounded by Pandas (Pun-days) or the poor-man’s priests. They’re notorious for waylaying unsuspecting tourists with offers of quick darshans (visitations to the main idols in temples), cheap accomodation and other sightseeing services.

One of the Pandas asks us if we want to make any offerings to the Sun God on this historic eve. He’ll charge us only INR 3000 for the prasaad. Another panda proposes only INR 2000 for his prasaad. Excellent. We’re expected to bargain in the middle of an event that’ll next happen 123 years later. The worst part is, we can’t refuse them, because they are locals and know the ways of the water. And mostly because, the shore is too far to make a dash for it anyway.

It’s now almost midnight at 6.27am. We politely ask the second Panda, ‘Grahan dekhkar donation karein?’ (can we donate after seeing the eclipse?). He remarks sternly, ‘Theek hai...par jaldi karna’ (okay, but do it fast).

Over us, we can now see the eclipse in all its breath-taking glory and we speedily click away on our cameras, with one eye on our captors.

Once the eclipse wanes, we offer INR 700 and a silver-plated watch to the Panda, who mutters some shlokas (couplets) in Sanskrit and offers us the plate of prasaad. We raise the plate to our foreheads and then gently let it out into the icy waters.

As the light returns to normal, the militant boats start to disperse in their own directions. And the truth about the dark side of Indian religion dawns on us. India, mostly incredible, sometimes uncredible.