Varanasi (Benares in Hindi)... 'Brace yourself, you're about to enter one of the most blindingly colourful, unrelentingly chaotic and unapologetically indiscreet places on earth. Varanasi takes no prisoners. It's one of the oldest continually inhabited cities in India and the beating heart of the Hindu universe'... We loved this description in Lonely planet and it's pretty much spot on, after spending a few days here we found ourselves well and truly engrossed in the chaos of it all.
After feeling like we'd been plucked from our cocoon of safety and comfort in relatively sleepy Nepal I have to admit there was a part of me resistant to stepping back across the border and hurtled into India once again. The border crossing itself and the first towns we had to pass through were the worst- a frenzy of people, touts, lorries, rickshaws, honking of horns, filth and dust, rabid dogs eyeing us up suspiciously, all the while whilst lugging around our gear, organising permits back into the country, changing Nepalese rupees back into Indian, which involved Klas haggling hard with some unscrupulous locals to avoid getting ripped off and arranging onward transport amongst the chaos.
After 10 hours on the bus we arrived to a cricket infested Gorakphur train station (small crickets that resembles tadpoles with a nasty bite) and waited for our night train to Varanasi. We spotted another Western couple who just about ran us over when they saw us to ask our plans. There's something different about travel in India compared to other places I've been, Western travellers are so relieved to see one another, perhaps there’s a safety in knowing that other people are just as bonkers as we are for braving travel in this crazy country. The travellers we've met have tended to be a similar age to us and it has been entertaining sharing tales of the best ways to escape the touts and scammers over dinner or drinks (pretending to be Russian was the best so far!).
As we stepped off the train at 4.30am into Varanasi we were relieved to see a friendly looking man holding a sign with my name on it. We'd arranged for our guest house to meet us at the station as we'd been told the place was tucked away right in the heart of the old city, down a maze of tiny streets and was virtually impossible to find. They were right, the city reminded us of the medina in Marrakech. We were happy to arrive safely at the guest house and after just a few hours’ sleep on the night train we curled up for 4 more before setting out to explore.
Varanasi is no place for the faint hearted, a sensory explosion of street food being sizzled away on every corner, smoking incense, bright coloured garlands and Hindu offerings, gold and trinkets, silk scarves, flashing souvenirs of religious iconography, exhaust fumes, goats, dogs, weasels, cows, chickens, rats, monkeys (and everything they all leave behind requiring some acrobatic footwork to avoid and accepting that sometimes this didn't work out), pilgrims, touts, beggars, sadhus, lepers, travellers, children in colourful clothing, funeral processions carrying the deceased down the tiny winding streets to the ghats (steps down to the Ganges) for their cremation ceremony. As insane as it sounds we both loved the experience of roaming around the old city at our own pace (if that was ever possible) and soaking it all in. Never has anywhere been so vastly different from life as we know it back home. The true potency of Indian life was right in our grasp once again and we found yesterday’s apprehensions had vanished luckily.
We spent our first day wandering along the ghats, for which Varanasi is famous. Hindus from all over India and beyond make the pilgrimage here to wash away a lifetime of sins in the sacred waters to lay offerings to the Mother Ganga and cremate their loved ones. Hindu's believe that being cremated in Varanasi offers 'moksha' - liberation from the cycle of birth and death. The main burning ghat or cremation ghat - Manikarnika Ghat, was a mesmerising place. At first I felt uncomfortable with the idea of watching a cremation; it felt too personal an experience for the family. Having reflected further it represents a lot of what makes India so different to the Western world - nearly everything takes place publicly, cremating the dead is no different. The public nature of the ceremony means that the person who has passed away is in the company of family members throughout the cremation process, blessings are given and prayers are spoken.
Whilst we shyly looked around a young Indian man called Martin spotted an opportunity to practice his English and showed us to a little look-out post where we could watch what was happening without being blinded by smoke and ash. He told us that cremations take place here 24hrs a day, 7 days a week, all year round, the flame used for lighting the cremation fires has been continuously burning since the city’s existence, each fire is lit from this single flame... He explained that bodies are laid on wooden stretchers before being carried down the narrow streets to the ghats, the body is then dipped one last time in the Ganges before the family purchase wood from one of the many wood sellers nearby (who weigh the logs with giant scales), the wood is then used to cover the body. The wood varies in cost according to its type - sandalwood being the most expensive. The body burns for 2/3 hours and the ashes are then poured into the Ganges. The men who perform this ritual are then able to sieve through the riverbed to find the gold and jewellery adorning the deceased, the payment given to the 'low-caste' workers for their efforts by the families.
The cremation ceremony at the ghat is a process of purification. Pregnant women, children and people who have been bitten by a cobra are placed into the Ganges instead of being cremated as they are already considered pure (the cobra is linked to Shiva one of the Hindu Gods, being bitten although fatal is also a blessing?!). Martin explained that women are no longer allowed to accompany bodies to the ghat since 200 years ago when a bereaved wife threw herself on top of her husband’s burning body. Family members aren't supposed to cry or show 'too much' emotion whilst at the ghat as this can interfere with the liberation of the soul - supposedly women cry more hence another reason why they cannot be present - rather sexist I thought! We felt super lucky to have learnt so much about it all and witnessed this incredible spiritual ritual taking place.
After such an experience whats better than the cheerful 'Blue Lassi Cafe' - a hole-in-the-wall yoghurt shop that’s been churning out the creamiest, fruit-filled lassi's for the last 70 years through 3 generations.
We took a sunset boat trip down the Ganges with Deepak and Agwal who gave us a history lesson about each ghat and watched darkness fall upon this holy city whilst paying our own offering to Mother Ganga with flower and candle filled banana baskets which we sent off into the night. Mine smashed into the side of the boat and then disappeared underneath which kind of ruined the moment but made us both laugh :)
That evening we watched the Ganga Aaarti or Ganges Offering Ceremony at the ghats, similar to what we'd seen in Rishikesh but on a much larger scale, before we knew it we had a bindi on our foreheads and a man asking for 100 rupees in return, with no choice in the matter. Klas got chatting to an enthusiastic sadhu (which he later regretted) who offered to read his palm and then prayed for our family members before we had a chance to move on.
The following day Monu from our guest house took us over to the other side of Varanasi to the Moghul town; Muslim quarters where much of the silk in the city is woven. We were introduced to Dada who showed us each and every part of production, this time I ended up with a huge sequin stuck off-centre on my forehead! We couldn't believe the extensive labour and the primitive machinery which was being used
An excuse to buy another scarf maybe? - or perhaps a beautiful hand stitched bed spread!
Two days wasn't enough, we'd even braved (and survived) the Masala Dosas and Samosas we'd eaten from the street.
An intoxicating and mesmerising city somersaulting us back into Indian life, an experience which will live long in the memory and which reminded us why we wanted to visit India in the first place (new flip flops now though perhaps!).
