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Other entries in Vārānasi

Hot Streets & Pyres

So the Taj was closed and I had my train ticket out of Agra to
Varanasi. The cost to change versus just leaving was too great so off
I set, this time in relative luxury. After my previous experience I
though that the extra cost for A/C was a price worth paying and I
wasn't incorrect. I boarded the 23.50 sleeper service which pulled in
right on time, with no hassle from the locals and a bed already made
up complete with blanket and pillow – things were looking good
especially due to the fact that on the night bus the previous evening
I got about 20 seconds of sleep and I had been on the go since about
4.30am. I chained my bags to something unmoveable (the old dear on
the lower bunk) slept like a baby and 8 hours later I woke up feeling
very refreshed. A guy from the restaurant car informed me that we
were only running a mere 3 hours late and would I like breakfast.

Breakfast Indian style (Thali) arrived and we slowly progressed
towards Varanasi in the cool surroundings of the A/C coach which by
now was almost empty. The bedboy whose sole responsibility was to
fold the bedding for the carriage decided to chance his arm in the
empty coach and sat next to me. All he said was 'you give me money I
am very poor'. I explained to him that I too was very poor and did he
realize what an effect the subprime fall out could have on my future
career – my NPV at this time was looking worse than his. I asked him
for money and he soon got the message. Think the bit where I said
'should I tell your boss' got the message through.

As we pulled closer to Varanasi it was approaching 2pm and I pressed
my face against the double glazing to see if I could see anything
interesting only to recoil at the speed of sound due to the fact that
the glass was almost melting from the heat outside – I was thankful
for the A/C. the train pulled in 4 hours late at 3pm I grabbed my bags
and stepped out of the carriage to be hit by a wall of heat – it was
about 45 degrees.

Varanasi is known for high commissions paid to autorickshaw drivers
and therefore I decided to tell the driver at the pre-pay that I
wanted to be just dropped at a Ghat (bathing steps for entry into the
Ganges). He was a bit pissed and insisted that I told him where I was
staying, I didn't budge and he reluctantly took me as close as he was
allowed before the pedestrian / if you can get away without the police
noticing rickshaw area – not a happy bunny but I'd just saved myself a
quid a night (or a third) on my accommodation costs – every rupee
counts.

Later that evening I decided to go explore the Ganges and the ghats
and see what all the fuss was about. Now Varanasi is the holiest
place in which a Hindu can die and being cremated on the banks of the
Ganges is the most honourable way to go. Also by bathing in the
ghats, called Puja, you can get some of the holiness to rub off on
you. I was therefore picturing a very serene place and a somber mood
throughout and thought that I would go and soak some of this
atmosphere up to work up an appetite. You can walk right down the
Ganges waterfront along the ghats, which are owned by different
Maharajas from around the country, and there are two specific burning
ghats for cremation. One being more revered than the other. The
first thing I saw in the holiest of places was a group of kids dive
bombing into the water and splashing around – not very somber.
Hundreds of people were splashing around and it seemed more like a
scene from Blackpool than from Highgate Cemetery. I perciverired
through the boatmen who wanted to take me a long the river, the 10
year olds trying to sell me postcards, groups of bys playing cricket
on the flat surfaces and the 20 something males trying to sell me
drugs to the poor mans burning ghat. Here at least I thought that the
mood must change as bodies were being burnt on pyres. But no – I
nearly missed the ghat as there was a cricket match in session at the
entrance to the waterside. Once I saw the ghat I saw that there were
4 ceremonies on the go so I stood some distance away so not to disturb
the proceedings. The Bible warned that there are basically touts at
the ghats that essentially try to con you into parting with your money
to donate to the families whom have to buy the wood for the cremation
– most of them are on the take and pocket the money without the
genuinely poor families seeing a penny. Within 2 minutes of me
standing and watching one approach. A further 2 minutes down the
track he sloped off defeated when I asked him how he could sleep at
night profiting off the poor in the holiest place for him on the
planet and what state he felt his Karma was in.

Then another approached, or so I thought and the southpaw stance was
adopted. Sometimes, just sometimes though people in India are not
trying to sell you something or get richer and this was a perfect case
in point. Kamal was a 60+ man who just wanted to talk and meet me.
He owned a carpet manufacturing and export company that wasn't doing
too well due to a slow down in American demand. It turned out that he
was there as his son-in-laws mother was one of the 4 pyres still
alight – infact I'd seen the ceremony from the bringing down of the
body, the bathing the corpse in the Ganages, the lighting of the pyre
and to its current silhouetted state. Kamal was a true gent and a
real Indian Diamond in the rough. After 2 hours of talking and with
my faith in society somewhat resorted and a little wiser about
Hinduism I left to go back to the guest house and to get some food
still a bit shocked at the lack of emotion or mourning in the ceremony
which seemed a bit too transactional.

Not 3 minutes into my walk back I saw Charlotta – my partner in crime
in the Pavarti Valley. I knew that she was in Varanasi and had
planned to meet up the following day. It was great to see her again
and we swapped stories about our travels, and decided to meet up at
5.15am to take a boat to see the sunrise over the Ganges. Charlotta
then left to take her sitar class and I went to get food and an early
night.

so 5.15am does exist and the sun was still not up as went got on board the good ship 'Row like an Indian' destination up and down the ganges.  on the waters side as the sun rose there were thousands of people bathing in the Ganges in a ritual know as Puja.  Oh and the colour of the water is an off-green and according to a water research center there is so little dissolved oxygen in the water it is difficult for anything to survive in the waters.  Still people were in there and having a riot, even around the burning ghats which were stillbillowing with smoke from the 24/7 ceremonies.  As the sun rose the temperature stared to creep up as well and as we disembarked the 1-indian powered rowing boat it must hace been over 35 degress, the time 6.30am.  We wondered up to the main burning ghat to take a closer peak at what was going on and to see if there was any form of spirituality.  The first thing we saw were kids dive bombing off the wall of the ghat not more than 3 metres away from the burning corpses - it was more like a water theme park than the holiest part of the river..

A  kind gent explained the whole process and what was going on.  he finished his rendition with 'could you please give some money to the poor to pay for the wood as they can't afford it.'  it's well known that this is a con and the money is never seen by those who are in the 'resting rooms' waiting to die and genuinely can't afford to pay for their own funeral.  He didn't last long.  We walked on further and on the way passed 3 precessions with corpses.  Now there are 5 types of bodies that can't be burnt these are; pregnant women, sahdus, leppars, those stung by a cobra and children.  These instead are dropped into the water directly.  As we walked back to the main ghat we saw a man with a parcel in his arms.  he boarded a rowing boat, tied a stone to the parcel and dropped the parcel into the water.  It was the body of his dead child.  It all seemed too transactional and the lack of emotion was almost heart breaking.  It turns out though that there must be no form of emtion or the soul does not reach nirvarna for reincarnation. 

the sun rose further and the temperature that day hit 47 degrees, the heat was opressive and it was too hot to be out in the sun.  The only solution was to have a siesta until the sun began to set.  The harem later arrived from Agra - they had stayed another day to see the inside of the Taj.  They said it was shit, but their photos said otherwise, oh well.

the next few days passed off uneventful due to the heat, but before I left I was determined to sniff out what spirituality I could.  On my final day before I left for Delhi I decided to go out at around midday to see what was going on on the water front.  It was a chilly day - only 40 degrees so was contemplating wearing my woolies.  There was only a mad dog and myself, the Englishman (al la Noel Cowel) out in the midday sun as any one with any sense was inside keeping cool.  The silence was deafening and that was when the serenity and the true spirituality of the place hit.  Varanasi was spiritual it's just that the indians were quiet adept at drowning it out.

it was with some contentment that I left Varanasi.  It wasd only marred by the cycle ricksaw driver who tried to up the fair half way to the train station.  This was soon ironed out by me attempting to leave the moving vehicle  and saying the phrase 'tourist police'.

I soon boarded my air conditioned carriage of the train, schedulled to take 12 hours, for the journey to Delhi.  My carriage companion was a 60+ years of age guard/police bloke with the manditory semi automatic machine gun slung over his arm.  After only a few hours of the journey and after an on board meal - which was significantly better than the one that gave me Delhi Belly from Amritsar - the old bloke decided to call it a night and go to sleep.  He prepared his bed, fluffed his complimentary pillow and then stuffed his gun under it to ensure that no pilfering little git stole it in the night.  With very little surprise or concern based on my previous India Rail expreiences we arrived 3 hours late into a rainy Delhi.  The temperature about 20 degrees cooler than Varanasi which was a refreshing change. 

 Another 10 hours later I was at the airport ready to check in and it looked like it was going to be an Indian queuing special - a scrum.  I wasn't really up for barging samll people out of my way so I played the dumb tourist instead with the check-in staff and got checked through in the business-class line where there was no scrum.  Security was tight though after the Jaipur bombings and the 'processing time' did take over an hour.  However I was soon on the plane and in the air hoping to get some sleep on the 4 hour journey.  However it was a bit difficult when the air hostesses wake you up, even when you have an eye mask on, to ask if you want a meal - retards.  So after 20 minutes sleep the plane touched down, on time so one over the rail network in Bangkok for the next leg of the adventure.

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