priests tending to pilgrims in Varanasi
Kvz. Varanasi is probably considered the holiest city in India. Most all pilgrims try to come here at least once in their lives, to wash away their sins in the holy Ganges river. But if they can’t make it during their lifetime, at least there’s a good chance that their relatives will bring them here for their funeral, as it is a most auspicious place to be cremated. Our first 2 nights we stayed right down by the “Ghats” (steps that lead to the water’s edge) so as to be “close to it all”, and slowly walked from one ghat to the next. Quite soon we came upon our first “burning ghat” and slowed down to take a look. Nothing happens fast in India, so we eventually took a seat (close enough to see but not close enough to be too conspicuous.) First the deceased was carried out on a sort of stretcher and laid gently down on a bed of large timbers. He was dressed in his nicest clothes. Then they wrapped him in a shroud and sprinkled sandalwood and flowers over him…and covered him with many more sticks of wood placed on top of and around his body. The more money a family has, the more sticks will be bought. They sprinkled what I think was kerosene and lit the bonfire. It promptly went out and had to be re-lit..more sticks were added after much conversation. During all this time no ceremony in terms of speech, prayer, or song was performed…just the act of men trying to light the funeral pyre (not a woman in sight.) Finally the fire took hold (I felt as relieved as the next guy) and all the men just walked away. Maybe they stayed nearby- I’m not sure. I had thought that they floated the corpse in the water but they don’t. Someone tends the fire and then at the end I believe they throw the ashes/remains into the river.Since the whole burning process takes hours, we never witnessed a funeral beginning to end, so I’ve had to make some guesses as to the process.
Varnasia also known as Benares as described by Mark Twain – “Benaras is older than history, older than tradition, older even than legend and looks twice as old as all of them put together”.
carrying a loved one to the Ganges for the purification ceremony before cremation
watching the proceedings from afar at the cremation firewood stack // flower and garland vendors in Varanasi
nightly Puja ritual at the Dasaswamedh Ghat
sadhu sitting and oxen singing(?) by the Shivala Ghat in Varanasi
boys playing cricket at the Shivala Ghat
Babaji temple (above)
One day Tim visited a temple dedicated to Babaji and Lahiri Mahashay both guru’s in the lineage of Paramanhansa Yogananda who founded his church at home in Encinitas http://www.crystalclarity.com/yogananda/chap36.html
Lahiri Mahashay lived in Varanasi and initiated thousands into Kriya Yoga
We continued on our way along the river and saw the typical ghat activities of people washing, bathing and swimming along the banks. Cows were everywhere. The faecal bacteria count is about 1 million times what is considered safe for swimming. What with people actually bathing in this toxic water and the crazy traffic problems, I’m surprised there aren’t bodies lying everywhere. It was so hot though…even I wanted to jump in! It was as hot as Africa! And regardless of it’s toxicity, one can’t deny it has a magical presence to it. Near sunset we headed to the main ghat for the nightly ceremony. It was much like the one we experienced at Haridwar but much, much bigger. 8 or 10 young Indian men in costume stood on platforms and moved in slow, synchronized movements to the music…all the while clanging bells and waving incense. Dozens of boats watched from the river as well. There were very few foreigners compared to the hundreds of Indians and amazingly no one harassed us, leaving us free to bask in the spiritual ambience and to people-watch. Like in Haridwar, I was amazed to think that this huge ceremony takes place nightly!
Drew and Becca playing at one of the many ghats
looking down the Ganga past one of the burning ghats
lots of laundry gets done along the river
The next day we decided the only way to beat the heat was to get a place with a pool. We had to move to a hotel on the outskirts of the town center which we thought at first to be a detriment, but soon realized was a blessing. This journey each day proved to be a jaw-dropping event that defies description. We spent the days doing homework while lounging by the pool. The pool attendants were attentive to the point of being annoying…every time you adjusted yourself on your lounge chair they would rush over to re-tuck in your pool towel!! In the late afternoon we’d take a rickshaw for the 30-minute hair-raising ride into town. This ride was like being IN a carnival instead of just watching one…I’ve never seen traffic like this..not even in Delhi. One night we decided to count the beeps of our rickshaw’s horn on the way home…after over 200 honks in less than 10 minutes we lost count. I’ve come to the realization that this horn-honking is a life-saving practice to counter-act the haphazard, life-threatening driving practices you see everywhere. On the backs of trucks they even paint “Horn Please” or “Use Horn”. Unlike in America where drivers use it mostly out of annoyance or revenge…here it is used to warn pedestrians and cyclists to “stay the path” and not make any sudden movements lest they be surely run over. The horns in India are as varied as the Gods, and often play a short, lively tune in place of a beep.
local restaurant and paratha (flat bread) shop with a garland vendor as well
walking along the ghats at night with sporadic cows and moths by the millions
the streets of Varanasi are every bit as interesting as the Ganges and the ghats
its smiles like these that are why we are coming back to India some day (and, the guy in front is pedalling a rickshaw with the other 4 guys on it!)
most women are not so liberal with there smiles
The streets are lined with shops and hundreds of people crowding in and out of them. As you get closer to the ghats the cops don’t even allow any type of vehicle because there just plain ain’t room- so you walk the rest of the way into town. I scored on a great glass bead shop along the way (Tammy- you’d love it!) and bought a bunch to mail back and make jewelry with some day. In the old part of Varanasi there are many alleyways which snake every which-way and it’s easy to get lost. The alleys are sprinkled with restaurants, tea shops, chapati stands and guest houses. Locals walk by holding their babies whose faces are often covered with heavy eye make-up, which is quite alarming to see the first time. Several nights we found ourselves trying to find our way out and back to the main market streets quite late at night. This is exactly what the guide book suggests NOT to do. However it never felt too dangerous or scary. Of all the festivals we’ve accidently stumbled onto, we missed India’s “Color Festival” by one day- for it was to happen the day after we were to fly to Nepal. This is a holy celebration where everyone throws colored powder and colored water on everyone else….anyone on the streets is fair game- tourist and local alike. We had several locals tell us that they NEVER left the house during this festival! Tim and Drew (especially Drew) were very disappointed we’d be missing it. Becca and I were quite relieved.
other pics from Varanasi and getting there:
leaving Kahjuraho
around Allahabad
pics from train door while moving through Allahabad…
kite flying is a big past time here
cow patties put up to dry in alley in Varanasi
We decided to go to the ceremony again one night in order to see it from the water. I found this to be even more surreal. I bought a “candle boat” and carefully lit it and set it afloat. A very good friend of mine in California died senselessly a few weeks ago and it’s been a difficult time for me…I have not been able to bring myself to write about it until now. It’s been very frustrating and lonely to be away during this time, away from mutual friends…and not being able to attend her memorial service. It’s too private and painful to share here, but just suffice it to say that I finally found the courage to say goodbye to my friend Tibe on that night…on that holiest of rivers; the great Ganges which translates to “Great Mother” which I found be-fitting. As I watched the candle float away I felt extreme loss, realizing how much I would miss her. Goodbye Tibe. I love you.
