Varanasi - Holy City of the Dead!

                                                           
He leads me down a maze of twisting dark alleys and winding narrow backstreets, where rats scuttle into the shadows and shriveled beggars lurch at me with outstretched hands mumbling frantically in Hindi. The streets smell of urine and the rotting rubbish which is everywhere, in stinking piles at the side of streets and clogging up gungy muddy drains. I jump to dodge a fresh pile of cow shite, more dried cow pats littler my path and merge with the rubbish and buzzing flies. Some have decorated sticks deliberately jammed into them, marking them out as the holy shit piles that they are. Apparently it is good luck to walk into them. So lucky me in my pretty floral flip flops with my toes painted red as my feet gasp in horror becoming simply luckier and luckier as we go. I grimace in disgust dragging my heavy bag behind me, sweat dripping out of every pore in the baking heat of the afternoon sun as I get spattered again and again by the holy cow shite and God knows what else. 

I'm rushing to keep up with my guide who is taking me to my hotel, through a vast network of backstreets in Varanasi where rickshaws can't travel & we have been walking for over ten minutes now . An enormous buddha mural painted high up on a restaurant gable wall seems to smile down at me with a twinkle in his eye. 'Should have worn your runners now shouldn't you', he seems to say with a knowing smile. 'Should have brought a backpack with you Arlene, now shouldn't you', he whispers softly in the humid Indian air. After an eighteen hour train journey, I'm hungry, I'm tired, I'm hot and I'm getting rattier and rattier by the minute. My guide has left me wheeling the heavy bag while he runs on ahead carrying my little sleeping bag and he'll still be expecting his tip at the end of it. When it comes to Western tourists, very little is done without the expectation of a tip, just about everything has a price tag and I nearly keel over with shock (& delight) when men here are actually chivalrous & offer to help me with my bags instead of staring silently in groups as I struggle up steps at train stations. (You can tell from my tone that this doesn't happen very often, hee!)

Hanging with a holy cow on the streets of Varanasi

Set in a tiny narrow backstreet, blocked by three enormous cows around the corner from a square where uniformed guards sit with massive machine guns, we have finally arrived outside my hotel. There is no way in hell I would have found this place by myself. Varanasi is like no place I have ever been to before in my life. It is one of the oldest cities in the world dating back to 1200 BC and you can literally feel the history in the air. Stretching out along India's holy Ganges river, a confusing network of winding streets and alleys, it's waterfront is dominated by long flights of stone ghats, (steps leading down to a river) where literally thousands of pilgrims come every day from all over India to cremate their loved ones on funeral pyres. The shrouded dead are lead in processions through the narrow streets of Varanasi on simple bamboo stretchers adorned with flowers, where they will be taken down to the ghats and placed on the continually burning pyres. One body after the next, all day and all night, the flames never go out and over two thousands remains are cremated here every single week, flowing straight into the Ganges river. It is said that anyone who dies in Varanasi attains instant moksha, or enlightenment, so they come in their droves to live out their last days, waiting to die, lepers,  the old, the sick and widowed, finding shelter in temples, assisted by the holy priests. 

Steps of main ghat Varanasi

Indian's believe that those cremated in Varanasi will go straight into heaven. Many of the very poor who come here can't afford to pay the fees for the funeral burning ritual (sandal wood for example is very expensive here) and so many bodies (particularly those of babies and children) are unofficially placed directly into the water of the river, weighed down with rocks. It is not uncommon to see all sorts floating in these murky waters as some of my friends who have been here already have testified (to my absolute horror). Your probably thinking that this is one river you wouldn't want to be going anywhere near, right? Well they do .............in their droves. All along the banks men, women and children, strip off and bath in the dark smelly water, pouring it over their heads to wash away a lifetime of sins and drink its holiness...........yes, drink it. One can only begin to imagine how toxic the water is, so the mind boggles as to this particular practice. It's definitely not something I'll be putting to the test.

In my hotel I bump straight into two friends from my time in Pushkar, Julie and Trudy. I'm delighted to have some buddies to hang with in Varanasi. It's always more fun to explore a city with company. The next day the three of us take a walk down to the Ganges to drink in the scene. For a city that's all about death, Varanasi is simply bursting with life and colour and thronged with people. We sit on the steps to watch the boats heading off down the Ganges to the burning ghats. Everything is chaotic and blindingly colourful. Men walk around with large silver tins offering cups of chai (tea) for sale, street children peddle postcards, cows strut, kites dip & twirl in the sky to the beat of Indian pop music. Hindu holy men (Sadhus) in saffron robes with ratty grey beards sit bare foot in sheltered enclaves & watch the world go by. I have my palm read by an old beggar on the steps who tells me the next five years of my life will be my golden period (something to look forward to then). 

Holy man asleep on steps on main ghat

At dusk we take a wooden boat down along the Ganges towards the burning ghats. The night is eerily still as dozens of other boats join us in a long silent procession of black shadowy boats on the water. We glide over human ash and God knows what else down towards the blazing light of burning fires on the banks ahead. This is like nothing I have ever experienced before in my life and I feel as though I have been transported back to medieval times. What I witness doesn't feel like it's from a modern age & my own familiar life seems a world away. We watch silently on the water as multiple funeral processions snake down to the ghats. Dead bodies are handled by the social outcasts of the Hindu caste (class) system called doms. The shrouded body is dipped into the Ganges water and then left to dry before being placed on the funeral pyre. Huge piles of firewood are stacked on top of the ghat, with every log being weighed carefully so the price of cremation can be calculated exactly. We watch respectfully as families perform puja (prayers) for their loved ones by the light of the burning fires, beside shadowy temples where sacred fires burn & lepers and beggars are waiting to die.

An Eerie Sight - Funeral pyres burn along banks of Ganges 

Coming from our very different Western culture at first this close proximity to death seems so primitive, macabre and almost like something from a horror movie. I won't forget in a hurry the day I whirled around after buying a bag of bananas from a street seller to see a shrouded dead body being stretchered towards me. It put an aul spring in my step to be sure. (OK, I ran!!!!). But then as we sit in the boat and light the lotus flower and candle offerings we have bought and set them adrift on the water's surface; I feel a real sense of peace and a deep respect for history and tradition. I realise that the dead here have been treated with dignity and respect, cremated in love and surrounded by their loved ones and family on their final journey home. Varanasi is a city of prayer and devotion and it makes sense to me why so many Indians rich and poor would bring their loved ones here. We head back up the river watching the dozens of candle offerings float past us on the dark water like tiny fireflies dancing to the beat of the drums from the evening prayer ceremony which is just beginning. There is no doubt that Varanasi is an overwhelming and magical place but it is definitely not for the faint of heart.

Namaste from India,

Arlene x