Kashi. Later named Varanasi now called Benares.
Mark Twain quipped, "Benares is older than history, older than tradition, older even than legend, and looks twice as old as all of them put together!"
Look at the picture above.
Across the top is the sacred river Ganges that had flowed for so many thousands of years, the river that draws thousands of devotees to its bank, and those that enter to take a dip to wash themselves of their sins, and cleanse themselves.
Below is the buffalo a common sight that you would find in small town right in the middle of the road, claiming its space, admist the traffic that flows around it, and adding to the colourful sights and cacophony of sounds of the typical street.
Then to the right, the more recent public urinals, open and in public view for those who would wish to relieve themselves. Earlier, a public wall substituted for the urinal, now thankfully the presence of these few urinals in the midst.
Then to the right, the sight of an open barber saloon, with a two high stools, a plastic sheet above, with a poor attempt to shield the scorching sun, as a thick scraggy beard gives way to a clean chin.
There you are, a few images of ubiquitous India, that you see weaved together in one strange collage, and what I am describing is a place called Assi Ghat at Benares.
The scorching sun, slows everything down. Cars move around slowly avoiding cyclist, obstructions man made and buffaloes. The horns bellow stridently clearing the way forward. Men, cyclist, animals, and cars jostle along together in a chaos, that while it seems muddling invariably falls into a safe rhythmic pattern.
A few tourist cars are parked nearby, testimony to those who are curious to catch and witness this antiquity.
Later in the afternoon, we take a private boat and float down lazily from Assi Ghat towards Panchgani's ghat in the north. On the way, the boatman pointed out the various ghats and the history of some of them.
Notable amongst them was the Kedar Ghat, Manikarnika ghat, Harishchandra Ghat. We saw cremation underway on some of them.
It was soon dusk as we swung back towards Dashashwamedh Ghat, where the Aarti was to begin shortly. A large crowd had gathered on the Ghat, even as boats jostled alongside each other to catch a ring side view from the shore. Soon the Arti began, first at one place then another, than altogether.
Sitting on the boat, watching the spectacle ahead was fascinating as the entire event was so beautifully choreographed. The incantation perfectly rhythmic even as the lit lamps cast essence of smoke across the ghat. Saffron clad Brahmin priests in training conduct the worship of the Ganga by blowing conches, ringing bells and rotating heavy fire torches. A few young boys trampled across the various boats, selling lamps to the crowds to be lit and placed on the river Ganges. It was beautiful to see these bobbing light move across the waters and eventually to be swept away into the distance.
Once the Arti was over, the boats moved back toward Assi Ghat, keeping close to the banks, to provide once again a floodlight bathed view of each Ghat. The chugging sound of the boat, caused by an old motor, caused a mild vibration across the boat, creating an ambience that was so different and as if time had frozen for a while.
As we passed my cremations along the way, it became clear, that our live is but transient, ephemeral and short lived. It is believed that those who pass their last breath at Kashi, escape the inevitable multiple cycle of death and re-birth. They achieve moksha, freedom from the reincarnation of multiple lives. The ultimate wish of every Hindu is to achieve the ultimate union with the Brahman, freedom from re-birth, Moksha.
Most places in India at such crowded places, you would notice a riot of colour and noise: a rising cacophony of sounds, that would drown all conversations. But not here. Here sound was dimmed, voice muted, the overall presence larger.
The river Ganges flowed quietly without notice. Almost nothing conspicuous about its presence. And even otherwise there was nothing conspicuous by its absence. It reminded me, of time that was the greatest master: its existence before and its existence long after I would fade.
Lanes of Varanasi
We sauntered off the lanes of Varanasi starting off at Godhowalli area. Along the way, we came across the Kashiraj Kali Mandir, innocuously a few metres from the main busy road. From there to the flower market.
And finally at one point we veered inside to the famous Kachori lane.
As we walked through the lanes we saw several temples and, shops selling all kinds of things and scooters and motorcycles whizzed past frenetically blowing on their horns on what would be at best a four feet wide road. On account of buffalos moving around too there was replete a fair amount of dung that one had to navigate through. There was ever present the stench from open sewers adjoining the narrow lane. Flies whizzed by overhead and the scorching sun overhead blazed forth. We saw an old library, Vishwanath Pustakalya, which houses ancient Sanskrit texts, books that require you to read there and cannot be taken out.
Ambling along we came across a Nepali temple, built as a replica of the Pashupati Temple in Kathmandu. Several students from Nepal stay there to learn the scriptures.
From there we went to the Mannikarnika Ghat, and jostling our way through piles of wood we approached the burning ghat. Almost all people could be creamated here except our guide revealed the following five: pregnant, under ten years, gay, people dying by snake bites and sadhus.
We retraced our steps passing the govt bhang shop, bought a few things: pickles, papads, etc
We stopped at the blue lassi shop and had thick lassi which was just awesome.
And back in an auto we see shrines dotting the street. We were taken to a famous step well at Assi which built by the raja of Cooch Bihar. Then to the birthplace of Rani Lakshmi Bhai more well known as the Rani of Jhansi.
Benares is everything and more. A place, where you pause and reflect. As history arches it back and cast shadows onto the future.
