Varanasi: the real India

11/11/08 -11/12/08
I am back in Varanasi. I took two short trips: One to Bodah Gaya and one to Agra. I got back from Agra last night, so today I am just resting and catching up with the blog. I'll write about Boda Gaya and Agra soon. First, Benaras.

I arrived in Varanasi early in the morning on Nov. 4th. The 60 hour train ride had literally made me sick, and there I was, stomach in knots, being taxied through the chaos and clatter of some say the oldest city in the world. Varanasi or Benaras (the Sanskrit name) is organized around the river Ganga. There are over 36 ghats or steps that lead to the shore of the great Mother Ganga. The living spaces and shops are built at the top pf the ghats. For Hindis, Varanasi is the holiest city and to die here is a great honor. If a Hindu dies here, it is believed that the soul is granted moksha: freedom from the cycle of birth and death (samscara), and he/she will not re-incarnate. When a Hindu dies, their body is first cleaned, then wrapped in cloth, carried through the streets of Varanasi, and set beside the edge of the Ganga to be purified before cremation. The hip bones are the strongest bones in the female body and do not burn completely. and For a man, it is the rib cage. These bones are thrown into the Ganga following the cremation. here are two cremation ghats in Varanasi. Between 150-200 bodies are cremated each day and cremations occur 24hours. The burning of the bodies is the responsibility of the lowest/untouchable class. The morning we arrived in Benaras, my friend and I walked with an Gopal, an Indian man who works at our guest house to one of the cremation ghats to witness a cremation. This may sound morbid, but bear in mind three things: first, to a Hindu, death is the beginning of a new birth and with each re-birth, the conditions of one's life improve. The word death is not really used, rather the phrase "the soul has left the body" is more commonly used. I asked Gopal if there were feelings of sadness, and he said, "yes, yes". There is a thirteen day period of intense mourning that includes a two day fast. The period of mourning then continues for one year after the soul has left its body. The son of a father who has died will shave his head bald except for a small piece of hair on the back of his scalp. Men are only allowed to witness a cremation, it is believed that a woman is "too soft" to withstand the cremation without crying. No sad emotions are allowed to be expressed at the cremation. The disposition during the cremation is one of respect and in some ways, a celebration. Secondly, again, if a Hindu dies in Varanasi and is cremated at the most sacred river, Ganga, this is then the final incarnation for that soul. ( I will talk more about the Ganga in a separate post). Thirdly, nothing is separate in India; death is innately part of life and therefore, the cremations are openly part of ones' daily experience in Varanasi. Further, all of the experiences of the human condition are visibly intertwined and completely public: Stepping over a large cow patty, I have seen a man take a piss next to the head of a man sleeping, adjacent to a vendor selling chai and burning trash on the side of the main road.

The frantic energy in Varanasi is dramatically different than the calm, fluidness of Kerala. I have been getting up at 4:30am to meditate on the rooftop of my guest house-this is the only time Varansi is quiet. Varanasi is busy from about 5:30 am to 12:30 am. The first sounds I hear in the morning are the Hindu and Muslim prayers chanted over the loud speakers. Then I hear the rhythmic patterning of the mechanized silk loom. Once I hear the first horn, I know that Varansi is awake. It is common for people to still be working well past 8:00 pm. Varansi is known for its hand made silks. These silks are so beautiful! The patterns are unique and intricate and you can walk past the silk shops and watch the Muslim families either stitching a beaded Saris by hand, or they are manning the loom. It is amazing to watch the technique. There is a barrage of manual and auto rickshaws, taxis, motorcycles, cows, dogs and thousands of people on foot. There is a constant stream of horns honking and old mufflers puttering. The "most alive city in India" asserts Ganesh, the manager of the guest house. The pollution from the automobile exhaust is unbelievable. Because Varanasi is a city build of stone and dirt and they have cut down most of the trees, the exhaust just sits black and heavy in the air. Whenever I go out, I use a rag to cover my nose and mouth and ear plugs to sleep in. It smells like shit, urine exhaust, burning trash, sandlewood and spices. The streets are littered with the same. While the energy here is chaotic, it is a focused sense of chaos: it is the chaos of millions of people whose lives are focused on and around spiritual expression and rituals. There is a call to prayer twice a day for Hindus and five times a day for the Muslim population that lives here. The prayers are broadcast over loud speakers embedded in the city. These same speakers are often playing traditional Indian ragas or spiritual hymns throughout the day. Indian women are dressed in the most vibrant and varied shades and of saffron, purple, green, yellow, blue, fuscia, and okra. Their noses and ears pierced with pure gold and their ankles and wrists adorned with gold and silver bangles. I tried on a Sari but decided to get a silk scarf instead. The Muslim women are in full black Burgas, with only their eyes showing. Muslim men wear long cloth shirts and pants and woven hats. Indian men are wearing collard shirts and slacks or are wearing long, cloth skirts. School children wear uniforms. From the rooftops, I can see children flying kites and a variety of raptors, vultures and small sparrow-like birds. On Monday after my meditation, I opened my eyes and saw an enormous raptor perched on one of the other rooftops. It looked like a hawk and was about the size of a small dog. I saw this as a blessing.

My senses are constantly stimulated here. When I first arrived, I was overwhelmed! Varansi is truly radical and unlike anywhere else. I am finally feeling more comfortable here. It was helpful to leave for a few days and come back. I actually felt like I was coming back to something familiar and that I was part of the community here. It is nice to feel this change. Varansi is finding a place in my heart, if you can believe it!

So tomorrow, I am going to take a boat out on the Ganga to celebrate DipDiwalli, the festival of the moon. Diwalli is celebrated throughout India but at different times and DipDiwalli is only celebrated in Benaras. This will be my second large ritual on the Ganga. The first ritual was for the Chat pooja to honor the sun. This experience was profound and warrants its own post.
I am well and I feel as though I am part of the land rather than just a tourist walking on top of it.
I am leaving for Kathmandu this Saturday, Nov. 15.