Sunday, August 13 Varanasi Cruise, Bathing in Ganges...again, Touts, Ceremony

I woke up at 5 am (it’s like I’m on a ski vacation) and walked down to the ghats (banks with stairs into the Ganges). The nearest one is Harishchandra (one of two cremation ghats). I haggled with the boatmen to pay only 200 Rs for two hours, down from 750. One of the boys rowed the boat down past Hanuman ghat (steep stairs leading down to the river) to Chet Singh Ghat, a red sandstone fort built by a rich Hindu king. There were a bunch of boats toting tourists around at sunrise, when the majority of bathers are out. It’s like a boat safari, everyone trying to spot animals at the waterhole. I bought a prasad of flowers and candle to offer the Ganga. The water was a milky brown and cloudy; it’s impossible to see even an inch down. Maybe this is because: The water is so polluted that it is septic (meaning no oxygen exists), 60,000 people bathe here a day, 30 city sewers discharge here, the city is only 7 km long, and it has 3000 times as much faecal coliform bacteria than bathwater. Nevertheless, I could see splashes of water from fish. The Ganges was pretty fast-moving, exemplified by the fact that the boatman didn’t even have to row. We floated north past the intricate Bengali Hindu statues above colorful Kedar Ghat, a popular spot with South Indians and Bengalis. Moving along, after some modern guest houses and homes, we came face-to-face with the imposing red wall of Mansarowar Ghat, built by a Rajput king, named after a Tibetan lake, home of Shiva. The walls probably ascend 50 feet, in case of Gangetic flooding. Adjacent was Someswar Ghat, where men were diving off a high ledge and floating down to the main bathing ghat. Sometimes it seems more like a pool than a bathtub. Munshi Ghat is next, with large stairs. Ahalya Bai Ghat has a Shiva temple, therefore many Hindus bathe here. Rana and Dasaswamedh Ghats form the main bathing ghat. They exemplify quintessential Varanasi. Men, women, children, elderly, and sadhus all come to bathe in Varanasi, the most holy of spots in Hinduism. The whole range could be observed from here. Men shed their collared shirts and cloth dresses, down to prayer necklaces, briefs, and loincloths, and step down into the muddy water, where they clasp their hands in prayer, drink from the river, and scrub their bodies and hair with soap. Women submerse while fully clothed in saris; wash their hair, carry children into the water, wash their families’ clothes, and fill golden brassware vials with the holy water. Young men pilgrims, in conspicuous orange shorts and shirts, all play in the water, as do naked children. Sadhus, dressed in nothing to chalk to saffron robes, dip in the water, hoping to be purified. The dhobis bring their washing here, taking each piece of clothing out, rinsing it in the murky water, and slapping it against the stone steps, before setting it out to dry on the steep embankment. The full and complete range of Hindus can be seen here. The last stop on the circuit was Manikarnika Ghat, the main cremation ghat and the most auspicious spot for a Hindu to be cremated. After my time was up, the boatman rowed hard against the current back to Harishchandra Ghat. I went out and got some breakfast at a hotel, and then I walked through the Old City. It is filled with stone buildings, religious shops, restaurants, internet cafes, souvenir shops, music and yoga parlors, and guest houses. Hindu temples continue to pop up everywhere, in random alleys, next to hotels, and cut out of banyan trees. A lot of English, Spanish, Italian, French, Japanese, and Korean tourists were out and about, so naturally beggars and touts flock here like vultures to pray on them. Hindu pilgrims come in large numbers for purification and funerals. Cows and dogs were also abundant in the narrow winding dirt streets, and with them come mine fields of shit everywhere. I had heard Varanasi is famous for Benares silk, especially for saris. So I went into a large silk store and picked out five beautiful saris for presents, and I ended up paying 500 Rs each, which seemed fair. They neglected to tell me, however, you need an under-piece, so I had to pay another 500 Rs for those. I wanted to see a burning ghat, so I went down to Harishchandra Ghat. I was taken by a “volunteer” guide to a watch tower high above. Pictures are not allowed out of respect (but being me, I obviously couldn’t resist), so I had to hide my camera in the crook of my arm while snapping photos of the ceremony. Is that really bad karma? I felt like I was a covert photographer in North Korea. The guide explained to me that he is a dom, meaning undertaker caste. He and his family cremate Hindus and non-Hindus (the other cremation ghat, Manikarnika, only allows Hindus) wanting to reap the benefits of being cremated at Varanasi, which gives the soul instant liberation. This is an untouchable caste, but they are needed and hold a unique place in society. I was informed that in a normal funeral this is what happens: The person dies (obviously). The relatives are called and congregate as soon as possible afterwards. Only men are allowed to attend the ceremony because it is thought women get too emotional and cry (this will disturb the spirit and turn it to a ghost) and because there used to be the fear of sati (a good widow performing self-immolation). The wood is set up so that the body will burn efficiently. The mortuary stockpiles cremation woods shipped from Madhya Pradesh, different varieties costing different amounts. It takes 360 kg of wood and three hours to burn a body. Sandalwood, the most expensive, is 3000 Rs per kilo. The corpse is dressed in shiny gold sheets and carried through the Old City on a bamboo stretcher by doms. Then the body is bathed in the Ganges and placed in the wood structure. The eldest son (or other close male relative) then conducts the ceremony with a cleanly shaven head and wearing a simple white cloth. This is one reason why parents want sons instead of daughters in India. He gets reeds and lights them with a flame, still ablaze at the cremation grounds since the time of Shiva. He takes these reeds and circumambulates the body five times (because the body is made up of five elements; fire, wind, water, earth, and plasma) before igniting the cremation fire. He then pours food and sandalwood powder on the body, to offer it a last meal and a nice smell. There the male relatives and friends wait three hours for the body to incinerate. After this, the ashes are collected and thrown over the shoulder into the Ganges without looking back at them because this could turn it to a ghost. This is trivialized by the fact that poor people stand near the cremation grounds with baskets sifting through the wet ashes in hopes of finding a gold tooth or ring. After this funeral, for seven days the son goes into solitude and then there is a ceremony with the rest of the family. The only people who are not cremated are those who are already pure; pregnant women, children, lepers, snakebite victims, smallpox victims, and sadhus. Instead, their corpse is put in a bag with stones and thrown, as is, into the middle of the river. How sanitary. Watching the ceremony was enriching; it gave me an insight into Hinduism that I hadn’t seen before. It seems very superstitious, based on purity/pollution, and hierarchical. It was also rather shocking and gross. I was right in the line of smoke, so my eyes burned the whole time. That’s the first time I’ve seen a dead body. They put them on the pyre and they charred the bodies. There was a clear outline of the blackened corpse engulfed in flames. While burning, I could see the creamy intestines and other organs spilling out. Sometimes the dom would have to adjust the fire to burn more efficiently, and this would mean poking at the body with a bamboo stick. There were even cases where a leg or arm would come unattached from the rest of the body, and they’d have to throw it back in the fire. After watching for a while, I walked along the riverfront (away from the cremation ghats) to Munshi Ghat, near the main bathing ghat. I passed on the way a herd of black water buffalo in the water cooling off. I got jealous, considering the sun was baking hot and it was over 100 degrees outside. So, even though I vowed not to go in the Ganges at Varanasi, I dove into the water, dunking an auspicious five times. I tried as hard as I could to keep every orifice in my body closed. At least the water was fast-flowing and it’s monsoon so there’s more water compared to toxins. Okay, just humor me, smile, and say ‘You’re right’. I give it until Wednesday before I get jiardia and/or cholera. I collected Ganges water in my water bottle to bring back home. Immediately afterward, I looked for the nearest temple (there’s one like every 5 feet in this town) and prayed to Shiva, god of destruction, to destroy all harmful disease and parasites I may have ingested in the Ganges. I went back to the hotel and took a nice shower (‘nice’ because I didn’t bring soap or a towel). I ended up drip-drying off in ten minutes because it’s so hot. I walked to Dasaswamedh Ghat, which was filling up with Indians and tourists for the Ganga Aarti ceremony at night, paying respect to Mother Earth and her lifeline, Ganga, the goddess of the river. Touts were out in full force today. First, an able-bodied beggar man came up to me and acted offended that I was ignoring him. I thought it was acceptable not to give him money, until I saw that all the Indians had given him money. Next, an old man came up to me and shook my hand. He started massaging my hand and arm and said an Ayurvedic massage only cost 10 Rs. So I got an awesome full-body massage from him. Then the guy charged me 150, saying that 10 was only for the head and neck. I was steaming furious (and it’s hard to make me mad). I paid him because a crowd on Indians had gathered. I lost it and threw the money at his face and stormed off, cursing. Next, these guys seemed genuinely interested in meeting me, so I talked to them. All this guy said was “My girlfriend’s booty big, but I am small. I like.” What?!? Then his friend kept touching my arm and they invited me to chai. Wow, awkward. Then a postcard seller kid was hassling me, and some random guy demanded money for sitting with me while I was getting my massage. After this, I retreated onto a balcony filled with only tourists. Aaahh! Finally, I can see what people are talking about when they say everyone is trying to rip you off and the touts are overwhelmingly annoying. I can’t even imagine what it would be like as a, say, young blonde girl in India. There was a sadhu in the crowd that was the live Indian version of Jack Sparrow from Pirates of the Caribbean. The Ganga Aarti ceremony was boring. Five Brahmins dressed in gold waved bells, horsehair brushes, and torches to the beat of bells and drums and sacred chanting music. Then the crowd chimed in, chanting “Ganga Maa”, and clapping. The priests then handed out rice as gifts. I walked out of there past all the street vendors. It was like getting out of a baseball game; a massive flow of humanity in the streets. There were tons of uniformed police officers with assault rifles. Too bad they don’t do anything except sit in the station and socialize. I went to a nice AC restaurant and got a thali as usual. I came back to the room and after about an hour into my sleep the power went out. I wouldn’t normally care, except for the fact that there are no bug screens or AC, so the fan didn’t work and I couldn’t even open the window for some airflow. It was unbearably hot, I was drenched in a pool of my own sweat, and I couldn’t sleep for at least two hours.