Update on this post: The fire used for cremation in Varanasi comes from only one low-caste family guarding the funeral pyre that's been continuously burning for thousands of years. And women are not allowed at cremations because they tend to cry. Their tears are considered pollutants. (Sources: Documentary on India by Michael Wood and www.factsanddetails.com)
Highs
After dozing off for 2 hours in Hotel Haifa, Mike and I set off. We had lunch in Vaatika Pizzeria located at Tulsi Ghat, an outdoor restaurant famous for its pizza and apple pie baked in wood-fired oven. We ordered thin-crust epinard (spinach)pizza. It was bland for my taste but the generous amount of molten mozzarella filled my mouth and offered a delightful change from our usual vegetarian diet in Delhi. Mike, who has been here before wouldn't leave the place without having the apple pie. I am not a fan of apple pie but this one had the right amount of sweetness that blended well with my Cafe Americano. Vaatika instantly became our official favorite restaurant in Varanasi.
Once sated, we took a walk along the ghats. What I only used to see on television I witnessed live now, Hindus fully absorbed in their (spi)rituals. There were people on the bathing steps of the ghats, women clad in their saris while the men were almost naked; they showered themselves with water from the Ganges River.
But it was obvious the river's purpose was not simply to wash away sins. It was also a source for daily subsistence. There were boats that take pilgrims and tourists to a cruise to get a view of the ghats from the river for at least Rs50 an hour per person. Hook-and-line fishers sat on their moored boats fixing their fishing gears, and children with improvised fishing rods trying their luck. One would think they were doing this for fun as they boisterously chatted and laugh at one another, a girl selling floating lamps told me the children's catch were brought home, cooked and eaten with chapati. I bought two floating lamps from her, an offering I was going to make for my dad.
We walked further and reached Harish Chandra Ghat,better known as the burning ghat where bodies of dead Hindu are cremated beginning at dusk. From a viewing deck we could see several funeral pyres. In some, we could make out the head of the dead. There's a separate pyre exclusively for the high caste and that created the biggest fire. The shrouded corpse is bathed in the river then carried on bamboo stretcher and transferred on to the pyre.
I shifted my attention back to what was happening at the riverbank, a few men sat on their haunches while their heads were being shaved. These men were the eldest male in the families of the dead. Together with the brahmin priest and a few other male members of the family they went around the pyre where the body of the dead is laid. At this point i couldn't tell whether it was the brahmin or the eldest male who lit the pyre. The pyre started burning, the mourners stepped back, the eldest male on his mobile phone. I thought he might be reporting to the rest of the family that the dearly departed's soul was soon going to be liberated. I did not see anyone actually grieving, and there were very few women, and definitely no women took part in the burning ritual.
Up the ghat was completely the opposite, it was filled with vibrant people oblivious to the fire and smoke emanating from the funeral pyres. The ghats were turned into a plaza where boys and men played cricket, college girls and boys met up and chatted, smaller children running all over the place, boatmen inviting tourists to take a cruise in their tiny dinghies.
From where Mike and I stood we could see the temples built further back in time, the once illustrious buildings are now showing signs of dilapidation but could still impress anyone and wonder how much wealth and spiritual devotion were put into building these temples and ghats.
There's more than 100 ghats alongside the Ganga, we figured we could see one or two more before calling it a day. We reached the ghat where pilgrims swarmed around a Shiva lingam, pouring water on it, rubbing it, apparently part of a ritual before they immersed themselves in the Ganga river.
It was also the ghat were I saw lit clay lamps floating in the river. I decided this was where I would let the lamp for my dad start to sail away. My lamp was blocked by a piece of rope connected to a boat, I gave it a gentle push so it could sail further away but some Indians who watched me said I shouldn't, that I should let the lamp float away on its own.
We had enough for the day. We went back to the burning ghat and from there climbed the steps. At the end was the temple where the Brahmin priests probably did their rituals. Behind it is a warren of alleys where almost equally old buildings stood. As in many places in India, it was hard to tell whether we were in a marketplace or a residential area. After many left and right turns we reached the main road and found the Bread of Life bakeshop, we peeked through the glass door and saw they had bagels. We now found a place for breakfast.
In the main road, you don't need to see the result of the 2011 National Census to know that the state of Uttar Pradesh where Varanasi is, is the most populous place in India. The street was jam-packed with people on foot, people on bikes, people on mopeds, people on rickshaws and auto-rickshaws, people in the sidewalks, people in the shops...they are just e-verywhere. It was daunting.
Our trip to Varanasi was timed with a khumb mela that started some days before we arrived. We were told that in the Main Ghat there's a one hour puja, 7 to 8 pm every night, where thousands of pilgrims congregated. Tired from the trip to Sarnath where Buddha did his first sermon after receiving enlightenment, we took the cycle rickshaw to the Main Ghat.
At the Main Ghat were thousands of devotees, pilgrims and tourists from all over India(from all over the world actually, said one local resident to me). Some pilgrims came by boats and observed the rituals from the river. There were priests who roamed around holding a plate with incense and kumkum (powder used for religious marking) and rupee bills and coins. One approached me, applied kumkum in my forehead, blessed me, then asked me to put money in the brass plate. I thought I heard him curse me when I didn't give money.
I have heard of large religious gatherings in India that became chaotic and caused stampede. I was worried for a minute, but thinking it was held outdoors where people simply sat down or stood at the steps of the ghat I calmed down. The ghat smelled of human sweat, incense and whiff of air from the Ganga. There was a cacophony of bell chimes, continuous incantation of mantra and private conversations that were not so private.
Despite absence of belief in any religion seeing a demonstration of religious fervor made the hair in my arm stood. I wondered what each one prayed for, which of the millions of gods did they pray to, what offense did they commit that they wanted washed away, how difficult was life for them not to want to be reborn.
The puja was over in an hour, the huge crowd thinned as everyone started to leave. We walked down the ghats to catch a boat that would take us back nearest to our hotel. It was dark and quiet now. There were only the stars and the remaining embers from the funeral pyre that provided light. I saw silhouettes of few men silently bathing. All I could hear was the gentle splash as the boatman's oar touched the water and faint human voices from afar.
There are other places worth visiting in Varanasi but I was content just seeing the ghats and the customs and practices that intrigued me when I was younger. It's a place where life and death are juxtaposed. It's a place not only for photo-ops but the place allows one to understand more if not completely, the Hindu culture. One may even find enlightenment here.
There are locals who strike conversations with tourists, many of them take this opportunity to practice their English, but a good source of stories if you are curious enough. I've seen Varanasi, I'm ready to go back to my country now.
(photos are by Mike's except the pizza and the shiva lingam)
Highs
After dozing off for 2 hours in Hotel Haifa, Mike and I set off. We had lunch in Vaatika Pizzeria located at Tulsi Ghat, an outdoor restaurant famous for its pizza and apple pie baked in wood-fired oven. We ordered thin-crust epinard (spinach)pizza. It was bland for my taste but the generous amount of molten mozzarella filled my mouth and offered a delightful change from our usual vegetarian diet in Delhi. Mike, who has been here before wouldn't leave the place without having the apple pie. I am not a fan of apple pie but this one had the right amount of sweetness that blended well with my Cafe Americano. Vaatika instantly became our official favorite restaurant in Varanasi.
Once sated, we took a walk along the ghats. What I only used to see on television I witnessed live now, Hindus fully absorbed in their (spi)rituals. There were people on the bathing steps of the ghats, women clad in their saris while the men were almost naked; they showered themselves with water from the Ganges River.
But it was obvious the river's purpose was not simply to wash away sins. It was also a source for daily subsistence. There were boats that take pilgrims and tourists to a cruise to get a view of the ghats from the river for at least Rs50 an hour per person. Hook-and-line fishers sat on their moored boats fixing their fishing gears, and children with improvised fishing rods trying their luck. One would think they were doing this for fun as they boisterously chatted and laugh at one another, a girl selling floating lamps told me the children's catch were brought home, cooked and eaten with chapati. I bought two floating lamps from her, an offering I was going to make for my dad.
We walked further and reached Harish Chandra Ghat,better known as the burning ghat where bodies of dead Hindu are cremated beginning at dusk. From a viewing deck we could see several funeral pyres. In some, we could make out the head of the dead. There's a separate pyre exclusively for the high caste and that created the biggest fire. The shrouded corpse is bathed in the river then carried on bamboo stretcher and transferred on to the pyre.
I shifted my attention back to what was happening at the riverbank, a few men sat on their haunches while their heads were being shaved. These men were the eldest male in the families of the dead. Together with the brahmin priest and a few other male members of the family they went around the pyre where the body of the dead is laid. At this point i couldn't tell whether it was the brahmin or the eldest male who lit the pyre. The pyre started burning, the mourners stepped back, the eldest male on his mobile phone. I thought he might be reporting to the rest of the family that the dearly departed's soul was soon going to be liberated. I did not see anyone actually grieving, and there were very few women, and definitely no women took part in the burning ritual.
Up the ghat was completely the opposite, it was filled with vibrant people oblivious to the fire and smoke emanating from the funeral pyres. The ghats were turned into a plaza where boys and men played cricket, college girls and boys met up and chatted, smaller children running all over the place, boatmen inviting tourists to take a cruise in their tiny dinghies.
From where Mike and I stood we could see the temples built further back in time, the once illustrious buildings are now showing signs of dilapidation but could still impress anyone and wonder how much wealth and spiritual devotion were put into building these temples and ghats.
There's more than 100 ghats alongside the Ganga, we figured we could see one or two more before calling it a day. We reached the ghat where pilgrims swarmed around a Shiva lingam, pouring water on it, rubbing it, apparently part of a ritual before they immersed themselves in the Ganga river.
It was also the ghat were I saw lit clay lamps floating in the river. I decided this was where I would let the lamp for my dad start to sail away. My lamp was blocked by a piece of rope connected to a boat, I gave it a gentle push so it could sail further away but some Indians who watched me said I shouldn't, that I should let the lamp float away on its own.
We had enough for the day. We went back to the burning ghat and from there climbed the steps. At the end was the temple where the Brahmin priests probably did their rituals. Behind it is a warren of alleys where almost equally old buildings stood. As in many places in India, it was hard to tell whether we were in a marketplace or a residential area. After many left and right turns we reached the main road and found the Bread of Life bakeshop, we peeked through the glass door and saw they had bagels. We now found a place for breakfast.
In the main road, you don't need to see the result of the 2011 National Census to know that the state of Uttar Pradesh where Varanasi is, is the most populous place in India. The street was jam-packed with people on foot, people on bikes, people on mopeds, people on rickshaws and auto-rickshaws, people in the sidewalks, people in the shops...they are just e-verywhere. It was daunting.
Our trip to Varanasi was timed with a khumb mela that started some days before we arrived. We were told that in the Main Ghat there's a one hour puja, 7 to 8 pm every night, where thousands of pilgrims congregated. Tired from the trip to Sarnath where Buddha did his first sermon after receiving enlightenment, we took the cycle rickshaw to the Main Ghat.
At the Main Ghat were thousands of devotees, pilgrims and tourists from all over India(from all over the world actually, said one local resident to me). Some pilgrims came by boats and observed the rituals from the river. There were priests who roamed around holding a plate with incense and kumkum (powder used for religious marking) and rupee bills and coins. One approached me, applied kumkum in my forehead, blessed me, then asked me to put money in the brass plate. I thought I heard him curse me when I didn't give money.
I have heard of large religious gatherings in India that became chaotic and caused stampede. I was worried for a minute, but thinking it was held outdoors where people simply sat down or stood at the steps of the ghat I calmed down. The ghat smelled of human sweat, incense and whiff of air from the Ganga. There was a cacophony of bell chimes, continuous incantation of mantra and private conversations that were not so private.
Despite absence of belief in any religion seeing a demonstration of religious fervor made the hair in my arm stood. I wondered what each one prayed for, which of the millions of gods did they pray to, what offense did they commit that they wanted washed away, how difficult was life for them not to want to be reborn.
The puja was over in an hour, the huge crowd thinned as everyone started to leave. We walked down the ghats to catch a boat that would take us back nearest to our hotel. It was dark and quiet now. There were only the stars and the remaining embers from the funeral pyre that provided light. I saw silhouettes of few men silently bathing. All I could hear was the gentle splash as the boatman's oar touched the water and faint human voices from afar.
There are other places worth visiting in Varanasi but I was content just seeing the ghats and the customs and practices that intrigued me when I was younger. It's a place where life and death are juxtaposed. It's a place not only for photo-ops but the place allows one to understand more if not completely, the Hindu culture. One may even find enlightenment here.
There are locals who strike conversations with tourists, many of them take this opportunity to practice their English, but a good source of stories if you are curious enough. I've seen Varanasi, I'm ready to go back to my country now.
(photos are by Mike's except the pizza and the shiva lingam)
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