Monday, More

I’m quite ashamed of myself for the last entry. It was four o’clock in the morning and I had gotten up early for the specific purpose of adding to my blog. But I had a lot of trouble getting the computer to work properly and the time grew near to leave for our first excursion of the day. I didn’t have the time to do justice to the information. So, I’ll add some here, from the lobby of the Taj hotel in Khujaraho, where I’ll be for the next two days. Forgive me if I repeat myself; I don’t have a copy of my earlier entry
Veranasi, as I’m sure I said, is a holy city to the Hindus for it is considered the source of life, or better put, where life itself began. Therefore, it’s a pilgrimage site and if one is a “good” Hindu, one must come here at least once in one’s life (like a Muslim’s Haj to Mecca). The city also has a population of several million and the pressure is intense, as we found when taking our bicycle rickshaws to the River Ganges late in the afternoon, to witness the cycles of life and death. Or, better put, death and life. It’s been said that India is an assault on the senses and that is certainly true. We took our bus to the beginning of the old city where the streets are so narrow that we then had to transfer to the rickshaws, two to each. Here in India, there are no demarcated lanes for traffic; everyone just barrels down the road, or street, in a game of chicken and only averts disaster at the last minute by one of the contestants giving up. It may be that this moves the traffic somewhat faster in such an overpopulated country (of over one billion population) but it makes for an excitement that borders on terror. Boarding the rickshaws, we joined a stream of humanity rushing to the ghat –steps leading down to the river – or perhaps it would be more accurate to say crawling. I’ve never been in traffic so dense, and intense. Rickshaws, motorized taxis, a few cars, bicycles, and motor scooters – even people walking – squashed together in the narrow streets, everyone pushing, both literally and figuratively, to get to their destination. And all the scooters honking, the bicycles ringing their bells, the motorized cars honking…the noise and confusion was intense. Fortunately, Bob and I, riding in our rickshaw, were somewhat above all this but very close to it as well. Our guide was right in saying the ride would give us a sense of the real India.
When we finally got to the ghat, the main one in Veranasi, we had to walk down many steps to the river where we boarded a longboat – like an oversized row boat – and sat around the outside edge while the rowers took us out into the river for a better view of the coastline. The colors, and sounds, and smells were all intense and the crush of humanity almost clausterphobic. The shore is lined with huge buildings, originally palaces built by maharajahs but now in some decay, some of them turned into guest houses. But they make a most impressive sight. Between them are the ghats from the streets above down to the river, the steps crawling with humanity. And many of them trying to sell us something. Children bore large four foot round baskets filled with three inch round “boats” made of flowers, with a candle in the middle. We each got one. And the idea is to row out into the water, make a wish for good fortune, light the candle and then “donate” the whole affair to Mother River by letting it float away. The water was dotted with floating candles, increasing in number as the darkness set in, making quite a spectacle of lights. There were hundreds of boats, and thousands of people. So even on the river, one felt assaulted.
We rowed down the river to the ghat that forms the crematory. Out of respect for the dead, we refrained from taking pictures of the seven or eight bonfires dotting the steps, with family members crowding around each. When someone dies, he is wrapped in a shroud and then further wrapped in a gold lame type cloth, ringed with strands of marigolds. When the pyre is ready, the head mourner, a member of the family, dips the body in the river and then the body is placed on the pyre and the head mourner lights the whole thing. The wood is soaked with purified butter (ghee) so that the logs will light more easily. The fire burns for three or four hours, tended by a professional firewalla, until the body is largely consumed. The ashes are given to the family which usually “donates” them and any parts of the bones that remain to the river. Ashes to ashes, as they say, the body returning to the mother river from which Hindus believe life sprang.
After a respectful time with the crematory ghat, we returned to the main ghat for the ceremony of life, chanting and the lighting of lights, some dancing. By now, it was completely dark and the boats gathered in front of the ghat made quite a sight. I took many pictures, some of them sprinkled with white specks that were the many mosquitoes that gather there in the evening. No, I didn’t get bitten but I was so laden with spray – and earlier sunscreen and even early salve for my rosacia – that I felt like a layered onion. The hundreds of boats, with hundreds of tourists and the people gathered on the steps, all watching the ceremony was strangely spiritual. And then, of course, we had to get back to our buses, on the rickshaws, through that same cacophony of humanity all over again.
This morning, we returned to the ghat before sunrise to watch another spiritual ceremony, this time individual in nature, where pilgrims come to bathe in the waters of the Ganges. It is said that one should do this as the sun rises in the east – the direction the ghats face – and that it purifies the soul. We took another boat out into the water to watch this phenomenon. Those bathing seemed unfazed by our presence as they stripped to some small loin cloth, stepped into the water, lifted handfuls of it over their heads or simply submerged. There were hundreds of people doing this, all up and down the waterfront. We also saw women (and men) washing clothes by dipping them into the water, beating them violently against the rocks, wringing them out and then tossing them up on a blanket or basket to dry in the sun. As the sun rose, the whole scene took on a golden glow that was quite spectacular. Then back to those rickshaws again, and back to the hotel for breakfast before catching our plane for Khujaraho.
Here, we’re in another Raj hotel (and as I’ve said, even though they may be the leading hotels in the world, I’ve seen better Hiltons) with a huge marble lobby that could hold the biggest benefit Baltimore has ever seen. We’re here in a town of less than 10,000 people to see temples built by a Hindu kingdom long ago defeated by the Muslims who destroyed many of them. Here, in central India, the site was long forgotten and the walls gradually grew alga and the temples returned to the jungle. An archeologist found the site, scrapped off the alga and discovered these beautiful carvings. I’m sure that’s the only thing here to support the tourists. Many of the carvings are scenes from the Karma Sutra and show sexual activities. And while this makes the site an attraction, we’ve been told that the real beauty of the carvings lies elsewhere. We’ll go to visit the site tomorrow morning and we’ll see.
I’ve had the afternoon off for a much needed nap and I feel much better. (And my brain seems to be working more effectively.) Tonight we will go to see a demonstration of native dancing before returning to the hotel for dinner. As Pauline Kael said about the movie “Ghandi,” it’s very long, and dusty. The duff of brown is enlivened by the incredible colors of saris and scarves and signs and sweaters and bags, all making for wonderful photographs.
I should be able to report again tomorrow afternoon, when we have another break. Stay tuned.